Page 10 of Powerless

My last, unlucky target for the night.

It’s a good thing he’s so bleeding tall, or I would have lost him in the swarm of people. I watch women of all ages crane their necks as he passes, trying to get a better view of the handsome stranger before he melts into the mass of people. I shove through the crowd and tail him until he steps out of the main path between merchant carts and onto a less crowded street. I shake out my hair, letting the long waves fall limply over my shoulders as I cut down a street, heading to cut him off. The back alley I zigzag through spits me out onto the same one the stranger strolled down—and now I am heading straight for him.

I keep my eyes glued to the ground when we collide.

Following my usual routine, I let myself stumble backward from the impact, fighting against every instinct screaming at me to plant my feet and stand my ground. Strong arms wrap around my waist to keep me from falling, leaving his money pouch open and exposed to lowlifes like me. I grab hold of the front of his shirt, acting as if I did so as a reflex to keep my balance. Really, I just needed a reason to have my hands so close to his body without looking suspicious.

The starving boys from Loot don’t feel like this.

The thought dissolves when I reach my hand into the pouch at his hip, my fingers deducing that there are at least twenty shillings casually hanging from this man’s belt. He must be very confident in his abilities to walk around Loot with so much ... well, loot.

I’m tempted to rip off the pouch and run, knowing full well he’d catch me in about three long strides. But, not knowing when I’ll quite literally run into an opportunity like this again, I refuse to leave without at least half of what’s in his bag.

But he’ll feel the weight difference if I take half.

My mind is reeling.

Then distract him.

With all this plotting happening within a matter of moments, I quickly and quietly clutch half the coins in my fist before carefully pulling my hand out of the pouch as I steady myself against him. Then, I slowly tear my gaze from his partially exposed chest where the edge of a dark tattoo peeks out behind the folds of his shirt.

My eyes finally meet his.

It’s like looking into a storm.

His eyes are the color of thunderclouds settling over Ilya, of smoke puffing from the chimneys overhead, of the stolen silver coins clenched in my fist. His black, long lashes are in total contrast with his steely gray eyes, now sweeping across my face. Shock raises his dark brows, tightens his sharp jaw, emphasizes his strong cheekbones.

We stand there, staring at each other.

I’m suddenly, acutely aware of every place he’s touching me. His strong arms are still wrapped around my waist and half holding me up, though his gaze feels like a caress in and of itself. I clear my throat as I remove my fisted hand from his shirt, revealing crumpled, fine fabric beneath before moving to step out of his hold.

His lips twitch, allowing me to glimpse a dimple on his right cheek. He slowly slides his arms from my waist, releasing me as his hands catch on the rough bottom of my vest.

Callouses. He’s a fighter.

Not that I need to be a Psychic to figure that out, seeing that his physique makes that fact obvious. With the thought of him being a trained fighter and double my size in mind, I nonchalantly pull my hands behind me to hide the evidence of my crime. The coins slide silently into my back pocket as I take a deep breath, trying to pull myself together.

“Do you always fall into the arms of handsome strangers, or is this a new thing for you?” His question displays that dimple again when a grin settles on his face, revealing white, straight teeth.

“No, only the cocky ones.” I smile coolly while he looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to decipher, amusement playing all over his face.

Distract him.

He chuckles and runs a hand through his ebony hair, only managing to make the waves messier. Gray eyes search mine as he says, “Well, looks like I’ve made quite the first impression then.”

“Yes,” I say slowly, “though I still haven’t decided if it was a good or bad one yet.”

Keep his mind off the money and his focus on you.

He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets—the perfect picture of cool indifference. “I caught you, didn’t I?”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. He cocks his head slightly to the side as he peers down at me, the corner of his mouth tilted up. Leaning in, he adds, “Maybe you should consider that detail before you decide, darling.”

Plagues, a pretty boy with pretty words.

Dangerous.

His smoky eyes sweep across my face, once again looking at me as though I’m an intriguing riddle. I refuse to fidget under his gaze as I take a step backward towards the busy street.

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