Bar guy dropped the trash and stalked forward, his bald head making it easy to track his movements. “You that punk that broke in here last week?”
Still shaking his head, Garrett took a step back.
Bar man kept advancing. “That kid was scrawny just like you.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Think you found an easy place to score? Hoping to do it again,” he accused, arm shooting out to get a fistful of his coat and drag him forward. “Big mistake. You got away last time, but now you’re mine.”
The second he put his hands where they absolutely did not belong, I moved, silently slipping from my camouflage. I went low, striking the area between his hip and knee. He collapsed like a folding chair on rickety legs, his grunt echoing through the narrow alley. As he struggled to his feet, I deployed a singular blow to his jugular, effectively stunning the carotid artery and vagus nerve. Immediately incapacitated, he slumped onto the pavement.
Loser.
“I knew you were here,” Garrett said from behind, his voice breathless and unafraid. Did he not just see me go all kung pow on the bald dude?
Clearly, what God gave him in good looks, he took back in common sense.
I spun, roughly pushing his chest into the nearby building, blanketing his slight body with mine to pin him in place. Instead of struggling to get away, he craned his neck, trying to look over his shoulder.
“Don’t,” I warned, pressing so close I could feel the erratic beating of his heart against my chest as I quickly mapped his body beneath me.
Huffing, he turned back to the brick, dropping his cheek against the unforgiving stone. Tsking, I pushed my hand between his face and the wall. He was going to reopen his wound.
The way he nuzzled into my gloved palm made my dead heart spit sparks, trying to revive itself.
Dead hearts don’t come back to life.
“Stop looking for me,” I growled, mouth hovering mere centimeters from the curve of his ear.
His teeth chattered lightly, a prelude to the full-body tremble that swept its way down his spine, his body wobbly beneath mine. “Why?” he challenged, hoarse tone tightening my groin.
Shifting, I flattened my palm on the wall beside his head. “I’m dangerous.”
“You saved me. Twice,” he rebutted, once again trying to catch a glimpse of me over his shoulder.
My lips grazed his ear, his sharp inhale forcing his back closer against my chest. He smelled like me, and I knew, rationally, it was because he was wearing my hoodie beneathhis coat. But rational thought was no match for instinct gone haywire, and I was wholly consumed with thoughts that he smelled like me because he wasmine.
“I told you to stay out of trouble,” I murmured, battling for control.
“Why did you help me?”
“I won’t do it again.” I ripped away from his body and turned to go.
“Thank you.”
His words caught me off guard, stopping me in my tracks. Even turned away, his sincerity was palpable, probably because it was rare. Twisting, I looked over my shoulder, expecting the full weight of those beguiling gray eyes. Surprisingly, he was still facing the wall, posture rigid, hands fisted at his sides as if forcing himself to stay took extreme effort.
Soft and obedient.
Not yours.
This time, when I turned to go, I felt him rush after me.
“Wait!”
I should have kept going, but I stopped, though I didn’t turn around.
“Your hoodie,” he said, and my brain instantly brought up the image of the too-long hem flirting with me from beneath his coat.
