Page 3 of Hunted By the Wolves
She grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair and shoved her phone into the pocket, fingers brushing the edge of the small folding knife she carried everywhere now.It wasn’t much.It wouldn’t stop someone trained or even determined.
But it made her feel less empty-handed, less unprepared.
The café on the corner stayed open all night, and that mattered more than the burnt coffee or the way the waitress watched everyone like they might bolt without paying.Public places felt safer.There were witnesses.Light.Noise that didn’t belong to her.
Riley locked the apartment behind her and took the stairs instead of the elevator, pausing at every landing to listen.Her building smelled like old cooking oil and damp concrete.Someone had left trash bags piled near the exit.She stepped around them carefully, pulse jumping at every rustle.
Outside, the night hit her like a wall.
She kept her head down and her pace steady, the way she’d learned to move when she didn’t want to be noticed.Don’t rush.Don’t hesitate.Act like you belong.
She reached the café and slipped inside, shoulders easing a fraction when the bell over the door chimed.Warmth, light, the low murmur of voices.She chose a corner table with her back to the wall and wrapped her hands around the mug the waitress set down without comment.
Riley stared into the dark surface of the coffee and tried to remember when her life had narrowed down to this.
She worked at a convenience store three nights a week, 1:00 AM to 7:00 AM.The owner paid her under the table and didn’t ask for ID as long as she showed up on time and kept the place from getting robbed.She didn’t talk to the customers.She didn’t linger after her shift.
It wasn’t a future.It was survival.
She took a sip of the coffee and barely tasted it.Her shoulders ached.Her hands were rough from cleaning products and stress.The medic bag she used to carry everywhere sat empty in her apartment, a relic from another life.
She missed helping people.
The door opened again, and Riley flinched before she could stop herself.She forced her gaze back to the table, counting breaths, reminding herself that fear didn’t mean danger.
Still.
The sensation didn’t fade.
She scanned the café’s reflections instead of faces, watching movement in the chrome of the espresso machine, the dark window glass.No one stood out.No one stared.
That didn’t mean anything.
Riley curled her fingers tighter around the mug and wished, not for the first time, that she knew what she’d done to deserve this.All she knew was that her life had been reduced to hiding, and somewhere out there, someone had decided she was worth following.
Her shoulders tensed as the feeling spiked again, sharp and undeniable.
Eyes.
On her.
Riley swallowed hard and kept her head down, telling herself she was safe.
Public place.Light.Witnesses.
She had no idea that she wasn’t wrong.
She was just wrong about who was watching her.
****
Rafe Drake had learnedto tell the difference between patience and restraint.
Patience was a choice.
Restraint was a leash.
Tonight, he felt as if he was wearing both.
