Page 8 of Mayhem and Minnie

The man, on the other hand, continues to walk toward her and invade her personal space.

My jaw clenches.

Personal space is something that should not be invaded. Just thinking of someone trying to come that close to me gives me a headache—and the urge to drive off and lock myself in my house where no other soul lives.

Yet despite everything that would normally compel me to leave, I can’t find it in myself to do so.

The man takes another step toward her and she puts her hands up in a gesture for him to stop.

And as the wind blows her hair out of her face, I get my first glance at her features. She has big, doe-like eyes that are almost too big for her face. Her small nose and dainty lips make her look as if she’s all eyes.

Big, soulful eyes.

Big, terrified eyes.

I gulp down.

She’s slender, bordering on malnourished. Suddenly, the state of her clothes doesn’t seem so strange after all.

“Don’t be shy, dove.” The man’s lascivious voice reaches my ears—he’s not even trying to mask it.

“Go away,” the girl responds. She takes a step back, and her flimsy slippers do as their name implies—they slip. Her eyes widen and her mouth forms a big O as she falls to the ground.

I wince.

The ice is newly formed, but with recent temperatures, it’s hard as fuck.

That fall must have hurt.

A nasty grin appears on the man’s face as he approaches her. He knows he has her trapped, and he’s about to act on it.

I should drive off and mind my own business. I’m never one to get involved in things that don’t concern me. Hell, I’m not one to get involved with people, period.

Yet a strange impulse has me sliding down my window and poking my head out.

“Is there an issue here?” I ask in a hard, steady voice.

That’s enough to give the man pause as he turns to glare at me. His nostrils flare and his body tenses.

“No issues,” he mentions. Threading a hand through his slimy hair, he forces a smile on his face. “I’m just trying to get my daughter back home. She ran off without her clothes, as you can see,” he adds nervously.

I narrow my eyes at them.

He’s old enough to be her father now that I take a better look at them.

That should be my cue. She’s his problem, not mine.

But then the girl’s eyes meet mine. On the ground like that she looks even smaller. More frail.

She looks like a deer caught in the headlights. And for some reason, that one look from her gives me pause.

I tap my foot against the floor as my mind tries to make sense of what I’m seeing. If there’s anything I hate more than the cold—and the snow—it’s when things don’t make sense.

And though this man claims to be her father, there’s something off about the situation.

“Is that true, miss?” I address her.

“Of course it’s true,” the man interjects. He steps closer to my car. “It’s none of your business what happens with my daughter,” he adds ominously. He plants himself right by my window, his burly body covering my view of the girl. His hands are on his hips as he undoubtedly tries to intimidate me into dropping the matter.

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