“I’ll walk you the rest of the way home.”
“That’s not necessary. I have mace in my purse.”
“Mace won’t stop Viktor.” I step toward her, closing the distance between us. She doesn’t back away. “But if I’m at your side, he won’t get near you.”
What I don’t tell her is that I hope the bastard tries.
I’m itching for a confrontation. Want an excuse to put him in the ground.
“Alright.” She shrugs. “You’re huge. I believe you can kick his ass.”
The corner of my mouth almost twitches. Almost.
She turns and walks out of the alley. I follow, positioning myself between her and the street. My eyes scan constantly. Doorways, parked cars, shadows that might hide a threat.
It’s late. Most people are home, but Vegas never really sleeps. A few stragglers wander the sidewalks. Cars drift past every couple minutes.
“Why do you walk to and from work?” I ask eventually. “Aren’t you worried about being alone on the street this late?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes fix on something in the distance.
“I didn’t used to worry about it,” she finally replies. “This isn’t a bad neighborhood. But lately, ever since Viktor, I carry mace.” She pauses. “Of course, that didn’t help when he grabbed me outside the coffee shop. I froze. Forgot all about it.”
“You should’ve been worried before Viktor. Safe neighborhood doesn’t mean shit. This city’s full of dangerous people.”
“You have a very negative outlook.”
I glance at her. She’s serious.
“It’s justified.”
“I hate thinking like that.” Her voice softens. “Maybe I was naive before. Maybe I learned a hard lesson. But I refuse to believe there’s danger around every corner. Viktor affected me. He still affects me. But I won’t let him turn me into someone who’s afraid of everyone and everything.”
I watch her face. The stubborn set of her jaw. She means every word.
Months of harassment. Bruises. A psycho ex who won’t let go.
And she still believes people are worth trusting.
I don’t know what to do with that.
“Give me your phone,” I command.
“What? Why?”
“Can’t you ever just do what you’re told?”
“No.”
I hold out my hand, shooting her an impatient look. “I’m adding my number. If you run into trouble while you insist on walking around alone, text me the wordcoffee. I’ll know it means you’re in trouble.”
Her eyes widen. “And you’ll come?”
“I’ll come running.”
She unlocks her phone and hands it over. My fingers brush hers, and something sparks between us. She feels it too. I can tell by the way her breath catches.
“That’s nice of you,” she murmurs. “I know I was defensive about the bruises. But I appreciate that you want to help.”
