Fight or Flight Read Online Free PDF Page A

display of light and shadows across her face. Raindrops streaked down her cheeks and tiny nose, dripping from the slightly curved end. Her dark hair was plastered across much of her face, but between the saturated strands, pale eyes peered out at him, still wide with fear and rimmed by dark circles, so hypnotizing that, for a moment, he forgot everything else. Then a car sped by, splashing them with a nearby puddle and he snapped back to reality.
    “Let me see.” His fingers brushed over her jaw and down toward her throat, which he could already see was ringed with dark bruises.
    That nut-job hadn’t been playing around. Before he even registered the feel of her soft, smooth skin under his fingertips she recoiled almost violently, pulling her shoulders up around her ears and shrinking back away from him.
    “I’m not going to hurt you.” He’d just saved her for crying out loud. What did she think?
    “I know . . . I just . . . I . . .”
    So it was him then. She didn’t want the poor, dirty vagabond touching her.
    “Fine.” It came out angrier than he’d intended, but it didn’t matter. He really wasn’t there to make friends. “Are you coming or not?”
    She nodded, looking almost ashamed. Why wouldn’t she be, accepting aid from a nameless vagrant like him? They walked in silence, a voice in the back of his mind nagging him the entire way. Exposing your squat to someone you barely knew was a bad idea. It was a stupid idea, but he seemed to be having a lot of those since she’d turned up.

 
     
    Chapter Six
     
     
    Emerson
     
    Ahead of her, Emerson’s rescuer moved along city street after city street efficiently, never once checking to make sure she was still following him. He didn’t say a word the entire way, so she kept her mouth shut against all of the questions begging to be asked. Like why he’d saved her, or where they were going.  She just followed quietly, and took stock of the man—boy?—in front of her. He couldn’t be much older than her—a year, two at most—even though he towered over her.
    Emerson’s line of sight leveled somewhere around his shoulder blades. And what shoulder blades they were, broad and muscular judging by the way his sopping wet shirt clung to them, as well as the powerful arms below. Cold, wet drops hung from the dark curls just above his collar before sliding down his back towards his . . . Okay, stop right there.
    His silence bothered her, as did the tight line to his jaw. She could tell that her earlier reaction had insulted him and she wanted to apologize—to explain—but how did you explain the aversion to being touched. By anyone. It just wasn’t normal.
    Her boots were practically lead weights and squelched with every step by the time the businesses and store fronts gave way to a series of brownstone style apartments, eventually leading to a ramshackle neighborhood of rundown and dilapidated houses. As they moved farther and farther from the well-to-do section of city blocks, the roads and sidewalks grew worse , as well. Here they were riddled with cracks and potholes, some so large it looked like it would take a tank to cross them.
    Emerson wiped away some of the water pouring into her eyes and peered through the deluge at some of the structures as they passed. Most had seen better days a long, long time ago. Several were caving in on themselves and a few lots were occupied by nothing more than a pile of rubble. She wondered idly if anyone actually called this dreary place home. Then they came to a sudden stop outside of yellowish house, and she realized . . . he did.
    It was yellow- ish because most of the paint had peeled off, revealing the sodden, splintering wood underneath. The front steps, which had collapsed entirely on one side, led to an equally questionable-looking porch.
    “This is it.” It was the first time he’d spoken to her in almost twenty minutes and she was surprised to detect a note of embarrassment in his voice.
    She didn’t