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But she whispered of both, “No. I’m okay.”
A crease of worry formed in his brow. “Try closing your eyes,” he suggested. “Breathe deeply.”
She took his suggestion, letting her eyelids slide shut, and inhaled. Even through the glove, Darien’s hand was pleasantly warm, his thumb tracing comforting patterns across her knuckles.
Slowly and carefully, Darien clarified the images he was attempting to show her, and soon, those images became a motion picture.
She must have tensed again, because Darien said, “Breathe. It’s just me here. Just us.”
Again, she inhaled…
The air was hot. The sun beat down brightly, but the charm Darien wore on a fine chain around his neck kept him from overheating. The Avenue of the Scarlet Star was crowded, but he had his sight set on the girl—his target—who sprinted into the alley between Medea’s Magic Tricks and an ice cream parlor called The Salted Caramel.
Darting into that alley was the girl’s first mistake. Her second was staying there—fumbling her phone out of her jeans in the middle of a dead end. Phones were a distraction; whoever her parents were, they should have taught her that. A girl like her should have grown up with better instructions on how to be aware, how to defend herself in a city as dangerous as this one. Prevention was everything for someone like her.
When he reached the mouth of the alley, he slowed. Cocked his head to one side.
The girl was punching in the emergency number, her back facing the entrance to the alley—her third mistake. She was no better than a defenceless little kitten—mewling for help while a predator with bigger claws stalked her in the shadows.
There was nothing threatening about her. No weapons—nothing. She was clueless and tiny—brittle like a bird. Snapping her bones would be like snapping a pencil—easy.
She brought the phone to her ear. “I need help.” Her voice was a gentle crackle, and her hand was shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone.
Darien crossed the alley in under half a second. He wound an arm around her throat from behind, and pressed the muzzle of his handgun against her temple.
She dropped the phone. It hit the cobbles and cracked.
The girl—his target—wasn’t breathing. And he swore she might collapse as he hissed in her ear, “Make one sound and you die.”
The memory shimmered and sped up. A few minutes must have passed before the memory slowed again and sharpened into focus.
In the memory, Darien had spun her around to face him, the movement so quick she teetered in her high heels—
Her face sucked the air right out of his lungs. His hellseher eyesight hadn’t done this girl justice.
For a moment, as she blinked up at him with eyes the darkest blue, he forgot why he was here—what he was doing. What he was supposed to do.
Collect her and turn her in, take the money and go. No questions asked. It was how he handled all his jobs—how he’d earned his reputation and status as leader of the Seven Devils.
Somehow, this girl made him forget all of that. That face. That hair.
He wasn’t the only one staring in stupid silence. The girl was staring, too. Taking him in feature by feature, as if he were a work of art instead of a cash-hungry, coldblooded killer pointing a gun at her.
Her fourth mistake—and her last, if he decided to follow through.
If. If? What had gotten into him? This shouldn’t even be a question, but—
“I don’t believe it,” Darien murmured. “You’re human.”
The memory rippled, as if it were a painting doused by water, the colors of that alley smearing into a blur.
Loren opened her eyes to find Darien staring down at her from where he leaned against the table.
When he spoke, his words were a husky whisper. “Are you okay?”
And when she spoke, hers were shaky croaks, just like that day in the alley. “You’re pretty scary.”
He made to let go of her hand—
