Primal Pursuit

Are they part of Davian’s game tonight? Is this his way to up the ante in this chase? Maybe. Probably. So, I play along.

I take the man’s arm and tug him with me. “I’m being followed.”

“Hear that, Mitch? She’s been followed,” the man says, sliding an arm about my waist to spur me along.

“We can’t let her be alone,” says Mitch. “You want me to take care of whoever is following you, little lady?”

I gulp. “No. I think he’s very dangerous.”

I pull away and run, and they come with me. “We’ll help you out.”

“We have a car.” Mitch holds out his hand and goes to snatch my wrist, but I evade him and begin to back away.

They might be part of the game, but what if they’re not? I’m not so stupid that I’d get in a car with them. And if they are with Davian like I suspect, getting into car is like willingly getting into a trap.

“Just a little company is good,” I say.

There’s no one else around, so I pour on the fear, of them, of my situation. Playing my role.

“I…it’s just late, and I need to get to my car, so I appreciate the company. This man’s been stalking me for weeks.”

I quake in a good facsimile of fear.

One of the men, not Mitch, puts an arm around my shoulder to walk with me. It’s a little tight, but I don’t saya word. I can handle them. I’ve trained for all this. And I didn’t bring my gun, but there’s my wine key in my pocket, which is perfect as a makeshift weapon should I need it.

Pretending to be cold I reach in and move it to my coat, flicking open the corkscrew, rather than the measly little knife.

My phone pings. “That must be my boyfriend,” I say.

“Ignore it,” Mitch says.

“I can’t.” I give my wide-eyed innocent look. “He’s a big, jealous football player.”

Walk the fuck away, rabbit.

I bite down on my smile and text back.

Just playing the game. Stranger.

He’s coming up, and they’re moving me along. I wrap my fingers around the corkscrew as his next text comes in.

This is no game, Poppy.

Walk the FUCK away.

Warning creeps up the back of my neck, my blood slowly turning cold. Something is very wrong.

I’m about to step back when Not-Mitch digs his fingers into my shoulder. “Hey, where you going?”

“It’s my boyfriend. He’s waiting for me.”

“Let the fucker wait,” he says, malice dripping from his tone.

“I really need to?—”

Mitch steps up right behind me, blocking me from moving back.

Fear pounds between my ears. “Let go of me.”