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He was tall, too tall to be able to shove past him. Too broad to be able to try to wiggle away from his form. And the way he caught the small tremor from my hand, he was also too quick to try to outsmart.
I was fucked.
All because I was tired of being scared. Because I believed I could tell the good from the bad, and the soul from the soulless.
His square jaw locked and his head tilted slightly to his left, catching his light blond scruff with the sunlight. The sneer never faded, and he clasped his hands together smugly, relaxed, as if he was enjoying the shudders I was sure my body couldn’t hide. My eyes quickly lowered to his hands to see if there were any visible markings on them, but there was nothing. Not one drop of ink adorned his skin.
I didn’t get the chance to let my mind make anything out of it, not when he finally spoke, causing my skin to shrivel.
“What if I told you I’m not either of them?”
Neither Beckett or Novak. My body froze.
“Huh? What could you do?” Even while his tone mocked me, his voice was rich and strong.
The can of spray no longer felt like a weapon as we stared at one another. It seemed I had brought a joke into my own funeral, a sick joke at that.
With a disgusted expression, he looked as if he wished to peer into my mind. All I searched for was an opportunity to flee. Then, he shook his head.
“Grab your bags.” He nodded toward the plastic grocery bags that littered around my feet, and ordered, “Let’s go.”
I didn’t move, and neither did he. Unamused, he raised a brow under his black cap, and sighed loudly. “Put your fucking toy away, because unlike you, I would like to get away from the sun’s rays.”
I still didn’t move. Why would I? I didn’t trust him.
“I’m Novak, satisfied?”
“What about your first name?”
“You know it?” he asked, surprised, then dismissed my question. “Look, if I wanted to harm you, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”
I played with his words in my mind, but he didn’t look like someone I would follow just a few minutes before. Hell, he still didn’t. Why fight me in the middle of the street where a bystander could see, instead earn my trust, take me back home. And…
“Seriously? You want to think shit over after you cornered yourself into a death trap, now?”
“What’s your first name?” I asked one more time.
“Ilias Novak. MPD badge number, six-nine-four-five-four.” His blue eyes returned to their paler color, and his shoulders relaxed. “Now, can we go or do you need my shoe size too?” He didn’t wait to see a reaction, he only spun on his heel and walked toward the house.
Picking up my bags, I followed. The walk was short, and Officer Novak would look back past me, his eyes taking in all our surroundings. I was right, he was good, and had a soul.
My eyes stayed trained to the wood front door of the house once we reached the entrance. We stood in silence, and the feel of his stare made mine fall to the faded black welcome home mat. His black combat boots shifted, and as the seconds passed by, the quiet stretched.
“Hey.” His tone was soft and asking for my attention. “Do you need help inside?”
Raising my head, I slid my eyes past his dark jeans, up his light crew neck tee, until I met his soft blues as they looked down at the bags I carried before they met mine.
I wasn’t ready to be alone with him. “I think it would be best if you didn’t.” I’d always been polite, caring how I treated others, but lately, I'd been too afraid to care.
“That’s fair.” Ilias nodded, understanding swarming around his irises, and I fisted the gold doorknob. As I took a step inside, his voice stopped me. “I won’t apologize for scaring you. Not when it was the only way to get you to understand your life isn’t a game. What you did was foolish.”
I didn’t face him, not when I could feel tears pricking my eyes as our first encounter settled in, and possibilities of what could have happened played in my head.
With a nod, I walked inside, locked the door, and released a shaky breath while he stayed outside. The small piece of metal inside the zipper pocket of my jacket was hard to ignore. My fingers picked it out along with a beat-up paper note. I looked at the note without the need to read it, not when I’d memorized the words and phone number long ago. My body slid down, pressed on the door, until my bottom hit the hardwood floors, and my silent tears ran from the pain. With my fingers pressed on the metal, the cool feeling soon warmed, and I rolled it around as the first word on the note rolled in my head. Run. But there was nowhere to run, not when it felt like this was the last turn.
A sob vibrated deep from my aching chest as the reminder of that night sat on the pads of my fingertips. The empty bullet casing shimmered, and I wondered how long I had before my past would come for me.
Six
