Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
How does someone this luminous end up here?
Axel’s gaze traveled over what he could see: toned legs stretching the threadbare material of his jeans, and his broad chest was hard to miss even under the layers of outerwear.
He immediately found himself wondering what a strong, healthy-ish man in his late thirties, maybe early forties, was doing out here. Axel was never one to judge or assume, but he shivered at the chills under his skin, knowing he was missing something right in front of him.
His fingertips tingled with the pushed energy from this stranger. Axel’s empathic pull was so sharp it winded him. Those eyes, that aura—so alive—they shook Axel to his core.
“What are you staring at? What are you doing in here?” The man’s panicked gaze scanned the tiny space before he pulled his ragged duffel closer to his chest. “I got no money and no drugs. Leave now, or I’ll yell, I swear it.”
“It is the gentle rain that grows flowers…not thunder,” Axel whispered, his gaze locked and lost.
Thick cinnamon-colored brows dipped into an angry scowl. “Get. Out.”
Axel hadn’t noticed the guy had a flathead screwdriver aimed in his direction.
He chuckled at the man’s clear dislike and gestured at the small tool. “You gonna screw me?”
Those striking eyes widened before the stranger doubled down on his threat, shaking the screwdriver harder.
“Look, Mr. Fancy Pants, you’re in the wrong tent if you’re looking to score. Try about six rows over and to the right.”
Axel blinked down at his tux, wondering what this guy saw in him. Oh crap! He remembered his mask and yanked it off his face.
The man’s eyes got even wider, his mouth agape, his breathing uneven.
“Do I look like a drug addict to you?” Axel smiled as warmly as he could, squinting when the man recoiled.
“I’ve seen plenty of rich dicks come to the slums to cop your shit to ensure your snobbish friends don’t see you.”
Hmmm. Axel wasn’t offended or taken aback. He didn’t know what he wanted to accomplish right then, but his spirit was telling him not to leave…yet.
“You can put your weapon down now. I won’t hurt you.” Axel got to his knees, keeping his hands visible. “If that was the plan, I’d have already tried. Not to mention, I can’t even bring myself to step on a cockroach, much less hurt another person, so trust me, you’re safe.”
The man began to lower his tool, but his frown and skepticism stayed rooted in place.
“I’m Axel, a friend of Clarence. Do you know where he is?”
“Why?”
Axel crawled over and unzipped his duffel, showing the stranger the contents.
“Clarence was expecting me. I’m here like twice a week.” Axel pointed to his left. “You can ask Ms. Rhonda next door. She knows me.”
The guy looked him up and down, his intense gaze lingering on his clothes. “Then why have I never seen you?”
“Because you weren’t looking for me,” Axel retorted with all seriousness. “Yet here I am.”
Silence.
“Was Clarence picked up for panhandling again? Probably so,” Axel muttered, continuing to unpack his bag. “Well, if you’re watching his stuff for him, I appreciate it. He’s been robbed more times than I want to remember.”
Silence.
Axel stopped his busy work and stared right back at the stranger who was eyeing him as a gazelle would a lioness. Quiet and still.
“What’s your name? Like I said, I’m Axel. I live a few blocks past Ninth Street.”
The guy scoffed, his top lip curling so high with disgust it got lost in his overgrown mustache.
The terms “Ninth Street” and “wealthy living” were synonymous, and that was where he’d lost his stranger.
No one who lived on Skid Row wanted company from anyone who lived in the lap of luxury.
“Well. I won’t bother you anymore since you’re no longer in the talking mood.”
Axel paused to see if the mysterious tent-sitter would offer up anything.
Nothing? Okay.
Axel wanted to hear that raspy, hesitant voice one last time, or perhaps it was just rusty from lack of use.
Sometimes, Axel wished he had Lincoln’s whip-sharp wit. A gentleman who couldn’t be shaken and had a comeback for whatever was thrown his way.
“If Clarence was picked up again, I’ll go downtown and put some money on his books.”
Axel took the thick Sherpa blanket and extended it in the man’s direction, but the redhead didn’t reach for it.
Last, he stacked the bottles of water and Gatorade in the corner where Clarence stored his rations.
“I’m gonna get going,” he stalled.
He didn’t know why the universe was urging him to stay.
“Speaking of…I’ve never seen you around either. Do you, um…?” Axel didn’t want to ask if the guy had a tent out here or if he stayed elsewhere.
His sad stranger pulled his bags closer to his body.
The man was too cautious, and no matter what Axel said or did, he wasn’t dropping his guard. He had no choice but to ease off or cause irreversible damage. This encounter had been too unexpected, too unique. Axel needed to return later when he had a clearer mind.