She shrugs. “A few.”
“How many is—have you told anyone?”
“Just you.”
“Okay.” I process that I’m the only one who knows about this—not her mom, not Nora,me. “I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If it happens again, tell me.”
“Sure,” she agrees easily.Too easily.
“I’m not fucking around, Princess. A note, flowers, candy, someone looks at you too long,call me.Promise. Promise me right now.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “I promise. Can I please go home now?”
I step away from her car, putting some much needed space between us. “Please do.”
She unlocks her car and tosses the bouquet unceremoniously onto her passenger seat before sliding in behind the wheel.
I nudge her door shut as she cranks the engine and proceeds to whip out of her parking spot like a bat out of hell—fitting since I’m damn near certain that’s where she came from.
I work through some stretches, trying to simultaneously cool down the torrent of thoughts rushing through me and warm my muscles back up.
But something doesn’t feel right. Time damn near crawls to a stop as a feeling of cold dread settles over me.
“Where the fuck are you?” I hiss, as every hair on my body stands on end. “And why the fuck are you watching me?” I glance around, scanning the immediate area for a threat, but there’s nothing.
After a few more minutes, when no one pops out and yellsgotcha, I force myself to resume my run, more than ready to put this whole clusterfuck behind me.
Usually running empties my mind, but now, every step launches a new question—all of them involving the last person I want to worry about.
I’m finally back in the zone when I slam into a wall.
“You again,” said wall, which is actually a man, rumbles as papers scatter to the ground between us.
I glance up, surprised to see the behemoth from The Creek last night. “Silas, right?”
He squats to gather the papers. “In the flesh.”
“Shit, let me help you.” I kneel and grab a page, skimming over it. It’s a help wanted flyer for a security agency. “What’s this about?”
“New business. Security. Looking to hire.”
“What kind of security?”
“The private kind.” He crosses his arms and stares me down as I grab the last few sheets.
“Helpful, man.” I hand him the papers.
“Why all the questions? You interested?”
“I might be. Wanna tell me a little more about it?”
“Step inside, and we can talk.” He pivots, heading into the old hardware store that’s sat empty for years.
I clock the business name on the door as we enter—Guardians of Fortune.
