The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,2
I hadn’t moved, either. I was completely frozen. Not even a shiver shook my body despite the steadily falling temperature. Perhaps I believed remaining perfectly still would keep him from spotting me, but like a true predator, he had already locked onto his prey. His gaze never strayed as he stepped onto the sidewalk and his booted feet drew him closer.
“You got business here?” he said once he stood in front of me. His gray, maybe blue—I couldn’t decide—gaze was colder than the wind and snow blowing around us as he passively assessed me.
“What’s it to you?” Despite my instant infatuation, I couldn’t keep my true colors from showing even if I tried.
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “If it isn’t worth your life, I suggest you disappear, kid.”
“Kid?” I yelped as he moved around me. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black. I can still see your mom’s nipple print on your upper lip!” I was thankful his back was to me so he couldn’t see me wince. I didn’t mean to be so crude or even angry, but I had the feeling that as of two minutes ago, I no longer had control of my emotions. I felt connected to him on a level I could never hope to reach and, therefore sever, and I didn’t like it one fucking bit.
The hand reaching for the barbershop door fell by his side and balled into a fist. If it didn’t already feel like the North Pole, the icy chill radiating from him certainly would’ve done the job. I knew I’d said something terribly wrong before he even spoke.
“Let me revise,” he said in a deeper, deadlier tone. “If you want this wasted existence of yours to continue beyond the next three seconds, leave. Now.”
He didn’t wait to see if I obeyed. Ripping open the door, he stomped inside and let the door reading Bear Cuts slam behind him.
I frowned at the realization that I could have stowed away inside all of this time. The lights were out, so I assumed, like everyone else, that the owner had gone home before it became too dangerous.
My stomach churned as I left my dying fire behind, but it wasn’t for the loss of its meager warmth. I couldn’t stop replaying the encounter or the words wasted existence in my mind. Never mind that he’d threatened me.
Apparently, I mused as my lip curled, I cared more about what he thinks of me.
Curiosity to know more about him kept me from going far. Across the street, in fact, where I huddled under a street lamp. Ten minutes later, when the chill in my bones became too painful to ignore, the door opened, and he emerged with something bright orange clutched in his fist.
And when he stepped off the sidewalk and headed straight for me, I was suddenly cold for a different reason entirely.
It was too late to run. He’d already seen me and could probably catch me even if I did, so I stood rooted to the spot under the dim yellow glow of the lamp like a red flag for a raging bull.
The only things that kept me from screaming were the stoic expression he wore and the fact that no one would hear me and probably wouldn’t intervene even if they did. Besides, I wasn’t a damn damsel, and if he forced me to try to kick his ass, then so be it.
What happened next I couldn’t explain, but it would haunt my dreams for a long, long time. He stood in front of me, closer than he’d been before, and I took the time to study the odd hue of his eyes. It shouldn’t have fascinated me so much.
The arm carrying what I realized was a coat—a super fugly one—extended, but before he could utter a word, my attention was stolen by a silver Acura rounding the corner on two wheels—snow and ice be damned. The passenger window rolled down, and a gloved hand pointed a semi-automatic with perfect aim.
I didn’t stop to consider the fact that he’d threatened my own life before saving his. I screamed, “Watch out!” before dragging him behind a green Expedition sitting on oversized tires as bullets rained down on the spot he’d just been standing. I landed on top of him, still clutching his leather jacket for dear life. Our eyes connected the moment the shooting stopped. Rage began to effervesce, drowning the initial shock and turning the irises surrounding his pupils