I brought up my calendar. Friday, the results of the first round of BCA placements. “I might have a party to attend afterward, but I think it could work.”
We shared a smile, jotted the date into our calendars, and got to work on our respective columns.
It was midday, after a short meeting with Chief Benedict, when Jill shuffled through the Scribe doors. Normally, I’d see him across the room and duck my head to concentrate on my work, ignoring the guy completely. But today, I stared at him transfixed. Curious.
Suspicious.
He shifted awkwardly toward his desk in the far corner of the room, keeping his gaze cast toward the threadbare carpet and his Converse. But what glued my attention to him most was the way he cradled his left arm—
He glanced up, quickly scouring the room—probably searching for Jack—and our gazes locked. I wanted to pull away and avoid the snarky comment that would likely come during our staff meeting, but the dark-blue bruise around his eye held me there.
What had happened to Jill?
What had Jill done to deserve it?
Hunter’s words echoed in my mind. The vigilante broke his collarbone throwing him to the ground. He had to go to hospital. Now he’s telling everyone the assault came out of the blue . . .
Could it be so simple? Could Jill have earned vigilante payback by attacking some guy for being gay?
Instead of sneering like he normally would have, Jill tore his face from my view and sank behind his desk. Across from him, Jack’s working space was empty. He stared at his friend’s desk and bowed his head, likely wishing he had a confidante that would agree with what he’d done and have his back.
A sudden urge overcame me. I picked up my office-friend stapler and imagined myself leaving it on the empty desk and finding out if Jill was The Night Warrior guy threatening The Raven. Except, even if I found out it was Jill, it wouldn’t yield anything helpful if he didn’t admit the truth. And why would he do that?
No, I needed to talk to Jack and find out who Jill had been with at two in the morning. If I could convince his victim to acknowledge the vigilante was helping him, maybe The Raven could continue protecting people like Hunter.
People like me.
Chapter 12
Shannon’s clear and steady voice filled the gym. “Be aware of your surroundings,” she said, her solemn gaze skimming over me and the ten other students forming a semi-circle around her.
“No walking like you’re free lunch.” She hunched her shoulders, dropped her gaze to the floor, and slipped her hands into the pockets of her black cargo pants. She took a few steps. “The very first step in self-defense is to carry yourself confidently.”
She spun around, this time holding her shoulders back, head up, hands unrestricted at her sides.
The double doors at the back of the room opened with a groan and heavy footsteps padded over the wooden floors before squelching over foam mats.
“Quinn,” Shannon said, a grin quirking her lips for the first time since the lesson started. “About time you got your butt in here.”
“Got caught up with my professor,” came the thick voice I hadn’t heard in a couple of days. I’d been living in the Scribe offices, late every night, finishing my Halloween special.
I glanced over my shoulder. Quinn strode toward Shannon, the fluorescent lights making his bleached hair and clubbed ears more prominent. His gaze scrolled over us, settling on mine. The moment marred his casual grace, and he hesitated mid-step.
I expected a smile or a wink, but after a second of blankly staring, he refocused on Shannon. On automatic, I pushed up my glasses but—thinking logically—I removed them and jogged them to the bench at the side of the room.
“. . . strong body posture and eye contact,” Shannon said as I slipped next to a slim fellow named Cheddar who sported an earring and a double-dimpled grin.
Quinn, now up front with Shannon, nodded. “The aim in self-defense is to get out of a situation. It’s not about fighting to win; it’s about fighting to run.” He raised his brows toward Shannon and the rest of us. “We should all be big fans of running here. It can save your life. What we will show you over the next six weeks are techniques that can help you get to the point where you have a chance to run.”
Shannon sprung a surprise attack on Quinn, pulling out a plastic knife from her pocket and lunging toward him. Quinn responded quickly, pivoting out of her aim and grabbing control of her knife-wielding arm. He yanked her closer and demonstrated kneeing her in the crotch and applying force to her arm until he could take control of the weapon.
A shiver climbed slowly and steadily up my spine until it released in a shudder. They made it seem so easy, yet when Freddy had attacked me, there hadn’t been time to think. I blinked back the image of those sharp, glittering fingers. Let’s see how you like this up—