Page 53 of Chasing Sarah

“Hmm.” I sit straighter when I see that a dog agility event taking place in a park about 2 miles from here is urgently searching for a replacement judge.

Do I own a dog?

Nope.

Do I know anything about dog agility?

Also no.

But it seems like it’d be fun, so I open the page and scan what is required to be a judge.

“Damn it,” I mutter, slumping my shoulders in defeat.

Who knew you’d need a license to judge dogs?

Eh, I’ll still go.I think with a shrug.

After jotting down the location, I shut my laptop and quickly change my clothes.

It’s a little chilly out and the overcast sky warns of an incoming snowstorm. I tuck my hands into my pockets and pull my coat tighter around my body.

Two miles might not seem too far of a distance, but after I moved to New York, I quickly learned that there could be 40 blocks and 100 crosswalks within those 2 miles.

I haven’t heard from Rhys since he left, and I refuse to acknowledge the twinge of sadness that comes with that information.

He was an asshat about Tommy’s t-shirt, and I will not budge and tell Rhys that it belongs to him.

He doesn’t deserve to know anything about my brothers or my past.

I meant every word when I said the only thing he needs to know is how to pleasure me.

Rounding the final corner toward the park, I stop short.

The park is empty.

I bet they canceled the event because of the weather.

Great.

Pursing my lips, I spin slowly, scanning my surroundings. I freeze when I see a group huddled together in an alley. They hover over someone but it’s hard to see what they’re doing from this distance.

Without making it obvious that I noticed them, I saunter closer. There are four men who tower over one laying on the ground.

“Piece of shit,” one hisses, sending a swift kick to the guy’s side. He cries out in pain, but it’s muffled by the loud city around us.

“Where’s my money?”

“I-I don’t know!” he stutters, holding out his arms. “Please!”

“Hey!” I shout, pulling their attention.

Four sets of eyes scowl in my direction but my focus is on the kid on the ground. I doubt he’s any older than 16.

His wide, fear-filled eyes stare at me, pleading for help.

“Get out of here, sweetheart. This is men’s business.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “Funny.Mendon’t gang up on a fucking child,sweetheart.”

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