Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  Something switched between us, removing the threat of violence, putting us at an impasse.

  His shoulders sagged a little. Glancing at the money, his face darkened as if fighting an internal war. Suddenly, he held out the bills. “Here, take it.”

  “But I just gave it to you. You’re right—”

  His fingers latched around my wrist, while his other hand slammed the notes into my palm. “I don’t want it.”

  I gasped at the heat of his touch. At the way my skin ignited beneath his. How the crackle of awareness increased a thousand-fold. And then it was gone as he yanked his hands away and backed up.

  Dragging his fingers through his black-brown hair, he muttered, “I should go.”

  Here was my chance to return home without any more mishaps. I could nod and agree and walk out of the alley to summon a chariot to drive me back to my realm.

  But his despondency made my fear switch to empathy. Just as I’d fed the homeless man in Times Square, I wanted to help this one, too.

  If he is even homeless.

  For all I knew, he was a masked crusader running around the city, getting dirty by helping women like me who had no right being out so late alone.

  I broached the small space between us. “I truly am grateful.”

  “I know.”

  Steeling myself, I leaned forward and stuffed the bills into the front pocket of his hoodie.

  Such a bad move.

  Inside was warm with the faint grit of crumbs and life-dirt but against the soft material was a hard stomach, breathing fast.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice was a spur, kicking my heart into a frenzy.

  I yanked my hand from his pocket, leaving the cash inside. “I want you to have the money. In return for a favor.”

  His face tightened. “I’ve already done you a favor, remember?”

  “I remember.” I glanced at his bloody knuckles where a few had swollen and bruised with injury. “Would you let me look at your hands or at least buy you some Tylenol?”

  “No.”

  Okay…

  “In that case, all I ask in exchange for the money is you to escort me home.”

  Home?

  What the hell are you doing?

  I couldn’t afford to let this vagabond know where I lived. Dad would be mortified. Our furniture and belongings would probably be stolen once he figured out our daily schedule and knew when the house was vacant.

  You’re an awful person.

  How could I think such things after he’d saved me?

  Trust.

  I had to trust him, despite outward appearances and circumstances.

  Believe.

  I had to believe in my gut when it said he wasn’t to be feared.

  I wanted him to have the money over a grouchy cab driver. All he had to do was walk me back.

  “You want me to take you home?” His mouth parted. His face remained in shadow, visible but still a mystery. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to know where you live?”

  “If you were going to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now.” I opened my arm to incorporate the alley. “We’re alone. You already know I’m terrible at escape. Yet you’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

  He barked a laugh. “Gentleman? Right.” He scrubbed his face, highlighting the dirt on his neck as he looked at the sky. “How do you know I’m not just delaying my attack to put you at ease and make you pliable?”

  “Pliable? Who uses the word pliable to discuss hurting women?”

  He smirked, lips smiling, eyes not. “Me.”

  “And who is me?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “You know my name. What’s yours?”

  He stumbled back. “You—you want to know my name?”

  Was that a bad thing? Had he done something terrible and didn’t want anyone to know? “Isn’t it normal for strangers to share with another? That’s how they stop being strangers.”

  He coughed, rubbing his nape. “Not where I’m from.”

  “Where are you from?”

  His shock faded, smothered once again with a cocky attitude. His shoulders came up, proud and standoffish. “You’re nosy.”

  I bristled. “Only making conversation.”

  “Well, don’t. Let’s just go, shall we?” He looked around the alley. “I hate places like this.”

  I wanted to ask what sort of places were those, but I didn’t dare. Instead, I focused on how I could get home. “Will you walk with me?”

  “You think I’ll protect you?”

  Well, yes.

  “You did before.”

  “That was because I don’t agree with rape and robbery. Not because I have a hero complex. The minute you’re out of this alley, you cease to be my concern.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know why that hurt as much as it did. Straightening my back, I sucked up my fear, preparing to strike out on my own—like I always did. “Okay, then. Well…how much do taxis cost to get to Upper East Side?”

  One eyebrow raised. “You live on the Upper East Side and have no idea how much taxis are?” He peered harder. “You don’t just work in an office for minimum wage, do you?”

  I didn’t know why, but I wanted to maintain my identity as a low-income earner. I didn’t want to come across as bragging, or worse, rubbing his nose in it. The longer we talked, the more I saw what his clothes hinted at.

  He either lived rough or didn’t have a home. He wasn’t like the homeless man I gave my dinner to—this man didn’t smell, and his clothes were cleanish (minus a few stains) even if they were a little holey. But he had that scrapper look about him—a glare in his eyes, speaking of mistrust and hardship.

  “Let’s agree to keep personal information secret, okay?” I asked. “You don’t want to tell me your name. I don’t want to tell you anything more.” I held up my hand. “Agree to take me home, and we won’t ask questions. Deal?”

  It took a little while, but he finally slipped his hand into mine and shook.

  It took everything I had not to react to the desire crackling from his palm.

  He smiled. “Deal.”

  8

  NEW YORK WAS an exciting city to explore on my own.

  But exploring it with another person—someone intensely attractive and utterly unpredictable—was one of the most incredible things I’d ever done.

  Ten minutes had passed since leaving the alley and in ten minutes, my pulse had skyrocketed then equalized to a steady thrum of awareness.

  Walking beside him shouldn’t be such an adventure. He was just a man. This was just a city. But every footfall felt different. Every breath and glance and heartbeat.

  We navigated the crowds together, pulling apart and re-joining as the curb became congested then empty. Midnight struck the clock in Times Square, reminding me my birthday was officially over and a new day had begun.

  I should be in bed.

  I should call Dad to tell him I was okay, just in case he noticed I’d never come home.

  Worries layered me, taking away the complex, not-entirely-understood joy of strolling through the city at night with a strange man at my side. I did my best to shove the thoughts away, but they remained like a constant toothache.

  “This way.” The man stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the road, keeping an eye out for oncoming traffic. “You sure you want to walk?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets, his shoulders bunched around his ears. He couldn’t be cold. The air temperature wasn’t too bad. Although, I had shrugged into the bomber jacket and zipped it up to my throat to replace the ruined top, so perhaps it was colder than I gave credit for.

  A fine layer of sweat decorated my spine from walking at his quick pace.

  He didn’t dawdle like I had. He moved ahead with long, leggy strides, expecting me to keep up. He didn’t glance at me or ask qu
estions. It gave me time to steal glances, whipping away memories of his height, mannerisms, and habits.

  Not that I could read him.

  His body language remained closed off; his arms tucked tight, jaw clenched firm. The beard hid the bottom half of his face, keeping him partially masked and perplexing.

  Each step granted different thoughts: recollections of what’d happened with Adidas and Baseball Cap and what could’ve been the ruining of my body and mind if they’d succeeded in raping me. Followed by the relief that this cryptic wanderer had been there at the right time and saved me.

  How could I ever repay that?

  He hadn’t just prevented a robbery. He’d stopped me from turning into a different person. He’d provided me with shelter from a crossroads that might’ve switched my existence from Belle Elle heiress to mentally broken dependant.

  I wouldn’t have let it break me.

  But how could I know that? I believed in myself because of Dad’s tutelage and support. But I was still young. Nineteen was nothing compared to the years ahead. The years this man had given back to me in a selfless act of protection.

  The more we walked, the deeper the debt I had to pay. Shock gave way to realization of how close I’d come to being raped. I could still be in that alley, beaten, bloody, destroyed.

  But I’m not.

  He turned into more than just a stranger; he became my shield. A shield I needed to repay by any means necessary because eighty dollars was nothing compared to what he’d done.

  My thoughts kept me busy as we did another block, heading past closed stores and an occasional drunk pedestrian. I snuck glances at my companion, growing ever desperate to ask questions and learn pieces about him. To talk to the man who I’d only just met but who’d impacted my life more than anyone.

  Did he know how grateful I was?

  Did he understand what he’d done by saving me?

  If he were homeless, I would help him.

  If he were struggling, I would pay him.

  A life for a life.

  I wouldn’t stop until I’d saved his as he’d done mine.

  His dark gaze captured me. Turbulent and deep, the pools of ferocity and calculation hid softer emotions underneath. We weaved around thinning foot traffic, linked in some kismet way, moving close and apart, tethered with shared incident.

  I hated that I’d already lied to him. That I hadn’t told him my real profession and hidden who I was. But I liked him believing I was nothing more than an office worker with a shoe box for a home. I liked him thinking I was normal and not untouchable like all the boys from my school had.

  I like the way he looks at me.

  Like he felt something, too. Something he couldn’t understand—something that wasn’t sexual or chemical or named. But something tugging us to stay together, to chase whatever it was that bounced from him to me.

  I smiled softly, dropping my head as his stare became too intense. The hot blush on my cheeks hinted at my inexperience but also my openness around him. If I didn’t feel something, I wouldn’t care how he looked at me. If my tummy hadn’t turned into a trampoline, my heart double bouncing on my lungs, I wouldn’t mind the taut silence slowly growing tighter every second.

  My father would be happy I’d found a…friend?

  Dad’s firm but fair face appeared in my mind.

  Oh, no!

  My hand swooped to my throat to touch the sapphire star he’d given me—the star that made me feel so close to him. The one he’d bought me out of love.

  It wasn’t there.

  My neck was empty.

  They took it!

  I forgot to tell him to get it back.

  I slammed to a stop, looking over my shoulder as my fingers danced along my naked collarbone. Dad would kill me! He would know I’d been out and mugged because there was no other way I would’ve let that necklace go.

  Shit.

  “Is everything okay?” He slowed a little, his arms relaxing with hands stuffed in his front hoodie pocket.

  “My necklace. They still have it.”

  He stopped. “What necklace?”

  “My birthday present.” I sighed heavily, the weight of tears already crushing. “I know a silly necklace won’t mean much to you, but it was sentimental.”

  He spread his legs, once again drawing my attention to how lithe and fast he looked. “You didn’t mention it when I asked if they’d taken anything else.”

  “I know!” I grabbed my hair, twisting it with nerves. “I forgot. It all happened so fast.”

  “If it meant so much to you, you should’ve remembered.” His tone wasn’t condescending or cruel, but his words bit into me like wasps.

  I swallowed my sadness, embracing anger. “It was new. He gave it to me this morning.”

  “And you’re sure they took it?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.” I spun around, yanking my hair off my nape to show the cut left behind from when they’d yanked the chain. “See?”

  “I asked for your belongings to be returned.” His face hardened as if taking my loss personally. “They returned them.”

  “I know—”

  “Be grateful you didn’t have to give up something else other than a birthday trinket.” He licked his lips, sullen annoyance bright in his gaze. “By the way, happy birthday.” He turned and stalked forward, either expecting me to follow or doing his best to revoke his promise to escort me home.

  He was right, of course. A silly gemstone in exchange for avoiding pain? It was a small price to pay. But my God, it hurt to think of my father’s gift—my beautiful sapphire star—in the hands of those creeps. Being touched by them, sitting in their grimy pockets, destined to be sold to someone who would never know its origins.

  Dad will hate me.

  Guilt ate at me with sharp silver teeth. My father would understand if I told him the truth about what’d happened—if I was brave enough to admit I’d left without telling anyone. He would forgive me.

  But what would this man think of me? He’d rescued me, and instead of being relieved, I’d almost burst into tears because a necklace that was worth a few thousand had been taken.

  A life was worth more than a bauble. I wasn’t a silly child anymore.

  I’d never been a silly child.

  I won’t start now.

  Breaking into a jog, I caught up to him and touched his forearm. “I’m sorry. I made it seem like I wasn’t grateful. That I was blaming you for not getting it back.” I licked my lips. “I’m not. I’m just sad I let them take it, but you’re right. It’s only a necklace.”

  He slammed to a stop, his eyes locked on where I touched him. He swallowed hard. “You don’t have to explain to me.”

  “Yes, I do. I owe you. I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of princess.”

  He shifted, his mouth pursing as he looked me up and down. “What birthday?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “How old did you turn?”

  “Oh, um—” I struggled to tell him. Not because I wanted to keep my private life private but because he was older than I was. He looked mid-twenties with hardness only born from fighting every day of his life. I was soft where he was sharp. I knew how to fight but in boardrooms and on conference calls, not on the streets.

  He sighed. “I get it. You don’t have to tell me.” Pushing away, he continued walking; his jeans scuffed by his dirty sneakers.

  “No, wait.” I trotted after him. “I want to tell you.”

  He paused as I returned to his side, comfortable beside him even though I didn’t know him. “I turned nineteen.”

  He laughed, low and short. “Wow, I knew you were young but not that young.”

  “How young did you think?”

  His eyes tightened. “Twenty, twenty-one.”

  “That’s not a big difference.”

  He pushed off again, wedging his hands into his pockets, revealing a habit. “Still a teen.”

  I didn’t let that irritate me. �
�How old are you?”

  A slight chuckle sounded as he pulled his hood back up, hiding his shaggy black-brown hair, adding yet more shadows to his handsome face. “Older than you.”

  With the hood and the night sky, his face danced on my memory, already fading—as if my eyes hadn’t captured his features enough to imprint long-term recollection.

  I crossed my arms. “Tell me. I told you.”

  He glanced at me sideways. “Twenty-five.”

  “Six years. That’s not much.”

  “It’s enough to get some people thrown in jail.”

  “Some people?”

  He tossed his head with a tight roll of his shoulders. “Forget it.”

  We walked in silence for a moment, my fingers trailing once again to my naked throat. I hated that I’d forgotten about my necklace. That I hadn’t taken stock and asked for it back. Did that mean I wasn’t worthy of such a gift—if I didn’t appreciate it enough to remember?

  In a rash decision, I said, “You know, if I had remembered to ask for my necklace, it wouldn’t have been mine anymore.”

  He scowled, waiting for me to continue.

  “It would’ve been yours.”

  Surprise flickered over his obscured face before finally settling into polite refusal. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Just no.”

  Prickles raced down my spine. Half of me wanted to force him to accept the imaginary gift. A sapphire could’ve converted to showers and meals and a roof over his head rather than dangle around my silly little neck.

  But he hunched his shoulders—not in a regretful way but more regal, more honorable than I’d ever seen. “I don’t need your fucking charity.”

  His curse cut through our odd conversation.

  I couldn’t undermine his good deed by forcing him to hypothetically accept something he would never have. But he had to know how much I appreciated his help. “I’ll give you more money when we get home, okay? I’ll make sure you’re compensated—”

  “I’m not after your damn money,” he snapped. “If I was, I could’ve done what they did and robbed you where there were no witnesses.”

  The busy city faded around me. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” I ignored my sudden shiver. “So tell me.”