AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Evening, Lori," he drawls, voice smooth like whiskey but with the same potential to burn. His eyes catch a glint of something wicked, a sick sort of spark that tells me he's enjoying this far too much. The familiarity in his stance, the tilt of his head—it all screams danger.
Okay, so maybe when I was a misguided pre-teen I might have gotten involved with the wrong crowd. I’ve done good about flying under his radar—until now apparently.
"Mikey." His name is a bullet, shot through clenched teeth. My skin prickles with awareness, body tensed for flight or fight, mind racing to keep up. I know that look in his eyes; I've seen it before. It's the thrill of the chase, the game he plays where I'm the mouse and he's the cat, all claws and malice.
"Miss me?" His smirk slices through the gloom, a crack in my resolve. It's not a question, really. It's a reminder that he owns these streets.
"Like a hole in the head," I retort, even as my stomach knots tighter. There's no escaping the fact that Mikey has just turned my shitty night into a full-blown nightmare. But I'll be damned if I let him see me squirm.
Mikey takes a step, and the alley shrinks. The world narrows down to just him and me, his power pulsing like a live wire in the charged air. Another step, and I can almost feel the heat radiating off him, the alleyway his arena where he's always held the upper hand.
"Still running from shadows, Lori?" His voice is deep, mocking, each word measured to remind me just who’s in charge.
"Only the ones with your ugly mug in them," I snap back, though my pulse thunders a frantic beat against my throat. Our past clings to his words, a shared history that's anything but sweet. He knows it. I know it. And it scares me shitless.
"Always such a spitfire." Mikey laughs, a low rumble that echoes off the grimy walls, wrapping around us like a sinister caress. "Remember that time at Coney Island? You screamed so loud on the Cyclone, I thought you'd shatter glass."
"Remember when I told you to fuck off?" I retort, but it's hollow, weak against the memory of his fingers once entwined with mine, the ghosts of old thrills haunting me still.
Yeah, I once looked up to the prick and wanted to be his girlfriend. Thank god that never happened.
"Ah, but you never really meant it, did you, doll?" His steps are slow, deliberate, closing the gap between us like destiny coming to collect its due.
"Just leave me alone, Mikey. I walked away and didn’t give you any trouble." My voice cracks, betraying the bravado I'm desperate to cling to.
"Come on, Lori. You know no one walks away from me." He's close enough now that I can see the darkness of his eyes, the predatory gleam.
"Mikey, don't—" My protest dies as he fills the space, his presence eclipsing everything else. Fear coils in my gut, tight and suffocating, because I know that look. It's the one that comes before the storm, before the world tips on its axis and I'm left grappling for purchase.
I pivot on the balls of my feet, every muscle coiled tight. Fight or flight? The old question, as ancient as the stars above this godforsaken alley. Mikey's a wild card—always has been—and I'm not about to let him deal me a losing hand without flipping the table first.
He catches me easily by wrapped a strong arm around my waist. His touch makes me nauseaous. "You gonna run? You've got those gazelle legs, but baby, I've always been the lion."
My brain screams at me to knee him where it counts, make a break for it. But my gut? It trembles like a damn leaf, because underneath the bravado, it knows just how dangerous Mikey is.
When I was younger I didn’t realize just how dangerous he was. Once I did, I ran.
I jerk against his hold. But he's solid as granite, unmovable, and with each futile twist, I feel the scale tipping.
"Easy, easy," Mikey murmurs, as if he's calming a spooked horse. "You're not going anywhere."
And shit, he's right. Because for all my scrapper instincts, Mikey's got the upper hand, and I know it. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm, and I'm caught, like a rabbit in a snare, too scared to bite but too proud to go quietly.
"Mikey, please," I say, and I loathe the plea in my voice, the way it scrapes raw against my pride. But he hears it too, the crack in my armor, and his grip loosens just a fraction. Enough to give me hope? Or enough to mock me?
"Good girl," he says, and I bristle at the patronizing tone. He leans in close, his breath hot on my cheek. "Now, we're gonna walk outta here, and you're gonna smile pretty for me, got it?"
Fuck.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Doug
"Shit," I mutter, the radio crackling alive with a burst of static that shreds the silence of my cruiser. "McLean here, go ahead." I snatch the receiver from its cradle, thumbing the button as I sit up straighter.
"Code 3, robbery in progress at Fifth and Main. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Proceed with caution."
The urgency laces through my voice, crisp and sharp as I respond, all business despite the thrum of adrenaline that starts to kick against my pulse. "Copy that, en route." I toss the receiver aside and punch the ignition, lights flashing to life as I pull a U-turn that would make a stunt driver jealous.
