Page 5 of Jasper

I let out a deep sigh, my breath coming out in a cloud of steam. It’s not that bad. At least it’s above freezing this week. Not too long ago, it got below twenty degrees on two different nights. Luckily, my car was still running then, so I had heat. I glance at the little ceramic mug on the kitchenette counter, still half-full of the chamomile tea I made earlier. It’s probably ice-cold by now, but the thought of holding something warm is tempting.

The wind howls outside, rattling the windows like it’s trying to force its way in. I huddle deeper into my cocoon, wishing I could drift off and ignore the discomfort. Sleep would make it all go away for a while. Instead, I end up counting every breath, each exhale visible in the dim light from the streetlamp outside.

Maybe I could make a dash for it, grab the blankets, and dive back under the covers before the cold fully takes hold. Or I could just wait it out, try to trick my mind into thinking I’m warm. I glance at Fluffy again, his rhythmic purr loud enough to cut through the silence. At least one of us is comfortable.

I rub my hands together, trying to bring some life back to my numb fingers. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out a plan—maybe see if one of the locals can take a look at the engine or at least point me in the direction of the nearest mechanic. Tonight, though, it’s me, Fluffy, and the cold, all tangled up in this tiny, frozen space.

* * *

Aclean bathroom, warm water, and heat.

Things I’ve taken for granted in the past but never will again.

I splash my face once more, then use a clean paper towel to pat it dry before I run my fingers through my stringy hair. It takes a few minutes to make it presentable in a purposeful messy ponytail that makes me look more fun and spunky than I feel this morning. Maybe that will change once I get my morning cup of hot water and actually get warm for the first time today.

Finally, I push open the bathroom door of the café, forcing my face into a bright, cheery expression as I step out into the warmth. The cold from outside still clings to my skin, but I ignore the non-stop shiver racing down my spine. It’s not like I have much of a choice when it comes to layering. A sweatshirt, leggings, and sneakers that are on their last breath. Story of my life.

My eyes flick over the room, scanning for potential targets. It’s automatic. Engrained into me. My brain sorts through faces, clothes, posture. Rich assholes are always the easiest. They never expect someone like me to get close. They see pink hair, big eyes, and assume I’m harmless. They’re too wrapped up in themselves to think otherwise.

My gaze lands on a guy by the counter, talking to the barista like she’s stupid because his latte has too much foam on it. I watch him for a second, already feeling pleasure in what I’m about to do. I hate assholes like him. Nice suit. Expensive watch. Wallet probably overflowing with cash. Rude as hell and thinks he’s better than everyone.

I straighten my sweatshirt, ruffle my hair a bit to make it look more disheveled, and make my move. My steps are light, carefully careless, as I stumble right into his side.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” I chirp, flashing him my brightest, most apologetic smile.

I reach out to steady him, brushing my hand over his wrist just long enough to unbuckle the clasp of his watch and slip it free.

He barely glances at me, waving me off with a mumbled, “It’s fine.”

I murmur another apology, pat his shoulder like I’m reassuring him, and slip the watch into my pocket as I move away. Easy. Too easy.

Once he’s gone, I make my way to the counter, ordering the same thing I always do—a cup of hot water. I’ll nurse it for as long as I can while I warm up. The barista is too busy to notice me pocketing a packet of sugar, and I flash her a sweet smile to seal the deal. Thankfully, for the past three weeks I’ve been coming here, they never question me for only ordering water, and they’ve never given me trouble for sitting in the café for a few hours to warm up.

While I wait, I glance over my shoulder, eyeing my next mark. Another businessman who just pushed past a mother and her baby to get inside before her, because apparently she wasn’t moving quickly enough for him. As he steps inside, I expect him to hold the door for her, but he doesn’t, and that establishes him as my next victim.

I bump his shoulder, acting startled.

“Sorry!” I say, flashing the same bright smile.

He looks at me with irritation at first, then something like interest. Disgusting. As if I would ever consider an asshole like him. It doesn’t matter how desperate I am.

My fingers are quick, slipping into his coat pocket and pulling out his wallet. I keep it in my hand, pretending to adjust my sleeve and slide a few bills free, then I tuck it right back where it came from.

As I move away, the rush of victory is almost enough to chase the cold from my bones because at least I can buy something to eat today.

I need to find somewhere to sit for a bit to warm up, but the place is more crowded than I’d like.

That’s when I notice him.

He’s different than most of the guys in here. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and an ominous presence that seems to fill the room without even trying. He’s sitting in the corner, one leg stretched out, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the place like he’s assessing every single person. I can’t help the little thrill that skates down my spine when I meet his gaze.

Interesting.

I can usually read people pretty easily—tell whether they’re a threat or just another oblivious mark. But this guy? I can’t quite get a handle on him. Something about the way he’s watching me, like he’s not just looking, but dissecting my every move.

His tattoos peek out from the collar of his shirt and sleeves of his jacket, seeming to cover most of his exposed skin, tell me he’s dangerous. That maybe he’s not a good person. Though I have no way of knowing for sure. I know not to judge a book by its cover, but his expensive watch and the chain I’m fairly certain is pure platinum, based on its coloring, around his neck, tell me he probably does some shady things. So I shouldn’t feel bad snatching that necklace from him. After all, he likely bought it with dirty money.

Yeah, that’s what I’m going to go with. And even though something in the pit of my stomach is telling me to leave him alone, something else forces my feet forward.

---