The handsome thug drags me along behind him, and all I can think about is the screaming roar of the gun going off like a volcano eruption and Leo’s chest, sunken and mangled, as he collapsed onto the sand. I think he wanted to say something, but I couldn’t hear it.

I was too busy staring at him, my savior and my captor.

Easily over six feet, lean but still muscular, with an absurdly handsome face, a nose that’s been broken multiple times, and tattoos on his arms. His voice is deep and gruff and I can tell he lied to me when he said he’d kill me, but I believed him anyway.

I don’t know why I’m stumbling along behind this stranger. Maybe it’s because I’m still high from earlier tonight, but I kind of doubt it. I know I’m probably in shock, and there’s some rational part of my brain that’s watching all this happen from a distance, like I was separated from myself as soon as Leo hit the sand, a wet rasping groan escaping his lips.

I know I’m going to see that moment over and over again in my mind. And I’m not sure if I’ll savor it or hate it. Probably a little bit of both.

We hurry along, down streets that are vaguely familiar, as I float along behind my body. I think I know where he’s taking me, but I’m not sure. There aren’t many places a guy like him would live in Avalon. This isn’t the sort of town I come to all that frequently. We’re from a town just next door, Long Beach Island, a little more working class, a little more family-friendly. It was easier there, people were more trusting and not as fast to call the fucking cops. Leo made decent money stealing from people when they left their stuff unguarded, and we’d use that cash to buy all the drugs we need. Things worked that way for a while. It wasn’t exactly good, since nothing was good with that bastard, but it was good enough. Until Leo decided to get into the dealing business, and everything went to hell.

Doesn’t matter now. I just need to breathe, keep breathing. I move along, propelled by the handsome stranger’s huge hand enfolding my own. I want to stop and ask his name but the idea of stopping horrifies me. I don’t know how I was so calm back there or how I managed to try and run away, but I can feel my armor slowly breaking down and the panic seep in at the edges of my mind.

We cut through one of the neighborhoods with wide, meandering streets and stereotypical beach houses. Stones instead of grass line their fronts, although some of the bigger and wealthier have nice, manicured lawns anyway. I used to fantasize about owning one of those houses and mowing that lawn every day. I’d take it so seriously, be so proud of that little patch of grass, if only I could have a slice of paradise. I’d turn my life around, get myself together, forget about all the horrible things that happened to me in the past. If only I could have that house, that grass, it would save me.

But there’s no saving me. I know that. Leo’s sunken chest, his rasping last breath.

“Just this way,” the man grunts. We move across the street to a squat little apartment building. Not exactly what I was thinking, but close enough. We barrel inside, up a flight of stairs, and he produces a key from his pocket to open a door on the top floor.

He slams it shut behind him as we get inside. The place is surprisingly neat. I don’t know why that’s the first thing I notice. There’s a couch, a television, a little table, and a kitchen. Toward the back, down a hall, I’m guessing there’s a bedroom and a bathroom. It’s an apartment like a million others, except this is his.

Small personal touches jump out at me. There’s a Tiki mug on the counter. There are a surprising number of plants. Art hangs on the walls, sparse and spare. There isn’t any of your usual beach-kitsch stuff, no anchors or sandals or seagulls.

I stand in the living room, afraid to move, as he rifles through a drawer in the kitchen. He shoves something into his pocket before looking at me.

“Don’t move,” he says.

“Okay.” I blink as he leaves and heads back into his bedroom.

I hear him rifling through something, opening and shutting drawers. I stand there a second, staring at his living room, and it occurs to me.

I can get away.

So I run. I run to his door, throw it open, my hands shaking. I get out into the hallway and toward the stairs before he comes barreling out after me. I don’t scream as I take the steps two at a time, trying to get away, but he catches me again. He pushes me up against a wall, almost like a lover, his body crushing mine, pinning my wrists down by my sides.

He’s breathing deep and staring into my eyes. I stare back and I realize they’re ocean-blue, flecked with algae green, maybe the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.

“You ran,” he says, breathing deep.

“You let me.”

He stares for a second. “What’s your name?”

I’m surprised by the question. If anyone walks past, they’ll probably think we’re just drunk and making out, or about to make out.

“Kaylee,” I say. “Call me Kay.”

“I’m Julian.”

I don’t know why, but his name makes me cringe. It makes him human, but I want him to stay a monster.

“You can’t keep running, Kay. This isn’t just about me anymore, do you get that?”

I bite my lip, staring back at him. “I don’t know.”

His hands tighten on my wrists, mouth coming close to mine. I think he’s about to kiss me, but instead he whispers in my ear, sending chills down my spine.

“They want you just as much as they want me. If you’re going to stay alive, you can’t run away. Okay?”

He pulls back to look at me. I nod slowly. I don’t know why I believe him, but I do.

“Good,” he says. “I’m going to let you go. We’ll head back upstairs, grab my bag, and leave.”

“Okay, Julian.” His name tastes strange on my tongue.

He gives me a look and just nods. He releases my wrists and I almost wish he wouldn’t. I follow him back upstairs and wait for him in the living room while he collects his things.

Ten minutes later, we leave the apartment. We don’t take his car and he leaves his cellphone behind. I don’t have anything on me except my hoodie, my shorts, my flats, and a pack of gum in my back pocket.