He shakes his head. “Because he’s smart.”

“Does he know you’re here now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Did you want me to bring him?”

I pause, not because I don’t know the answer but because I don’t know if I want him to know it. But then again, I’m pretty sure this guy knows everything already.

“Yeah,” I admit quietly, “I did.”

“I didn’t want him to see you dead.”

My heart leaps into my throat, my skin covered instantly in pins and needles as adrenaline courses through me. I take a step back from him, scanning him quickly to check his weapons. Like it matters. If he has even one, he outmatches me. Hell, just having two arms is a victory for him. But knowing I’m the underdog won’t stop me from fighting. Never has, never will.

“Relax,” he says, the grin reappearing. I wish he’d put it away. “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t want Ryan to come with me in case I got to you too late. If you were dead, he didn’t need to see that. I’d rather he thought you were alive in the Colonies than dead in the streets.”

It’s the most he’s spoken by far, making it possible to notice how hypnotic his voice is. It’s deep and melodic, the evenness not so creepy after all. Maybe even kind of nice. I don’t relax, though, and I don’t give back the step that I took. I’ve seen enough predators to know that the ones that draw you in are the most dangerous. Case and point – Vin.

I look around us at the unfamiliar buildings that could be swarming with Risen or Eleven, neither of which I could survive an encounter with.

“So you’ll help me?”

“I’ll try.”

I nod my head as I take that crucial step toward him, muttering, “That’s all any of us can do.”

The first thing Trent does is makes a sling for my arm. He has a backpack strapped to him full of various supplies, most of which I only get a glimpse of, but I do see weapons. Plenty of them. Hammer, wrench, ginormous knife. My fingers are itching to get their hands on one of them so I’ll feel a little more like myself and a lot less like a damsel in distress, but when you’re out in the wild with nothing to your name but a thin set of clothes, bruises and a broken arm, there comes a point where you have to admit defeat.

“This is a mess,” Trent tells me plainly as he winds a long sleeved shirt into a makeshift sling, his gaze leveled on my arm.

“It sure feels like it,” I grumble, trying to ignore the fact that gazing at my arm pulled in tight to my body also means gazing at my breasts. I’m hoping Robo Boy is too preoccupied with the gnarly nasty that is my arm to worry about my assets.

“Have you looked at it?”

“No.”

“Smart.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s bad.”

I don’t know why I do it. Probably because I feel like I’m being challenged. Like he thinks I can’t handle it or something. The wild is a competitive place and proving you’re strong is proving you can survive. I’m already standing here helpless as a toddler with my pride piddling down my leg onto the street. It’s shameful and I hate it.

So I look. You know, to prove I’m hard.

I immediately turn my head and vomit.

“Told you not to look,” Trent chides.

He takes this opportunity to slip the shirt around my injured arm, spiking the pain I’m already feeling from unbearable to black-out-off-the-charts. I’d vomit again if I had anything left. He steps behind me, something I abhor, and ties the sleeves of the shirt firmly around my neck.

“There,” he says gently. “It’ll feel a little better soon.”

I run the back of my sleeve over my mouth, removing the clinging bile.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“We need to move. People are coming,” he says abruptly. I feel his hand on the small of my back urging me forward. Like his words a moment ago, it’s surprisingly gentle.

“How do you know that?” I whisper.

“I can hear them. They’re on the fire escapes,” he whispers back.

I can’t hear anything, but I trust that Trent absolutely does so I move beside him as quickly as I can.

“In here,” he whispers as he ushers me into a doorway. It’s deeply recessed, a lot like mine at home, and it reminds me of the night I watched Ryan from it. The night I made the decision that changed everything.

“Won’t they see—“

His hand clamps over my mouth as he pushes me farther into the shadows in front of him, his back to the street. It’s then I notice he’s dressed almost entirely in dark gray and black. He uses his free hand to pull the hood of his sweatshirt up over his blond hair and suddenly he’s completely indistinct. He’s way taller than I am, but still I cower down so my head is hidden behind his body. Seeing that I understand, he releases my mouth.

It’s not long before I hear the fearless trample of footsteps. It’s the kind of walk only the gangs can have. The security in there terrain, their numbers, their unashamed existence. The Lost Boys can all afford to be loud. It’s almost like a badge they wear stating they’re unafraid. Why should they be?

Trent and I listen to them cruise down the street. I hear at least three different voices but there are more than that. These three are just the loudest.

“How much longer until the next market?” one calls out. “I need my fix.”

“You’ll go broke dealing with that mess.”

“Shut up!”

“Eight days, dumbass,” someone else says. “Learn to count.”

“I’ll learn to count when you learn to read, genius.”

“I can read just fine.”

“Yeah, right! You can’t even spell your own name.”

“Maybe not but I do know sign language. What does this say?”

I hear laughter disappearing down the street, then the faint cry of, “Screw you too!”

Trent doesn’t move a single muscle. He stays perfectly still, his face hovering over me with unfixed eyes. He’s listening, probably hearing things I can’t make out anymore. I don’t dare speak a word because I know how to survive. You have to be patient, you have to be smart and most of all, you have to be quiet.

“We’re clear,” he finally says, his deep voice reverberating in the confined space.

When he steps away, I instantly feel cold. I hadn’t realized how freezing I was until the pain in my arm began to fade a little. Now that I have a chance to focus on it and I got a taste of what warm could be huddled next to Trent’s body heat, I’m very aware of it.

“You don’t have an extra coat in there, do you?” I ask reluctantly, gesturing toward his backpack.

He frowns. “No. I can give you mine.”

“No,” I tell him quickly. “No thanks. You need it for the camo, shadow thing you do. I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll move faster. It’ll warm you up.”

I nod as I fall into quick step beside him. He doesn’t speak at all. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s busy listening or because he doesn’t like to make with the small talk. Either way, I like it. I’ve lived alone a long time and I don’t especially care for chit chat either. It’s a little intense, this complete silence from him, but the longer we walk together the more I feel myself relax. We’re not exactly best friends yet, but considering he hasn’t killed, molested or sold me, I think we’ve got a shot at not being mortal enemies. I’m counting that as a win.

Chapter Two

It’s a mile but it feels like a hundred. It takes less than an hour but it feels like years. By the time Trent slows us down to circle around his gang’s building, I’m panting and sweating from pain, exhaustion, exertion – you name it. If he would stand guard over me while I lay down on the sidewalk and took a nap, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But something about his no-nonsense attitude toward everything makes me think that isn’t happening.

We encountered a few Risen along the way. I got to sit uselessly idle, tucked safely away against a building with my back to the wall, watching as he worked his magic. Trent is quick and efficient. He doesn’t strike a blow that doesn’t serve a purpose. Every use of his energy is a gain for him, every assault is dealt with a higher purpose. I’m good, don’t misunderstand me, but sometimes I get frantic and start whacking away at things, beating them to a pulp until they can’t come at me anymore. It’s exhausting and as I watch Trent, I realize it’s wasteful. And emotional. That dirty word that won’t leave me alone. Or maybe it’s been with me longer than I think, I’m only just noticing it now.