Pulled to You

I had always thought there was something cruel about alarms. Not because of the noise, but because of what they represented. A reminder that no matter how badly you wanted five more minutes, the world was still going to keep moving without you.

My phone vibrated aggressively against the cracked nightstand beside my bed, the screen lighting up the dark room of my apartment at exactly 6:30 in the morning. I stared at it for a solid thirty seconds, debating whether missing another shift was worth the possibility of losing my job.

The answer was obvious, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. With a tired groan, I reached over and smacked the alarm off before rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling above me. The water stain in the corner had gotten bigger overnight.

I was pretty sure it had been there for months, but I had stopped pretending my landlord was going to fix anything.

The same landlord who promised to repair the broken window in the hallway three months ago. The same landlord who somehow always remembered to collect rent but forgot everything else.

“Good morning to me,” I mumbled to myself, my voice rough from sleep.

The apartment was quiet, which was probably the only thing I liked about it. It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t comfortable. It definitely wasn’t somewhere I would proudly invite people over to, but it was mine.

Technically. Most of my paycheck went toward keeping the place that way, even though “keeping” was a generous word. The paint was peeling in certain spots, the kitchen cabinets were older than I was, and the radiator made noises at night that sounded suspiciously like someone dragging furniture around upstairs.

I had learned to ignore it. When you don’t have money to fix your problems, you get really good at pretending they don’t exist.

I dragged myself out of bed and walked into the tiny bathroom, brushing my teeth while staring at my reflection. I looked exactly how I felt: exhausted.

My curls were a mess, my eyes looked heavier than usual, and my face had that permanent expression of someone who was already annoyed with the day before it even started. I spit out the toothpaste and pointed at myself in the mirror.

“Look at you,” I said. “Thriving.”

My reflection didn’t look convinced.

“Okay, rude.”

I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t naturally negative or someone who hated everything. Honestly, I was pretty easygoing when life wasn’t actively trying to ruin my day. I liked laughing. I liked making people laugh. I liked finding humor in situations that probably didn’t deserve it.

Maybe that was my coping mechanism. Some people cried. Some people screamed. I made jokes and pretended everything was fine until I almost convinced myself it was.

Almost.

After getting dressed in my usual work clothes—a black polo shirt, dark jeans, and sneakers that were slowly becoming more hole than shoe—I grabbed my wallet, checked my bank account, immediately regretted checking my bank account, and shoved my phone back into my pocket.

“Beautiful,” I whispered. “Absolutely beautiful.”

Twenty-three dollars.

That was what I had until payday.

Twenty-three dollars and a dream.

A very small, struggling dream.

I locked my apartment door behind me and made my way down the stairs, avoiding the third step because it creaked loud enough to wake the entire building. The hallway smelled like old carpet and someone’s cooking from downstairs. I wasn’t sure what they were making, but whatever it was had been sitting in the air long enough to become part of the building’s personality.

Outside, the city was already awake. Cars rushed down the streets, people hurried to work, and everyone looked like they had somewhere important to be. Meanwhile, I was walking toward a 7-Eleven where my biggest accomplishment of the day would probably be making it through an eight-hour shift without losing my patience with someone asking why we didn’t sell a specific flavor of energy drink.

Spoiler alert: I never had an answer that satisfied them.

The bell above the door rang when I walked inside, and the familiar smell of burnt coffee and whatever food had been sitting under the heat lamps too long immediately hit me.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

I looked up and saw Christian behind the register, already wearing that annoying grin he always had when he knew he was about to bother me.

“Don’t call me that,” I said, dropping my bag behind the counter.

Christian laughed. “You’re right. Sunshine implies happiness. More like cloudy with a chance of emotional damage.”

I looked at him. “Did you rehearse that in the mirror?”

“Actually, yes.”

“That explains why it was still bad.”

He put a hand over his chest like I had wounded him. “You know, most people appreciate my humor.”

“Most people are wrong.”

Christian shook his head, but he was smiling. That was the thing about him. He was one of the only people who could annoy me and somehow make it impossible to stay annoyed.

We had been working together long enough that he knew exactly when I was joking and when I was using jokes to avoid talking about something real.

He was also one of the only people who didn’t make me feel weird about my situation.

He knew I lived in a terrible apartment. He knew I was always counting down to payday. He knew I worked more hours than I wanted because I didn’t really have another option. But he never looked at me like I was someone to feel sorry for.

That was why I liked him.

“Did you eat?” he asked, casually organizing receipts behind the counter.

I opened the fridge and grabbed an energy drink. “Does caffeine count?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

“Braelynn.”

“What?”

“That was not food.”

I shrugged, opening the can. “It had calories.”

Christian stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You are literally the worst person at taking care of yourself.”

“And yet somehow I’m still alive.”

“Barely.”

I took a sip and pointed at him. “See? This is why I don’t tell people I have friends.”

“You’re lucky I’m your friend.”

“I’ve been asking myself that for years.”

He laughed, and for a second, everything felt normal.

That was the thing about Christian. He made this place easier to tolerate. Without him, the endless customers, the long hours, and the feeling that I was stuck in the same place would probably have been unbearable. We spent most of our shifts making fun of ridiculous customers, ranking the worst things people could do at a convenience store, and finding creative ways to complain without actually getting fired.

Around noon, a man came in and spent almost ten minutes arguing with me because we were out of his favorite brand of cigarettes.

“You don’t understand,” he said, pointing at the empty shelf. “I come here every day.”

I nodded seriously. “I understand. Unfortunately, I don’t personally grow tobacco in the back room.”

He narrowed his eyes.

I smiled politely. “I’m working on it, though. The garden is coming along.”

Christian, who was stocking drinks nearby, turned around to hide his laugh.

The customer didn’t find it as funny.

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Me?” I placed a hand over my chest. “Never.”

He stared at me.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

After he finally left, Christian walked back over, shaking his head.

“One day, your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

I leaned against the counter. “Probably.”

“And you’re just okay with that?”

I shrugged. “Not really. But if I stop making jokes, I might actually have to admit how bad things are.”

Christian’s smile faded slightly.

For a second, I realized I had said too much.

So naturally, I did what I always did.

I changed the subject.

“Anyway, if I get fired, I’m blaming you.”

He blinked. “How is that my fault?”

“You distracted me with your terrible jokes.”

“My jokes are amazing.”

“Your confidence is the only amazing thing about you.”

“There he is,” Christian said, pointing at me. “I was worried you were getting sentimental.”

“Don’t worry. I’m disgusting allergic to feelings.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was laughing again.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Because that was what I was good at.

Moving on.

Pretending things didn’t bother me.

Acting like I wasn’t tired.

Acting like I wasn’t scared of how easily one bad week could completely destroy everything I had worked for.

By the time my shift ended, the sun had already disappeared behind the buildings, leaving the city covered in the kind of darkness that made every street look different. I said goodbye to Christian, threw my jacket on, and stepped outside, immediately feeling the cold air hit my face.

“See you tomorrow,” Christian called from the doorway.

I looked back.

“Hopefully.”

He frowned. “Hopefully?”

I smiled.

“Relax. I’m just being dramatic.”

The walk home was usually the only part of my day where I actually allowed myself to breathe. Not because anything about it was peaceful—far from it. The city had never really been quiet.

There was always a car horn somewhere in the distance, someone arguing outside a corner store, music blasting from an apartment window three floors above the sidewalk, or sirens cutting through the night like a reminder that something was always happening.

But there was something about walking alone that gave me a few minutes where nobody needed anything from me.

Nobody was asking me to clock in.

Nobody was complaining about prices.

Nobody was reminding me that rent was due or that my bank account looked like it needed medical attention.

It was just me, my thoughts, and the cold air hitting my face as I made my way through streets I had memorized years ago.

I pulled my hood over my head as I walked, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets. My headphones were playing some random playlist I barely paid attention to because my mind was too busy replaying every annoying thing that happened during my shift.

The cigarette guy.

The woman who tried to return a half-eaten sandwich.

The teenager who came in five minutes before closing and somehow took thirty minutes to decide what chips he wanted.

People were fascinating.

Mostly because I didn’t understand them.

“Imagine waking up and deciding to make someone’s life harder before noon,” I muttered to myself.

A guy walking past me looked over.

I immediately looked away.

“Definitely didn’t say that out loud,” I whispered.

The neighborhood changed the farther I walked. The streets got darker, the buildings got older, and the number of people outside slowly disappeared. It wasn’t the safest area in the city, but it was home. I knew which streets to avoid, which stores stayed open late, which corners had people who minded their own business, and which ones didn’t.

Growing up here taught you things.

Mostly things you wished you didn’t have to learn.

I was almost home when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting it to be Christian sending me some stupid meme or reminding me about something at work.

Instead, it was a notification from my bank.

I already knew what it said before I opened it.

Low balance.

I laughed quietly.

Not because it was funny.

Because if I didn’t laugh, I was going to start questioning every life choice that brought me here, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy for an existential crisis on a Tuesday night.

“Twenty-three dollars and a dream,” I reminded myself. “Still thriving.”

I shoved my phone away and kept walking.

That was when I heard the yelling.

At first, I ignored it.

The city was full of noise. People argued all the time. Sometimes it was serious. Sometimes it was just two people having the loudest conversation imaginable for no reason.

I kept walking.

Then I heard something break.

I slowed down.

Not stopped.

Just slowed.

Because curiosity was one of my worst traits.

Christian always told me that my biggest problem was that I cared too much about things that weren’t my business.

He was probably right.

I glanced down the alley beside the closed laundromat across the street.

Big mistake.

There were three men standing near the back entrance. Two of them had someone cornered against the brick wall. I couldn’t see much from where I was standing, but I could tell by their body language that this wasn’t a normal argument.

My first instinct was to leave.

Actually, my first instinct was to pretend I never saw anything.

That was the smart thing to do.

I had enough problems. I didn’t need to add “getting involved in something dangerous” to my list.

So I turned around.

And that was when my shoe scraped against the pavement.

The sound was barely noticeable.

Barely.

But apparently, not barely enough.

The yelling stopped.

My entire body went still.

Slowly, I looked back.

One of the men had turned toward me.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then he stepped away from the alley.

“Who’s that?”

My stomach dropped.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

This was the exact moment where normal people made good decisions.

Normal people walked away.

Normal people didn’t stand there frozen like an idiot.

So naturally…

I did exactly that.

I stood there.

The man started walking toward me.

I immediately hated myself for not moving sooner.

“Hey,” he called.

I forced myself to stay calm.

That was something I had gotten good at.

Looking calm when I wasn’t.

My heart was beating way too fast, but I kept my face neutral.

“What?” I called back.

The man stopped a few feet away from me.

“You see something?”

I shrugged.

“Nope.”

The lie came out too quickly.

His eyes narrowed.

“That was a fast answer.”

“Yeah, well, I’m efficient.”

Not my best response.

Definitely not my smartest.

But apparently my mouth had decided it wanted to get me killed before my brain could intervene.

The man looked me up and down.

“You always this funny?”

“Only when I’m uncomfortable.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

His expression changed slightly.

Not because he cared.

Because he noticed.

And that was when I realized something important.

I was scared.

Really scared.

But I refused to let him see that.

Fear was something people used against you. I learned that a long time ago.

So I stood straighter.

I crossed my arms.

I gave him the same attitude I gave rude customers at work.

Because apparently, my survival instinct was sarcasm.

“Look,” I said, forcing a bored expression onto my face. “I don’t know what’s going on here, and honestly, I don’t want to know. I have rent due, a terrible job, and a fridge that’s basically empty. Whatever dramatic movie scene this is, I’m not interested in being a supporting character.”

The silence that followed was probably the worst part.

Because nobody laughed.

The man just stared at me.

Then he smiled slightly.

And somehow, that was worse.

“You think you’re funny?”

“Sometimes.”

“You always talk this much?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I thought about it.

Then I shrugged.

“Because silence makes things awkward.”

Behind him, one of the other men laughed quietly.

The first man didn’t.

He just kept staring at me.

Like he was trying to figure out what kind of person willingly stood there talking back when they should have been running.

The answer was simple.

A stupid one.

A scared one.

A tired one.

Me.

“Come here,” he said.

I blinked.

“No.”

His expression hardened.

That was when the confidence I was pretending to have cracked just slightly.

Not enough for him to notice.

Hopefully.

“No?” he repeated.

I nodded.

“No. I think I’m good right here.”

My voice sounded steadier than I felt.

He took another step forward.

And that was when I knew I had made a mistake.

A big one.

Because I had spent my entire life surviving by keeping my head down.

By knowing when to walk away.

By knowing when something wasn’t worth fighting.

And somehow, in the span of five minutes, I had forgotten every single lesson I’d ever learned.

The man took another step toward me, and I forced myself not to move backward. Every instinct in my body was telling me to run, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me panic. It was stupid. Completely stupid. The kind of decision that would probably end up being the reason my name appeared on some missing person poster.

But I had always been stubborn.

Too stubborn, according to Christian.

“You know,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “this is usually the part where someone realizes they’re intimidating a random guy who just wants to go home and decides to let him leave.”

The man stared at me.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

I shrugged.

“Not really.”

That answer seemed to irritate him more than anything else I had said.

Great.

Amazing.

Exactly the reaction I wanted.

The man glanced back toward the alley, then looked at me again. The two guys behind him slammed the guy they were robbing against the wall before letting him drop to the ground.

His expression changed slightly, like he had made a decision.

And that was enough.

My instincts finally overpowered my stupidity.

I turned around and ran.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t hesitate.

I just moved.

The second my shoes hit the pavement, I heard shouting behind me.

“Hey!”

Yeah.

Definitely not a friendly “hey.”

My heart dropped.

I ran faster.

The city blurred around me as I pushed through the sidewalk traffic, ignoring the looks from strangers as I flew past them. My lungs burned almost immediately, which was embarrassing considering I was only twenty-one and should probably have had more stamina than this.

But in my defense, my daily exercise consisted of walking around a convenience store and lifting boxes of snacks.

Not exactly Olympic training.

“Stop running!”

I heard footsteps behind me.

That was not helpful.

Actually, it was extremely unhelpful.

Because my brain decided that hearing people chase me was the perfect time to remind me of every possible horrible outcome.

I turned down a side street, hoping I could lose them.

Wrong choice.

The street was darker than the main road, with barely anyone around. My shoes hit the pavement harder as I pushed myself forward, my jacket catching against my arms as I ran.

I should have called someone.

Christian.

The police.

Literally anyone.

But my phone was buried somewhere in my pocket, and stopping long enough to grab it didn’t seem like a great plan when the people behind me clearly weren’t interested in having a conversation.

I could hear them getting closer.

Too close.

“Seriously?” I gasped to myself. “This is how I go out?”

I jumped over a broken piece of sidewalk and nearly tripped.

“Wow. Embarrassing.”

Even while running for my life, apparently I still had time to criticize myself.

That was impressive.

Or concerning.

Probably both.

I made another turn, my chest tightening as I realized I had no idea where I was anymore. I had walked these streets hundreds of times, but suddenly every corner looked unfamiliar.

Every shadow looked like someone waiting.

Every sound made me flinch.

The footsteps behind me got louder.

Then one of them shouted something I couldn’t make out.

I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

I pushed forward until my legs started aching, until my breathing became uneven, until the confidence I had been pretending to have disappeared completely.

Because the truth was…

I was scared.

Not a little scared.

Not the kind of scared where you laugh it off later and tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

I was genuinely scared.

And I hated that.

I hated feeling helpless.

I hated that five minutes ago I was standing there acting like I wasn’t worried, acting like nothing could touch me, when now I was running through unfamiliar streets hoping I could make it home.

I hated that they were seeing the truth.

That underneath all the sarcasm and jokes and attitude…

I was just a guy who had no idea what he was doing.

My foot hit the pavement wrong, and I stumbled.

A sharp breath left me as I caught myself against the brick wall of a building.

For one second, I considered giving up.

Not because I wanted to.

Because my body was tired.

Because I was tired.

But then I heard the footsteps again.

Closer.

No.

Absolutely not.

I pushed myself away from the wall and kept moving.

I turned another corner and froze.

Dead end.

I stared at the brick wall in front of me.

Then slowly looked behind me.

The three men appeared at the entrance of the alley.

And suddenly, all the jokes I had made earlier didn’t feel funny anymore.

The man from before pulled out a knife and tilted his head slightly.

“You really should’ve just walked away.”

I swallowed.

I wanted to respond.

I wanted to say something sarcastic.

Something clever.

Something that would make me feel like I still had control.

But for once…

I had nothing.

The alley felt smaller.

The walls felt closer.

And for the first time that night, I understood something I didn’t want to admit.

I might have finally gotten myself into something I couldn’t talk my way out of.

Then, from somewhere behind them, I heard the sound of approaching vehicles.

Not one.

Several.

The men turned and the entire mood of the alley changed.

For a few seconds, nobody moved.

It was strange how quickly a situation could change. One moment, I was standing in a dark alley with three men who had very clearly made it their mission to ruin my night, and the next, they were no longer looking at me.

Their attention had shifted completely.

That should have made me feel better.

It didn’t.

If anything, it made me more nervous.

Because whatever had just pulled their attention away from me was obviously something bigger than whatever problem I had accidentally stumbled into.

The sound of engines cut through the silence of the alley, the kind of sound that made people instinctively look up. A few vehicles pulled to a stop nearby, their headlights spilling across the pavement and washing over the walls around us.

I blinked against the brightness.

The men who had been chasing me—the same men who had moments ago looked so confident—suddenly looked different.

Less certain.

The first man’s jaw tightened.

And that was when I noticed something.

They were nervous.

Actually nervous.

I almost laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Mostly because five minutes ago, I thought these guys were the scariest thing I had ever encountered, and now they looked like they were the ones waiting to find out whether they were in trouble.

A door opened.

Then another.

I couldn’t see much from where I was standing. The alley was too dark, and the headlights made everything beyond them blurry, like I was watching something happen through a window covered in rain.

I stayed completely still.

Which, honestly, was a new experience for me.

Usually, my mouth got me into trouble before my brain had a chance to stop me.

But right now?

My brain had finally taken over.

And my brain was screaming:

Do not say anything.

Do not make another joke.

Do not somehow insult whoever just made three grown men look terrified.

For once in my life, I listened.

One of the men who had chased me took a step forward.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His voice was different now.

Less aggressive.

More careful.

A few seconds passed before someone responded.

I couldn’t hear the exact words, but whatever was said made the atmosphere shift again.

The kind of shift where everyone suddenly knew who had the power.

And it wasn’t the people who had cornered me.

I watched as the men exchanged glances.

The same men who had been so confident minutes ago were suddenly standing straighter, quieter, more cautious.

I didn’t understand what was happening.

I didn’t know who these people were.

I didn’t know why everyone suddenly seemed more interested in avoiding conflict.

All I knew was that I was trapped in an alley with people I didn’t know, and somehow that felt even more terrifying than before.

Because at least before, I knew who the threat was.

Now?

I had no idea.

A voice cut through the silence.

“Who is he?”

The question was directed at the men in front of me.

My stomach dropped.

I looked around, realizing they were talking about me.

Of course they were.

Because apparently being in danger wasn’t enough. Now I had to be introduced.

The first man glanced back at me.

“He… he saw something he shouldn’t have.”

I immediately shook my head.

“Okay, first of all—”

Every single person looked at me.

I stopped.

Slowly closed my mouth.

Because apparently I had forgotten the very important lesson I had learned five seconds ago.

Do not speak.

One of the men looked amused.

I hated that.

I hated when people found my personality entertaining during moments where I was actively trying not to panic.

“I was just walking home,” I finally said, because silence was uncomfortable and apparently I had a problem. “Which, by the way, was going pretty well until everyone decided to make my evening unnecessarily dramatic.”

The silence that followed was painful.

I immediately regretted it.

“Okay,” I mumbled. “That sounded better in my head.”

Nobody responded.

Great.

Fantastic.

Really saving myself here.

The person standing near the vehicles stepped closer, and I finally got a better look.

Tall.

That was my first thought.

Not helpful.

But true.

The kind of tall that made people naturally look twice. He carried himself differently from everyone else around him—not because he was trying to prove something, but because he didn’t have to.

The men around him moved like they already knew where they stood.

And somehow, that was more intimidating than someone yelling.

I hated that I noticed details like that.

My brain had apparently decided this was the perfect time to observe body language instead of focusing on the fact that I was still very much in danger.

The man looked at me.

Not through me.

At me.

And for some reason, that made me straighten.

Like I had to remind myself not to look as nervous as I felt.

His eyes moved over me briefly, taking in my hoodie, my work clothes, my exhausted expression.

I immediately became aware of how ridiculous I probably looked.

A 7-Eleven employee standing in an alley at night, somehow caught in a situation way above his pay grade.

If there was an award for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I was definitely winning.

The man spoke again.

“What’s your name?”

I hesitated.

Every survival instinct I had told me not to answer.

But another part of me knew refusing might make things worse.

So I swallowed and answered.

“…its Braelynn.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Braelynn what?”

I stared at him.

I don’t know why.

Maybe because I was scared. Maybe because I was tired.

Maybe because even when I was terrified, I apparently couldn’t stop myself from being difficult.

“Do you usually ask strangers for their full government name in dark alleys,” I asked, “or am I just lucky tonight?”

The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back.

Immediately.

The men nearby went quiet.

I prepared myself for the worst.

But instead…

There was a pause.

A long one.

And then, for the briefest second, I thought I saw something almost like amusement cross his face.

Almost.

Then it disappeared.

“Your name,” he repeated.

I exhaled.

“Braelynn Collins.”

The man continued watching me for a moment after I gave him my name, like he was trying to decide what exactly to do with the information.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting.

Maybe for him to laugh.

Maybe for him to threaten me.

Maybe for someone to finally explain why my Tuesday night had turned into something that belonged in a crime documentary.

Instead, he just stood there.

Quiet.

Observing.

Which, honestly, was somehow more uncomfortable.

I shifted my weight slightly, glancing between him and the men who had been chasing me. They were all avoiding looking directly at him now, which told me enough. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t someone people casually ignored.

The first thing I noticed was the suit.

Not because I knew anything about expensive clothing—I absolutely did not. My entire wardrobe consisted of things that were either on sale, gifted to me, or purchased because they were cheap enough that I could justify buying them.

But even I could tell this wasn’t some random outfit.

The suit fit perfectly. No wrinkles. No loose threads. Everything about him looked intentional.

Like he walked into every room already knowing he belonged there.

Then there were the tattoos.

They started at his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, dark ink covering every visible inch of skin. They weren’t the kind of tattoos you got on a random weekend because you thought they looked cool. They looked like they meant something.

Like every piece had a story behind it.

I caught myself staring for half a second too long and immediately looked away.

Because staring at intimidating strangers was apparently another terrible habit I needed to add to my list.

His voice pulled my attention back.

“How old are you?”

The question caught me off guard.

Not because it was strange.

Mostly because I expected something else.

I shrugged slightly.

“Twenty-one.”

His eyes stayed on me.

Then he hummed quietly.

It was such a simple reaction, but somehow it felt like he was filing the information away.

Twenty-one.

Like it told him something.

I wasn’t sure what.

He looked away from me and turned toward the man who had chased me.

“Where did you say you found him?”

The change in the atmosphere was immediate.

The man straightened.

His confidence from earlier was completely gone.

“Up on 34th, boss.”

Boss.

Interesting.

I filed that away.

“We were finishing up with Jamieson when we came across him…”

I frowned.

I didn’t know who Jamieson was. I assumed it was the man they’d left beaten and bruised back at that the laundromat.

But apparently, I was involved in a conversation where everyone else knew what was happening except me.

Which was becoming a very annoying theme tonight.

I raised my hand slightly.

Not fully.

Just enough to interrupt.

“I actually came across you guys.”

The second the words left my mouth, every person turned to look at me.

Immediately, I regretted everything.

The silence was brutal.

I slowly lowered my hand.

“Okay.”

I nodded to myself.

“Probably should’ve kept that to myself.”

Nobody said anything.

I looked away, suddenly very interested in the brick wall beside me.

“Sorry.”

A few seconds passed.

Then I heard someone quietly exhale.

Not a laugh.

Not exactly.

But close.

I glanced back.

The man in the suit was still looking at me.

His expression hadn’t changed much, but there was something different there now.

Curiosity.

Like he couldn’t decide if I was incredibly stupid or just unusually honest.

Honestly?

Fair.

Because even I wasn’t sure.

The man looked back toward the others.

“So he just happened to be there?”

The one called boss—the one everyone seemed to listen to—spoke calmly, but there was something about his tone that made everyone else pay attention.

The man nodded.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“He wasn’t involved.”

I almost laughed.

Because that was the first accurate thing anyone had said all night.

“Exactly,” I said quietly.

Again, everyone looked at me.

I sighed.

“Sorry. I’m going to stop helping my case now.”

The man’s eyes flickered toward me again.

And this time, I was almost certain.

Almost.

That I saw the smallest hint of amusement.

“You talk a lot.”

I crossed my arms.

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“Does it ever stop?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

A beat of silence.

“Unfortunately.”

For the first time that night, the corner of his mouth moved slightly.

Barely.

But I saw it.

And somehow, that surprised me more than anything else.

Because everyone around him looked like they were afraid to even breathe wrong.

And here I was, standing in a dark alley in a work uniform, making jokes like I wasn’t surrounded by people who could probably make my life very difficult.

The man studied me for another moment.

Then he looked back at the others.

“Take him home.”

My eyebrows pulled together.

“Wait, what?”

The man who had chased me looked confused too.

“Boss?”

“Take him home,” he repeated.

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Because, for once, I had no immediate response.

Which was rare.

Very rare.

I looked between them.

Then back at him.

“You’re not, like… secretly planning something weird, right?”

The silence that followed was painful.

I cleared my throat.

“Again. Terrible timing. I know.”

The man in the suit said something quietly to the guy who had chased me, too low for me to hear. Whatever it was, it made the other man’s expression change immediately. He nodded once, no questions asked.

That was interesting.

And by interesting, I meant the kind of interesting that usually meant I was about to have a terrible time.

The man in the suit looked at me one last time.

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

That was probably what bothered me the most.

Most people were easy to read. They got angry, they showed it. They got annoyed, they showed it. They wanted something, they made it obvious.

This guy?

Nothing.

His face gave away absolutely nothing.

Then he turned and walked back toward one of the cars waiting nearby, leaving me standing there with the men who had chased me.

Which, honestly, wasn’t exactly comforting.

The guy from before approached me, and immediately my shoulders tensed.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So I’m assuming someone is finally going to explain what’s happening?”

No answer.

Of course.

Because apparently tonight’s theme was everyone communicate through intense staring.

He grabbed my arm and started leading me toward one of the vehicles.

I looked down at his hand, then back at him.

“Okay, just so we’re clear, I’m not really a fan of random strangers grabbing me and escorting me places.”

Nothing.

“Wow. Really enjoying this conversation.”

Still nothing.

He opened the back door of the car and motioned for me to get inside.

I stared at him.

Then at the car.

Then back at him.

“You know, usually when someone tells me to get into a car, there’s at least a little explanation involved.”

No response.

I sighed.

“Right. Forgot who I’m dealing with.”

I climbed inside, mostly because I had already learned that arguing with people who didn’t listen was a waste of energy.

The second I sat down, the door shut behind me. There was a man sitting in the front seat. “Hi,”

No response. “Ok then,”

A moment later, the man walked around the vehicle and got into the passenger seat.

I blinked.

Wait.

He was coming with me?

That somehow made me feel better and worse at the same time.

He turned slightly in his seat, looking back at me.

“Address.”

I stared at him.

For a second, I thought maybe I had heard him wrong.

“Sorry?”

His expression didn’t change.

“Your address.”

I blinked again.

Okay.

Now, I wasn’t exactly in a position to argue, but something about giving a complete stranger my home address didn’t feel like the smartest decision I’d ever made.

“I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with you knowing—”

I stopped.

Because the second I started talking, his hand moved. He pulled something from his pocket. A knife. My sentence died immediately. I swallowed.

Okay.

New plan.

Do not make jokes. Do not be difficult. Do not test your luck. Somehow, my brain still found time to be offended.

Of course the one time I decide to trust my instincts and be cautious is the one time I’m sitting in a car with someone who has a knife.

I looked away, clearing my throat.

“On the corner of 37th.”

His eyes stayed on me.

I added quickly, “The apartment building with the broken front light.”

A pause.

“Hard to miss.”

The man said nothing.

He simply faced forward again.

And just like that, the car started moving.

I sat back against the seat, staring out the window as the city passed by.

I should’ve been focused on where I was going.

On what was happening.

On how I ended up in the backseat of a stranger’s car after what was supposed to be a normal walk home from work.

But instead, my mind kept going back to one thing.

The man who had shown up in that alley.

The way everyone listened to him.

The way the entire mood changed when he arrived.

I didn’t know his name. I didn’t know why he had stepped in. I didn’t know what kind of world I had accidentally walked into.

All I knew was that tonight had started with a normal shift at a 7-Eleven.

And somehow, I was ending it in the backseat of a car I couldn’t afford, heading home with people I didn’t know.

Honestly?

Christian was never letting me live this down.