Page 14 of The Italian Reckoning
“Give me the bag.”
He obliges, trembling as he does so. As soon as her bag is in my hand, I release him and shove him away. “Get out of here.”
“What?” The teen stumbles over himself as he backs up, but the surprise is clear on his bloodied face.
“I said get the fuck out of here, kid.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. The mugger sprints away across the street, narrowly dodging cars and melting into the darkness of the alley opposite me. Only when he’s out of sight do I turn back to Sarah and my heart punches up into my throat.
She’s still on the ground.
Shit.
“Hey!” Bag in hand, I sprint back into the alley toward her prone body while my pulse races.
Please don’t tell me I made the wrong choice! If I let that fucker go and he’s seriously hurt her, then I’ll?—
“Ow.” A long, low groan rises up from Sarah as soon as I reach her, and relief pours through me like water breaking through a dam.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She’s lying on the ground in a puddle with her hair spread across the ground like some kind of creeping vine. Blood dots the corner of her mouth next to a swelling on her lower lip, and her eyes flutter before they look at me. In one glance, I can tell she’s drunk.
“He took my bag,” she whines softly. My heart jumps. Never in all my interactions with her have I ever heard Sarah sound soft. She always sounds like she’s a second away from ripping my head off.
“No,” I say as I lean over her, my brows furrowing. “It’s right here. I got it back.”
As soon as she clocks her bag dangling from my fist, her eyes widen and a large smile spreads across her lips until the pull of her lower lip amplifies the painful swelling. She winces immediately and groans.
“Let me help you up.”
Sarah doesn’t resist as I take her hand, then her elbow, and pull her up onto her feet. Upright, she wobbles uncertainly, so my arm automatically goes around her waist to keep her from falling back to the ground. Her eyes close briefly, one hand resting against my leather-clad arm while the other presses to her forehead. “Ouch.”
“Are you alright? Should I take you to the hospital?”
She gently pulls her lower lip into her mouth as she shakes her head, making a negative noise in the back of her throat.
“It’s no trouble.”
“No, no, I–I’m fine.” Her head shakes briefly and then she opens her eyes, looking directly at me. Well, as directly as she can since I never had a chance to remove my motorcycle helmet.
This close, the shadows around us make her eyes look as dark as the stormy clouds that roll through New York every summer there’s a storm. Her body leans into mine even though she’s regained her balance, and her hand remains clasping my bicep.
“I’d hate to walk away and then read about you in the news tomorrow as having died behind some trash bins.”
Sarah snorts softly, an amused smile curling across her lips. “I’m alright. He just took me by surprise, that’s all. Although I suppose that’s their whole schtick, right? What mugger wants to announce themselves?”
Her head tilts softly to the side, resembling a puppy studying something out of curiosity. As her eyes dart over my helmet, it strikes me suddenly that she doesn’t recognize me. If she did, she certainly wouldn’t let me hold her, never mind make small talk. With the helmet hiding my face and muffling my voice, it’s not surprising.
“You should still get that looked at. It looks nasty.” It’s like my body has a mind of its own because suddenly, I’m cupping the side of her neck and tilting her head back to get a better look at the swelling on her lip, along with the faint rise of a bruise just below.
“I’ve had worse,” she says, waving one hand up at me but not tilting her head away. As she does, I spot the raw graze on the palm of her hand and quickly catch her wrist with my other hand. Her palm is red raw and dotted with blood, little stones and gravel embedded into it.
“Shit.”
“What, you’ve never had a graze before?” She finally pulls herself out of my hold, her cheeks flushed from the attack. “I’llbe fine. Thank you, though. For stepping in. And for getting my bag back. There’s so much important shit in there, you have no idea.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I reply, watching her attempt to brush the dirt from her clothes. Each swipe of her hands amplifies the unsteadiness of her footing, which I’m confident is due to her drinking and not the attack. “Come with me.”
