Page 2 of The Stranger

“Martin, I’m done with you. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Why? Haven’t I given you everything you wanted?”

“Like what?”

“I … I don’t know. Gifts, dates, everything. I take you shopping.”

“I can afford to shop.”

Martin props an elbow on the table and leans forward. “I’m not supposed to tell you because it’s a surprise, but some of our friends are waiting at the penthouse for the engagement party.”

I almost choke on my own saliva. “W-what?”

“Come on, Maura. Just say the word, the violinist plays a song or two, then we’ll go upstairs.”

Fury roars in my veins. He fully expected me to kowtow to him and say yes to everything. If that doesn’t speak volumes about how much he doesn’t know about me, then I don’t know what else does. “I said no. We’re through.”

Martin runs a hand through his hair. “You can’t be serious. Listen, I don’t know what your drama is, but can we deal with that later? This is a happy moment.”

God, I’m really not getting through him, am I? This is how all of our fights look—him patronizing me, calling me dramatic, and laughing at whatever I say.

Fuck it. I’m done.

The chair scrapes against the white tiles as I back it and stand up, grabbing my purse and slinging it on my shoulder. “Goodbye, Martin.”

The smirk on his face disappears when it finally lands on him that I’m deadly serious. I spin on my heel and walk briskly to the doors. It must have taken him a full minute to understand what’s happening because I can hear the exact moment he rises from his chair to follow me.

I step out of the restaurant, and the chill of the night air hits me like a refreshing wave, raising hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. I whip my head around, trying to find an escape. I can wait for a taxi, but he’ll catch up with me.

Without thinking, I run to the left, my heels clicking on the cobblestone sidewalk.

“Maura! Where the hell are you going?”

As I turn the corner, I spot a guy leaning casually on a big motorcycle under the streetlight. He’s like a grim reaper with his black leather pants, black shoes, black shirt, and a black leather jacket slung over his forearm. It’s the wrong time for it, but the full sleeve of tattoos on both arms looks … sexy.

A bad idea forms in my head. He could be a serial killer, or he could be waiting for his girlfriend.

“Maura, wait!”

I turn my head slightly to find Martin standing a few steps behind me, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face, his blonde hair already messed up.

“I’ll chalk this up to surprise and overwhelming emotions.” He shrugs and points a thumb to the restaurant. “Let’s go back, say yes, smile, and we’ll forget this little drama.”

“Fuck you.”

The other guy must have heard our exchange because he stands to his full height and rounds his motorcycle, lifting his visor. “You okay, miss?”

I don’t have time to dwell on how large he is, how broad his shoulders are, or how I never realized how much I dig the whole all-black leather ensemble until I saw him.

“Stay out of this, pal,” Martin bellows and steps toward me.

I waste no time closing the distance between me and the stranger. I can’t see his face, but when I rest a hand on his shoulder, it feels like touching a rock. “Please take me away, sir.”

“Is he giving you trouble? I can?—”

I shake my head, my tone getting desperate. “Please.”

Martin’s hand wraps around my elbow, and he wrenches me back. It’s so unexpectedly rough that I stumble and almost land on my ass. The only thing that breaks my fall is strong hands wrapping around my waist. The stranger pulls me to him and uses one hand to shove Martin.

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