Page 41 of Sweet Thing

I decided to make it easy for him. “I’m going to turn in.”

Rosie lifted her head and frowned. She leaned around Galen, the surfer she’d been flirting with all evening. “Just one more drink.”

I waved off the offer and stood, smoothing my shorts, which had ridden up to reveal my tan lines. Shane didn’t even look, only turning back from his obvious attentions to the bar when Galen nudged him in the ribs.

“You should walk Aveline back.”

“It’s Adeline … Never mind. I’m fine! It’s just a few blocks up the hill.”

A polite Shane made a half-hearted effort to pull himself upright all the same. “No worries, happy to.”

“I’ll get a cab.” I didn’t want to cramp anyone’s fun. That was my brand. Let everyone enjoy themselves. No Debbie Downer vibes here.

I raised my hand in a wave and turned to go. My arm was caught by Rosie.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come back with you?”

“I’m fine!” I grinned. “But maybe I should stay to make sure you’re okay?”

“I’m drinking water,” she said. “And believe me, I can handle this one.”

Rosie was the strongest person I knew. She knew how to look after herself, and I hated to interfere with her fun. Besides, she’d just seen a photo of my brother online with a girl at a club back home, so she was on some sort of revenge sex mission. Not that Hatch even knew or cared about her crush, but Rosie knew, and I cared, so I was fully on board with any plan to bone away her sadness.

“So, we’re both where we need to be.” Smiling, I pulled her in for a hug. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

The hostel was a third of a kilometer away, less than a ten-minute walk. I could cab it, but I didn’t want dirty looks from some taxi driver because the fare was hardly worth his time. A brisk walk and alert posture would do the trick. I’d be in bed before I even had a chance to get worried.

A fat fingernail moon shone above, though every now and then, clouds scudded across the crescent and an eerie darkness fell over the sandy streets. Bougainvillea with hints of coconut scented the air. As I moved away from the village and up the hill, the gravel beneath my sandals gave a dry squelch. A couple of minutes in, that was the only sound I could hear as the bar’s music receded. Alone at last. Don’t get me wrong, I loved traveling with Rosie, but her extrovert nature sometimes wore me out. I needed some solo down time, and this walk back was the perfect respite.

Then I heard it, a soft patter behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see a dark figure following at some distance.

Probably someone heading home or another reveler on their way to the hostel. Up ahead was the entrance to a villa Rosie had pointed out earlier in the evening, its lights shining bright into the night, and for a mad moment, I thought about banging left, sprinting down the driveway, pounding on the door for sanctuary. But a few seconds later, I had passed it, leaving behind my crazy thoughts. I worried about looking foolish.

Better foolish than dead, Aurora would say.

I increased my pace, putting distance between me and the phantom. I looked behind to see him or her making the turn into the villa. A local on their way home, and I’d let my brain run a mile thinking he was on my tail.

My relief was so obvious that I didn’t even notice him until I bumped into a wall of muscle. He was tall. Heavyset. I smelled alcohol—grappa, perhaps—and tobacco.

He said something in Greek. I shook my head, assuming it was a question, and stepped around him.

He pulled my arm. I jerked away. I didn’t even see it coming until the blow landed like a bomb against my cheek.

Reeling from the shock, I lost my footing. This guy hit me! Only then did I feel truly scared. Our positions magnified the threat, him looming above, the moon halo-ing his head like an avenging angel. Me on the gravel, exposed with my legs splayed because of the way I’d fallen. More Greek muttering, then he pulled at the strap of my purse, a crossbody.

He only wants my money. My phone. My possessions.

Not me.

I should have pulled it over my head, handed it over, but I was paralyzed with fear. He yanked on the strap, drawing me closer to him, close enough I could smell body odor and alcohol fumes.

“Give,” he growled. Finally, a word I could understand.

Still, I did nothing. My cheek stung from where he’d struck me, but mostly I was stunned that this could happen to me.

White, privileged, American.

Stupid.

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