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“Please take it,” she said quietly, calmly, wondering if he was on drugs. If he might not be in control of his behaviour. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Fight me?”
r /> “I have a son,” she said slowly, Jordan’s earnest face appearing in her mind. Tears stung her throat. “Please just take my bag and go.”
He reached for the bag, and at the moment when she thought the ordeal was almost over, he took another step towards her. His hand curled around her arm, his dirty fingernails digging into her flesh. She screamed on instinct, her whole body racked by fear.
“Shut it,” he shouted, cocking the gun at her head.
Melinda was shaking. Her slender body was reacting without her permission. “Please,” she groaned. “Please just take my bag and go.”
“I got your bag, innit,” he snarled, leaning closer. She could smell alcohol and meat grease on him. Her stomach churned. His hand was lifting, coming towards her and she wretched as his malodour seemed to be soaking through her pores. Suddenly, he fell backwards, his expression one of shock. A sickening noise of flesh on flesh followed and there was another man, much bigger and dressed all in black. He stood over meat-grease, his body tense.
Run, Melinda’s heart was shouting at her to move but she was frozen to the spot, as though cement had been poured through her. She pressed against the wall.
“He’s got a gun,” she stammered through chattering teeth.
The bigger man crouched down, easily taking the gun from the skinny drugged out attacker. “Move and I will hurt you,” he said darkly and for a second, Melinda, still flooded with fear, thought he was talking to her.
Then, for the first time, he angled his face to hers. “Are you okay?”
He was stunning. Even in that moment of total adrenalin-fuelled fear, she couldn’t help but notice the details of his appearance. Apart from his physique, which was take-your-breath-away spectacular, he had eyes that were the colour of honey, skin that was golden like caramel and thick, dark hair. He’d been running, she realised, judging from the sporty clothes he wore and the ear buds tucked around his neck.
The attacker was trying to get up but her saviour pressed a hand to his chest. “Stay where you are.” He reached into his pocket and lifted his phone out. His eyes not leaving the guy’s face, he spoke in a foreign language. The words were like hot sauce. Spicy, dangerous and deliciously addictive. Her heart was pounding and blood was rushing through her, but Melinda couldn’t have said with any confidence if it was because of fear or something else. Something completely inappropriate in that moment.
Less than a minute later, footsteps could be heard coming toward them. Two men in similar running gear surged to the scene, their expressions wary.
One of them, an older man with a lean and lithe figure, went straight to her saviour. He spoke in a foreign language but Melinda understood. He was asking if the hot guy was okay. As if he could ever not be okay.
“Fine,” he switched to English. “Take him to the police.” He stood in one effortless movement, unfurling and pacing towards her.
Melinda was still back against the wall.
“He has torn your shirt.” The man nodded to her shoulder, where her coat had been pushed down and her shirt had, indeed, suffered a rip. He crouched down once more, picking up a handbag. “Yours?”
She reached for it, nodding uncertainly. “Thank you.”
He dipped his head forward in silent concession then fixed her with a stare that made her pulse jump. “What is your name?”
“My name?” She swallowed, blinking, reaching for her shirt and straightening it. She could feel her flesh through the tear. The cold night air rushed her and she sucked it in, hoping it would make her feel slightly more normal. “Melinda.”
“Melinda.” He pronounced it differently to anything she’d heard. Like May-lend.
“Thank you,” she said, belatedly remembering her manners. “You saved me.”
His smile was laconic. “Yes.”
“I don’t know what I would have done …”
He shrugged, but his eyes were carefully watchful. “You do not need to think of that,” he said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It is best you do not think of it, in fact.”
“Well,” she said, pushing up from the wall and testing her legs. They were weak beneath her. “I really do appreciate it.”
“It was no trouble.”
She could well believe it. The strength of this man – he’d easily disabled her would-be attacker.
“You live near here?” He asked, scanning her face.
