Jumping back with a silent scream, she darted her gaze to the shadow’s owner before she could think to pull the only weapon she had.
“Shit, sorry,” he said, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, though it didn’t help much. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Despite the apology, he didn’t sound as though he actually meant it. He spoke as though he knew those were the right words to say, rather than what he wanted to say.
Christophe.
He was drunk, or at least he should have been drunk by the sheer amount of alcohol he’d consumed, but he seemed remarkably steady on his feet as he brought a cigarette to his lips.
The smart thing to do would have been to walk on past him, leave him to his cigarette and mind her own business, but months of curiosity had her speaking to him. “Are you going to be okay?”
Christophe blinked, seeming surprised she had spoken to him at all. Besides the occasional hello and serving him tonight, she hadn’t really engaged him much at all despite them living so close.
But his answer was not what she expected.
“Probably not.”
Most people tended to lie, even when the truth was obvious. “Are you at least going to be able to make it up the stairs on your own?”
The last thing she wanted to see when she left her apartment in the morning was him passed out in a pool of his own vomit.
“You offering to walk me up?” he asked with a smile, as though amused by her question.
“No,” she responded, holding her head up a fraction. She wasn’t stupid. “But I’m sure Thomas is awake, and he’d be glad to.”
Thomas being the lifelong US Army Ranger who lived across the hall from Mariya and did his best to minimize the crime in their building.
Flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, Christophe shook his head. “I think I have it under control.”
Seeing no point in arguing further, she left it at that. “Have a good night.”
She’d only managed to take a step before he asked, “Your name?”
“Sorry?”
“What’s your name?”
Funny that she had passed him so often yet never bothered to learn his name until tonight, or him learning hers.
But perhaps that was a good thing. It only meant she hadn’t been drawing attention to herself.
Undoubtedly, it would be smart to stick to that. After four months without so much as a peep from Feliks, maybe she was doing something right.
“What’s yours?” she asked instead, even though she already knew.
“Fang.” His response came a moment later.
“Fang?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
A corner of his mouth tipped up wider, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, and under the glow of the street lamp, she thought she saw a glint of silver in his mouth.
“People actually call you that?”
“If they’re smart.”
“And if they’re not? What do they call you then?”
Bloodshot eyes fell on her, his expression … sad. “Christophe.”
It was obvious he didn’t like being called that. “Nice to meet you then, Fang.” Officially, at least. “I’m Mariya.”
That was all she would give him.
Leaving him to his cigarette, and more than ready to get off her feet, she started up the stairs again until his voice stopped her. “Careful walking alone. It’s not safe.”
It was the same warning Davie had given, but she didn’t feel a chill when he’d said it. “I’ve survived this long.”
Shaking his head, he tossed his cigarette down, grounding it out with the toe of his boot. “Yeah? So did she, but it didn’t mean shit in the end.”
She?
If there wasn’t so much emotion in his voice, she might have taken offense to that, but she didn’t think that was what he was doing.
His words were a warning.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Who the hell was he? “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, though this time, she didn’t stick around to listen to him say anything else.
About the Author
London Miller is the author of the Volkov Bratva series, as well as Red., the first book in the Den of Mercenaries series. After graduating college, she turned pen to paper, creating riveting fictional worlds where the bad guys are sometimes the good guys.
Currently residing in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and two puppies, she spends her nights drinking far too much Mountain Dew while writing.
For more information:
www.londonmillerauthor.com
[email protected]
Tricks & Treats: A Wild Bunch Halloween Novella Page 8