“It’s six-thirty at night. Dangerous out here for lost little girls. And it’s a Saturday night, when all the males will be out a’prowling. I asked you, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Waiting for my ride,” she managed. He was easily the hottest guy she’d ever seen. Shifters always were. They looked human, butextra, with extra height, uber-muscle, and chiseled features. They were the very definition of chiseled—from head to toe.Tempting, unless you knew how dangerous they were.
This one, even with his unfriendly expression, stole Sophie’s breath and left her chest aching. Light eyes with dark honey skin, lips too plump and sensuous for the cut jawline, he had gang tattoos up his neck and on his right cheek. Like a beauty mark, the tattoos only made him appear sexier somehow, and oh, so dangerous. She knew each black symbol meant something, but not what. Probably something important. Probably something awful.
Vitally alive, he bothered her. In the way the vampir, with their empty, psychopathic eyes and moldy smell, never came close to bothering her.
“Waiting for a ride? What ride? Who takes a girl like you here and leaves her?” he clipped out, acting like the idea disgusted him.
“He’s late,” she blurted out, absent of any more intelligent response.
Five steps, and suddenly he was in front of her. “You lying to me? Don’t even know me and already lying? Showing me no respect?”
“She’s not.” His friend called from the car. That shifter had a nose-a gift for smelling lies, she guessed.
“Who’s late?” The big guy demanded to know, taking another step toward her.
Sophie didn’t want to answer that. She should run. She should sink into the brick at her back. Do anything but stand here talking to a gang lord shifter.
The guy in the car offered her a knowing grin, said something else in Spanish. Arms crossed over his chest and popping his biceps, the driver just stood there. Waiting and expecting her to answer him.
She felt her face redden, suddenly embarrassed by his close scrutiny. He was too attractive to look at. And the way he focused on her sizzled across her skin, waking up all her nerve endings. A rain-wet shirt clung to a wide chest, the design of it revealing just how powerful his body was. South Bloc only had one kind of shifter, but Sophie would have known what he was wherever she saw him. The wolf stamped his nature in every line and curve of his shape. Even his thigh muscles looked thick, straining his jeans. He’d have no trouble picking up the front end of his tank of a car if he wanted to.
Sophie wanted them to drive away and leave her alone. Why weren’t they getting back in the car and going? “I’m okay. Thanks, you can go.”
“You are not okay, baby.”
She blinked at him. Baby. Had he just called her baby? She was going to die. Heat flooded her cheeks and her heart thumped up a storm in her chest.
Should she run now? This was a good time to leave. Her options hadn’t opened up, however. She looked at the liquor store, back at the car, back to the liquor store, its yellow lights suddenly a yellow blinking beacon of safety despite the obstacles seated out front, watching the show.
“You can go. I’m okay,” Sophie repeated. She tried to sound like she had a jean pocket full of sorcerer spells. At least, that would have been a good way to defend herself.
“Are you playing games with me? You don’t look like one of them crazy ones. Come here thinking they play with the wild things and escape their masters? Do you know the fucked-up shit you are in?”
Wincing at the rough, accusatory words, Sophie took a deep breath. That only filled her nose, mouth, and lungs with the man’s scent, because he was entirely too close. All she could smell was him.
“Jumper, get in the back,” he said to his passenger without turning to look at him.
“Micah, what the fuck?” The passenger twisted to look at the tall guy.
“Back.”
Jumper opened the door, leering at her again as he pulled his gangly body out of the car and got in the back seat, leaving the door open.
Panic set in, and she gathered herself to run.
But he was on her, around her, a thick, tattooed arm wrapping her middle, lifting her up. Sophie kicked her legs wildly, but her body stayed stationary. She must look like an absurd cartoon character.
“Fuck no, little Starlight. I don’t think so. Where are you going?” His voice was right in her ear as his forearm dug into her ribs under her breasts.
She screamed. His free hand came up, covered half her face, blocking off all her air. Shaking her twice, hard, he said in her ear. “Knock that shit off right now. No one will help you. Not one motherfucker on this street is going to help a little bit of lost girl like you. You don’t belong here. Why did you come here, vampir girl? Are you insane?”
Never touched like this–just picked up, shaken and silenced–fear washed over Sophie. He sounded like a beast catching a trespasser.
Mouth and nose covered, she couldn’t answer the accusations or take a breath. Her mind blanked, his rich, dark chocolate voice becoming the center of her world.
“I will not hurt you unless you make me. I’ll lock you in my trunk if I have to, ‘cause you are not staying here and getting gang banged by all the dogs watching from the windows. Don’t scream again. And don’t run away on your short little girl legs. You’ll only piss me off.” Giving her another shake, he sat her down hard on her feet, unbalanced and dizzy. Sophie had to hold on to him to keep standing.
