I thrust the sandwich in her hands so she looks like she’s cradling twins.
I take off down the street but hear the clip of her heels close behind me.
“Alfie!” she whisper-shouts. “I’m gonna need a raise if you keep making me run in these shoes. It’s not in my goddamn contract, and you know it.”
“Head back to the office. I’ll meet you there.”
At least then she won’t have to be a witness to what comes next. And what exactly am I going to do? When Vincent left me a tempting hint of his afternoon schedule it was almost as if he dared me to follow him. What can I do in this situation? I can’t exactly charge right in there and stop him from committing a crime without admitting that I’d been following him. I try to rationalize how I could explain this to the police… or anyone. My father’s disappointed face springs to mind at the sight of me in handcuffs, a mugshot plastered over every newspaper in the state. I’m catastrophizing. I know I am. I need to—.
“Like hell I’m going back now—wait a minute—" Mia’s head cranes past me as we watch Vincent turn into the alleyway. I knew that son of a bitch was still creeping on women. I fucking knew. My blood is boiling with rage. He’s been kept out of prison after repeatedly exposing himself to women in public but started escalating by grabbing their hands to touch him too. It’s disgusting, and he was court-ordered to attend therapy sessions to rehabilitate this behavior, but I knew he was feeding me bullshit every week. Despite the rage, a triumphant surge of validation shudders through my body until I can feel my shoulders pull back, my chest push out, I could fucking roar with satisfaction.
“That’s Vincent,” Mia finishes. “Oh no you don’t, you little shit,” she mutters before stomping round the corner. Her face is full of righteous indignation, and honestly…she's stunning. Brows pinched together, a snarl pulling at her lip. She’s ready for battle, and her three-inch heels aren’t going to stop her.
“Mia, wait a minute, he’s dangerous—"
Oh God. She’s running. She launches the Scooby Snacks into an open dumpster, the loud thud of what could have only done damage to my insides, reverberates, whilst Mia takes off like she’s started the Olympic one hundred meter sprint. I pick up my pace, if only to prevent her from launching a counterattack. Instead, like a good boss, I manage to overtake her, and as Vincent pulls open the long jacket he’s wearing, a loud whistle rings through the air.
“AVERT YOUR EYES!” Mia screams from behind me, presumably to the woman who is about to see a tiny chode of a penis.
I’m a few yards from Vincent now and as the woman turns, her mouth parting in what is about to become an eardrum bursting scream, I launch myself forward and tackle the cock-flashing son of a bitch, launching him into a filthy, oil slick puddle.
“Gah, what the hell are you doing?” he screams, his elbow launching back and jabbing into my cheekbone. I scramble back, my ears ringing from the still-screaming woman, my eye burning with a sharp pain, and an onslaught of punches come my way. I feel my lip split, the crunch of a fist on my nose has blood pissing out of my face as Vincent and his willy, that pokes out of the hole of his boxers, straddle me.
“Oh no you don’t, Vincent,” Mia shouts.
I open one eye and watch her pull up the back of his long coat and reach down.
What the hell is she doing?
Her eyes burning with a rage that should be terrifying, and yet I can’t not look at her. She could pass for an avenging angel if she wasn’t smiling so demonically. The woman stops screaming. I can see her from the corner of my eye, waiting to see what Mia has in store for the unsuspecting male sitting on top of me.
It takes no time at all for Vincent’s eyes to widen, tears brimming at the edges, as his mouth parts in a silent scream. I watch Mia yank her arm as high as possible, gripping his underwear.
She’s wedgied him.
My employee has wedgied one of my patients.
Chapter Two
Mia
Dr. Alfie Adams just tackled a patient in an alleyway. The man has some speed on him, thighs tight against his pants, stretching the fabric to the brink before launching himself in the air like a lycra-sporting, oiled-up gladiator flinging himself off the ropes at a wrestling match. Admittedly, Vincent got in a few punches. Alfie’s face is a mess—split lip, black eye, bloody nose. It has, astoundingly, made him even hotter. What is it with a man sporting a few war wounds that makes him irresistible?
The police officer who is talking with Alfie looks toward me, and Alfie’s eyes follow. I’d taken a step back from the madness of what had just happened. The officer is aware I wedgied Vincent. I admitted it straightaway. The speed at which his eyebrows flew up his forehead led me to believe that he hadn't been called to this kind of crime before. Is wedging someone a crime? Surely not when I was doing it to save my boss from another cheap shot to the nose.
“Miss Sinclair?” he calls me over, and I decide to do what I know will get me out of this situation. I bring on the waterworks.
“Yes, Officer?” I sniffle a little for good measure, reaching for a tissue in my purse and dabbing it against my nose. The one thing I am sad about is the loss of my lunch.
RIP Scooby Snacks.
Taken from us way before your time.
My taste buds will miss you.
“Mia?” Alfie frowns, placing a large hand on my shoulder, bending down to meet my eye. I’m not even short. I’m five-nine, which is pretty tall for a woman, certainly not small. And yet, Alfie looms over me and the police officer.
“I’m just a bit overwhelmed, I think. I was so worried about you.”
