Page 9 of Vargan

"Yeah," I say, though I'm already wondering if it's a promise I can keep. Trouble seems to find me, especially when someone like Savvy is involved. "I'll be ready."

"Good. And Crank—" He only uses my road name when he's dead serious. "Stay the fuck out of trouble. No more playing hero. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Call me when you're mobile."

The line goes dead. I stare at the phone for a moment, then tuck it back in my pocket. When I turn around, Savvy is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

She's already dressed in her uniform—a simple blue dress with a white apron, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. There's something about her that hits me square in the chest—not just that she's pretty, though she is, but the way she holds herself. Like she could take on the whole damn world and win. Feminine but fierce. Reminds me of the orc women back home.

"How long have you been standing there?" I ask.

"Long enough." She steps into the kitchen, reaching past me for the coffee pot. "So what exactly are you running from?"

I consider lying. It's safer that way—for both of us. But something about the way she faced down Royce last night, the way she dragged my ass home and patched me up without flinching... she deserves the truth.

"I was in New York three days ago," I begin, leaning against the counter. "Coming back from a late run when I heard a commotion in an alley. A man had a woman up against a wall, beating the shit out of her."

Savvy pours her coffee, watching me carefully. "And you stepped in."

I nod. "I just wanted to stop it. Pull him off her, cool things down. But he pulled a knife, came at me hard—"

“Your wound?” she gestures to my side.

I nod. “He would have killed me given the chance.”

Realization enters her eyes as they widen before she gains control again. “So you…”

I can’t look at her and say it, so I turn to the window and look out over the unplowed field of weeds. “I just found out he died.”

Savvy’s quiet for too long. I hear her footsteps, but I’m not sure if they’re bringing her closer or taking her further away. If I were her, I’d be hauling ass to the nearest human with a gun.

"So it was kill or be killed," she says, her voice right behind me.

I release the breath I’d been holding and face her again. "Yeah." The memory flashes in my mind—the glint of the blade, the man's eyes wide with hate and fear, the woman screaming. "I didn't want to kill him. But he gave me no choice."

"So why not just explain that to the police?" She takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving mine.

I give her a look. "You saw how those people in your diner reacted to me. Who's gonna believe the word of an orc—trained to kill by this country's military—over a distraught, weeping human woman? She's saying I attacked them unprovoked. That I went savage."

Savvy's quiet for a moment, studying me. I can almost hear her thoughts—weighing what she knows of me (almost nothing) against what she's been taught to believe about my kind (probably nothing good).

"I believe you," she says finally.

The words hit harder than they should. "Why?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "The way you stepped in for me last night. You didn't have to do that. In fact, it would've been smarter not to."

Smart was never my strong suit.

"Last night, I mentioned Silas Granger," she says, changing the subject. "He used to run the garage in town before Victor drove him out. He still has tools, and he eats breakfast at my diner every morning around seven. If anyone can help you with your bike, it's him."

I nod, grateful for the information and the change of subject. "Thanks."

"Get cleaned up," she says, setting down her coffee cup. "I'll wait."

Twenty minutes later, we're walking across the street to the diner. The morning air is cool, the sun already promising a hotter than average spring day. Savvy moves with quick, efficient steps, and I adjust my stride to match hers.

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