It was him. Something warm and foreign coils around my heart and gives it a squeeze, before memories of my bloodied hero butchering my attacker come back to the forefront.
He killed someone. Even though he did it for me, that still makes him a killer. That should upset me, right? I should call the cops and turn him in. That’s the right thing to do.
So why am I abandoning that idea as quickly as the world abandoned me?
ME
Yes. Thank you.
It’s all I can think of to say to him. What else could I possibly offer the man that came to my rescue not once, but twice now?
I set my phone to the side of me and dig into my pack. Shock hits me again when I find things that don’t belong to me. There are four expensive looking protein bars, a large protein shake, and a fresh bottle of water.
My stomach aches immediately, cramping with need. I don’t even hesitate as I crack open the protein shake and take a long sip. The sweet taste of chocolate hits my parched tongue, and I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude.
Another text message comes in, so I set my drink down and pick up my phone.
DOMINIC
You’re welcome, little lamb.
I don’t respond. I don’t know what else to say, not without opening the door for a conversation about what happened last night, and I’m not sure I’m up for that discussion yet.
Instead, I take another sip of the protein shake and dig through my bag again. I find a gift card for a local restaurant—Luce Nera—for two hundred dollars.
I gasp, startled at the amount. A few women still sleeping in nearby cots stir at the noise, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from disturbing them again.
I keep digging, my hands going still when I reach into the smaller front pocket of my pack. My fingers brush against what I quickly realize is a neat pile of cash, secured with a band.
My stomach flips, and I stare down at the money like it might detonate. Nausea rolls through me as I try to count the bills without actually removing it from my bag. There has to be nearly five hundred dollars here.
This has to be a mistake.
I grab my phone and begin typing so quickly that I make what feels like a million typos.
ME
Heyy, I think you misplaced some stuff in my backpack. I need you to come get it ASAP. It’s not safe with me when I’m out and about. People like me get robbed often…
DOMINIC
I didn’t misplace anything. And you don’t need to worry. No one will touch you again.
ME
No, Dominic, really. There’s money in here. Cash that doesn’t belong to me. A gift card too. And some otherthings.
DOMINIC
I didn’t misplace anything, Wren.
I don’t remember ever telling him my name, but the way he uses it now feels like a warning.
ME
Dominic… I can’t accept this. Please, it’s too much. You’ve done too much.
DOMINIC