Page 5 of Dark Wishes (Dark Contract #2)

Selena

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The path from the front door curves like a snake up to a gate.

It’s a mini duplicate of what he drove his car through.

I take the opportunity to scan his front yard; the grass is lush, he must have a gardener because I can’t picture him keeping up with the work.

There are a few fig trees lining the property.

Massive hedges rise high enough to block my view of the neighbors on either side.

At the gate, he taps the buttons on a playing-card size digital pad. He holds it open, allowing me onto the sidewalk. “Thanks,” I say, sidling around him with as wide of a berth as possible.

The street has a stillness to it. The rows of arched lamps aren’t lit yet, but the moment is on the horizon as the hour crawls towards 7.

Every driveway we pass has a gate like Jamison’s; there aren’t any vehicles parked on the skinny street.

I bet there’s a local law against street parking here. Typical rich jerk behavior.

Jamison’s eyes flick side to side, surveying everything around. Am I crazy, or is he searching for something? A car honks; he cranes his neck to look. Nope. Not crazy. But what could he be looking for?

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

Jamison focuses on me fully. “Just on the lookout for any cops.”

“You think they’re actively hunting me?” Unease rolls up my spine as I scan the sidewalks.

“If you’re a suspect, then every cop in the city has your photo right now. They don’t need a warrant to drag you in, either. Just a petty arrest they can make up on the spot.”

My tongue tastes like ash. I wipe it over my lips, drying them out instead of moistening them. “No jaywalking, got it.”

He nods in an exaggerated way. His body presses me to the inside of the sidewalk, placing him closest to the street. His hands remain deep in his pockets. To an outsider, we look like a couple on an evening stroll.

“You live here long?” I ask.

“A while.”

What a non-answer. Frowning, I gaze down at the crop of buildings coming into view at the base of the hill.

The height we’re at creates a lovely view of the distant Getty Villa, as well as the winding mess of highways.

The traffic is light on the hill, but the two-lane row below is glowing with headlights.

“Everyone must be getting home from work.”

“There’s always congestion at this intersection,” he says in an annoyed tone. His shoulders are pushed higher, eyes narrowed; he’s getting more irritated. Why, though? At the base of the street, he ushers me to one side. “Here, this is the pharmacy.”

I let him nudge me through the glass doors as they slide apart. The Walgreens is cool, the AC turned on too high. I’m boiling with nervous heat so I’m thankful.

Jamison tails me through the store. There are too many aisles here, all of them packed with products, but I stay on target. “This should work,” I say, thumbing over the boxes of silver toner. I look up, noticing he’s not paying attention to me—his eyes are focused on the end of the aisle.

I turn, expecting to see... something, but it’s empty.

“You’re done?” he asks gruffly.

“Yeah.” I tap the box in my palm. “Let’s get out of here, you’re making me really paranoid.”

“You should be paranoid.” Jamison flips around, striding up the aisle to the front checkout. Eyeing his broad back, I approach the register. There’s someone already buying something; I glance at the array of candy and other spontaneous purchase items.

Next to the Reeses and KitKats are some tiny packages. Of course, every good pharmacy keeps condoms up front. I make a face at the boxes with their purple and gold letters. I can’t believe how close Jamison and I came to hooking up.

“Next!” The clerk, a young black woman with kind eyes and purple braces, motions me forward. I put the toner on the counter; she flicks her eyes down. “That’s all? You don’t need anything else?”

“Huh?” I ask stupidly. She’s moved on to grinning at Jamison. My face begins to sizzle—she saw me eyeing the condoms. “Oh, no,” I babble, “you’ve got it all wrong!”

She shrugs, ringing me up. “I didn’t say anything. I was just making sure you didn’t forget anything you might want.”

“I don’t want that,” I say with a stern frown.

Jamison chuckles in the depths of his throat. My heart thumps wilder; I pay for the toner, grabbing it so quick I almost drop it before stuffing it in my backpack. The lady calls out some sort of pleasant farewell, but I’m too focused on getting out of the store to listen.

The doors split apart for me as I cross the welcome mat.

Outside, the sun is gone. Lights from every window of the busy area keep the world easy to see.

I’m expecting Jamison on my tail, but when I turn, he isn’t there.

Weird. What’s he doing? I start to head back inside, but Jamison half-runs towards me, and I jump back, thinking he might make contact.

“What’s that face for?” he asks.

I wave at the glass doors. “What were you doing in there?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You didn’t follow me out.”

“Of course I did. I’m here.” He stares at me like I’m an idiot.

“No,” I scowl, poking his arm, “you were in there longer than me.”

His grin is all teeth. “Counting the seconds we’re apart? And I thought you were getting sick of my hovering.”

Flustered by his teasing, I march up the sidewalk, back towards the steep hill.

Jamison follows at my side, his shadow stretching long across the street.

The top of its shape brushes the yellow painted lines.

Occasionally a car drives past, the headlights erasing his shadow.

But it always returns. Blacker and sharper than before, the rising moon giving it power.

I watch how it sweeps along the asphalt; that’s easier than looking at him. Jamison is too quick with his comebacks... too flirty. Our kitchen encounter has emboldened him.

We’re halfway up the hill when my calves begin to cramp. My pace slows down considerably. Jamison, noticing he’s a few steps ahead, stops to wait. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” I pant.

His grin boils my blood. “You were the one who said you wanted to get some fresh air.”

“I did. I’m fine,” I insist.

My breathing is heavy; it blocks out the noise around me. The low rumble of the cars at the bottom of the hill vanishes away. All I can do is focus on Jamison’s infuriating smug face as I force my tired legs to reach him. His lips drag down at the corners. The humor in his eyes seeps away.

A warning tickles the base of my skull; I turn, seeing a figure approaching me rapidly from behind. I don’t get a good look at his face, but the switchblade in his fist is as bright as a star in the sky.

“Give me your backpack,” he snarls. “Do it right now, got it?”

My body turns to clay—a hundred thoughts hit at once. I have ten grand in here. I can’t hand that over! Dammit, why didn’t I leave my backpack at the house? I only needed my wallet. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I clutch my backpack protectively. “No, I can’t!”

The man’s face contorts like a balloon deflating, the shape constricting, pinching his features. He adjusts the blade, preparing to lurch at me.

Black leather fills my vision like a massive dragon spreading its wings. Jamison sweeps me against his side; I cling to his arm on impulse. He wraps his fingers around my shoulder, the other arm extending towards the mugger.

The man flinches, his eyes bulging at this new development. The terror in his face is out of place—Jamison is big, sure, but this guy has a knife. What’s he so scared of?

Then I see the metal shimmering under the light pollution of the city.

Jamison has a gun.

Snarling like a jaguar about to rip out the throat of its prey, Jamison aims the weapon at our attacker’s forehead. “Turn and run, now. This is your only warning.”

Our would-be-mugger lingers where he is.

Maybe out of fear or maybe debating if he can take Jamison down.

Ultimately, he holds up his hands in defeat, backing away with a frustrated scowl.

“Fuck, man! Alright, alright!” After another two steps he twists, sprinting down the sidewalk until I can’t see him anymore.

Jamison doesn’t lower the handgun. He’s motionless, gazing into the distance. He isn’t debating shooting the man in the back; our mugger is long gone. No, he’s seeing something else... something I don’t.

Guarding me like he expects an army to march from the shadows.

Searching the darkness all around, my body tenses, waiting for another attack. But it doesn’t come. There’s only him, me, and the rolling traffic lights below.

A dog barks inside a house up on the hill. “Jamison?” I whisper.

He drops his arm, tucking the gun inside his jacket. His full attention shifts to me, both his hands cupping my cheeks while he searches my face. “Are you alright?”

There’s no doubting the genuine concern in his eyes. Something softens in my chest—a warmth I want to ignore. The easiest way... is to ask the question burning on my tongue. “What happened to your knife?”

He’s back to that blank mask he’s so fond of. “Why does it matter what I used to defend you?” he asks, releasing my face.

“We were just walking a few blocks.” I’m trying to make sense of what the hell just happened, but my adrenaline is still peaking, my head hot as an oven. “Why would you think you needed a gun? For the cops? Please don’t tell me you were planning to shoot one of them if they tried to arrest me.”

Jamison starts up the hill. “Let’s go back to my house.”

“I just—I'm trying to understand what just happened!”

“What happened was what I warned you about,” he seethes. “I said this walk was a bad idea. You insisted. Now you want to argue about my methods.”

“No, no, I mean... I haven’t seen you with a gun—other than mine, when you took it from me.” What am I arguing for? My head is splitting apart.

In my daze, I let him take my hand. He tugs me across the sidewalk, back the way we came. It’s the same path to his house but it feels different now. “I can’t believe I almost got mugged,” I blurt, laughing awkwardly.

Jamison glances back at me, then ahead again. “Desperate times make people do desperate things.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

His steps stutter—did he trip on an uneven patch of the sidewalk? “It would be humiliating if someone like that could take me down.”

I look over my shoulder at the lights of the city. Everything appears darker now... more muted, like someone poured a bowl of grease over the world. The adrenaline has faded; my insides still tremble.

That was scary. Really fucking scary.

How naive have I been, to have lived so long thinking I’d know when I was in danger? All this time, egging myself on to face the things that could harm me... blissfully unaware that someone could choose, on their own, to hurt me without a heads up, with nothing but an urge to get some cash.

I’d be dead if Jamison wasn’t here. My fingers wrap tighter in his.

After a moment, he squeezes back.