Chapter 1.1
Alexander stared hard into the sleet that had begun to fall, as if sheer willpower alone could stop it.
The windshield wipers scraped across the glass. A steady, nerve-jangling staccato.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
It was maddening.
The colorful lights behind the rain-splattered glass flickered and shimmered like will-o’-the-wisps in the dark; the garish neon signs cast their cold, surreal glow into the night and were slowly but surely giving him a pounding headache.
He wanted only one thing: to go home. As fast as possible.
However, that was proving to be more difficult than expected.
Why the hell did they have to close the outer ring? And on a public holiday, no less.
That had been doomed to fail from the start. Alexander rolled his eyes—again, not for the first time that day.
He shoved the gearstick into third more forcefully than necessary and increased the wiper speed.
The scraping grew louder. It ate into his brain like acid.
He couldn’t quite explain to himself why he had ended up here of all places.
Then again ... his navigation system seemed to have a twisted sense of humor. Or simply enjoyed watching him suffer.
The area around the main train station—far from the elegant Admiralty District—was infamous for a reason. The flashy clothes of the women on the sidewalk gave even the neon signs a run for their money.
And he stood out.
He knew that. Especially with this car. More than one bleached-blond head turned curiously in his direction.
Alexander shuddered and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Good God, that definitely gave the wrong impression ...
He shot a sideways glance at the navigation system, which was chirping out directions in its shrill computerized voice. He really should have checked the route more carefully beforehand.
Loud shouting—muffled but still audible even through the closed windows—snapped his attention up. Driving slowly, he scanned the street until he spotted the source of the commotion.
Among the dolled-up women, a group of teenagers seemed to be ... fighting? Alexander’s brow rose instinctively.
What the hell were kids doing here?
At this hour, too? flashed through his head before no further thought could take hold.
It all happened in slow motion.
Wide-eyed, stunned, Alexander watched as one of the boys was grabbed by two others, lifted, and shoved backward—straight onto the street.
Right in front of his car!
Shit!
His mind went blank. Instinct took over.
He slammed his foot down on the brake pedal until it hit the floor; his torso jerked forward, caught painfully by the seatbelt. The screech of tires, the jolting grip of the ABS—his heart pounded wildly, hard against his throat, as if trying to escape.
Fuck!
His fingers were still locked around the steering wheel, knuckles white and rigid. The leather beneath his palms had turned slick.
The car had stopped. His heart hadn’t.
The windshield wipers still scraped rhythmically across the glass, indifferent. For a heartbeat, they were the only sound he heard—until the navigation system blared, “Please make a U-turn.”
It took a split second for the realization to hit.
He had hit the boy.
“Oh my God!”
His fingers trembled so badly that it took three tries to undo the seatbelt. Stumbling out onto the rain-soaked street, Alexander cast a panicked look at the front of the car.
On the slick asphalt lay a thin boy, wearing a jacket far too light for the weather, trying to push himself up on trembling arms. The fabric slid down his elbows, revealing a threadbare gray sweater that was instantly drenched.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Alexander blurted out, his voice cracking as he crouched beside the boy. His fingers twitched—he wanted to touch him, but hovered uselessly above the small shoulders instead.
His eyes darted over the boy’s body—pale face, red hair plastered across his cheeks by the wind. The boy moved sluggishly, his blue eyes wide and confused in their dark sockets
“I ... I think so,” the boy murmured, seeming only now realizing where he was. His hands shook as he examined his scraped palms, as if he couldn’t fathom how they had come to be.
The kid was clearly in shock.
Alexander bit his lower lip hard. The abrasions looked nasty, but ... his gaze swept over the boy again.
The murmurs of the bystanders grew louder—louder even than the hiss of sleet—forcing their way into Alexander’s mind.
Okay ... it looked like he’d managed to brake in time.
Aside from the scraped palms and a torn knee that trickled bright red blood onto the black street, there were no visible injuries.
Still ... fuck.
“What’s your name? How old are you? Can you tell me what day it is?” Alexander fired off the questions without pause, praying the boy hadn’t hit his head.
The hands dropped into the boy’s lap. Blue eyes blinked up at him, bewildered.
“Nikita. I’m nineteen. And it’s Constitution Day.”
Alexander nodded quickly. The date checked out.
But good grief—nineteen? Not a chance. Maybe he was lying ...
“Can you stand?” he asked, giving the soaked boy one last assessing look.
Nikita nodded and tried to get up. It looked so pitiful that Alexander grabbed him under the arms and helped him to his feet. His gaze swept over the sidewalk—the group of teenagers who had pushed the boy was gone.
The small crowd of onlookers was dispersing too, though a few women threw him pitying glances. Apparently, no one had bothered to call for help. Alexander’s stomach turned.
What was he supposed to do now? Call the police? An ambulance?
He shoved the thoughts aside when he felt the tremors under his palms. The boy was freezing.
“Come on, get in the car—it’s dry in there,” Alexander decided, guiding the boy gently but firmly into the passenger seat of his BMW. The slender body sank into the seat like a broken marionette.
Alexander exhaled in relief as the heavy door clicked shut behind him, shutting out the voices and the hammering rain. The windows fogged within seconds. They were both drenched. The chill seeped through even his thick winter coat.
“It’ll warm up soon,” he muttered, starting the ignition and turning up the heater. With trembling fingers, he typed the nearest hospital into the search bar. “I’ll take you to a hospital first.”
The pale face snapped toward him, red hair flying and sticking in thin strands to his forehead and bluish cheeks.
Panic flooded the steel-blue eyes.
“No hospital...” His voice was high, desperate. “Please,” he added quickly, shrinking into the leather seat. “I don’t have insurance ... they’ll just turn me away.”
The words hit Alexander like arrows. His hand dropped.
Of course. He should have known.
A street rat like this—and health insurance? Not a chance.
Still ... this street rat was his problem now.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Technically, it wasn’t even his fault that the boy had fallen in front of his car. No one could blame him. And yet ...
The rain hammered on the roof and windows, harder now—turning into full-on freezing rain. He couldn’t just throw the shivering boy back out there. Not without having someone with at least some medical expertise take a look at him.
Wait ...
He fumbled for his phone, numb fingers scrolling through his contacts.
To: Mascha
Can you come by right away? It’s urgent. And bring your medical kit.
Sascha
Determined, Alexander hit send and started the engine.
“I’ll take you to my place first,” he murmured, casting a sideways glance at his unexpected passenger, who only managed a weak nod before leaning his head against the window and falling asleep.
