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I wish it made him unattractive. More like a scary monster meant to be feared. Or a demon, perhaps? Hell sent him to me as punishment for my sins. A malicious smile would help enforce that characterization, but he’s frowning instead, his gaze distant. If anything, his rugged visage resembles a fallen angel who didn’t feel like going south. He decided to roam Westpoint City instead.
And torment me.
Father warned me about the danger of strangers—and this man more than fits the bill. He looks dirty. Dangerous. Tattooed. I make out a hint of black ink forming a design that stretches beneath the collar of his sweatshirt and swallow hard. It’s probably gang-related.
There are so many clues warning me to run that it’s unthinkable that I haven’t.
“No wonder you wanna jump,” he adds, drawing my attention back to his face. “With that shitty-ass reason. Well, go on then. Be my guest.”
My throat tightens as I sag against the railing. It’s one thing to have someone try and stop me. Another entirely to have that same person give me permission.
Apparently, he thinks I’m pathetic, too.
“Well? I’m waiting.” He wipes his mouth again, unconcerned by the blood coating his hand. To erase my spit, I realize, horrified. Anger isn’t what I find in his stare, though. Just apathy. “You might as well jump already.”
“Fine.” It’s childish to counter him, but I can’t resist the irritation he inspires in me. It’s sharp and prickling, goading me to act out of character. Rebel.
I’ve been numb for so long that the anger itches.
Gritting my teeth, I turn back to the railing, but I don’t make it far in my quest to jump.
“Wait—” one of his hands finds mine before I can move, pinning it flat against the barrier. His warmth is a shock. Only Colton touches me these days—his father all but paid for the right after all, with his generous donations to my father. That doesn’t make him a bad person, though. Money is the weapon Father uses to further his holy cause, and Colton is a good man from a prominent family. Everyone says so, along with rampantly speculating that an engagement is on the horizon. The strange part? I barely know him. I’m not even sure what his favorite color is. This man, however?
I get the sense he likes red. Red like the blood on his hands.
“S-Stop!” I resist the contact but don’t let go of the rail. Below, the dizzying scope of the view sucks me in. I only need to lean forward and let gravity do the rest. “Let go of me!”
“No.”
Suddenly, his fingers clamp down and yank mine loose from the railing. I stagger back, grasping instinctively for a stable surface. The only thing within reach is something I clench unseen. Something round. Warm. Hard as stone.
“Fuck.” With a grunt, the guy jerks his forearm from my grip before I even register grabbing him. I must have gripped too hard because he rubs at the spot, hissing through his teeth. In the blink of an eye, he recovers, positioning himself at the railing where I once stood.
I plant my feet, panting and dazed. “What are you doing?”
“Enforcing the rules,” he snarls. “For that stupid ass answer, you’ve lost your right to jump here.”
“Who...who do you think you are?”
He throws his head back to propel a glob of spit over the rail. “Someone with more goddamn problems than you.”
“I’ll just go somewhere else,” I stammer.
“No.” His voice rings with that unnerving authority. “You’re going to tell me more. Your brother offed himself. Why?”
I wince. In his gruff baritone, it sounds so much worse. Final. “What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.” He shrugs, completely unbothered by my reaction. “Can you answer it or not?”
Shock wipes my mind blank. Once again, he’s asked something no one else has.
“Why… Why does it even matter?”
“It matters to you.” He cuts his eyes in my direction, but the intensity in them shouldn’t be there. No one has ever looked at me like this. Not Father. Not even Hale. Certainly not Colton. He tells me to pray the pain away. This man seems to think differently. He wants me to verbalize it.
It matters.
“Why do you think he did it?” he adds.
