Just a City Boy (Midnight Train Series) Read online

  Just a City Boy

  A New Adult Novel

  By V. L. Holt

  All rights reserved. Copyright © 2014

  By Victoria L. Holt

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  The names, characters, locations, and incidents are amalgams of the author’s imagination and have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The locations were obviously loosely based on the actual city of Detroit with creative license in changing street names and the like.

  An ORIGINAL work of Victoria L. Holt,

  Also known as V. L. Holt

  Just a City Boy

  2014 by V. L. Holt

  [email protected]

  Find the author on Twitter @RiseoftheBattle

  VLHolt-Author on Facebook

  Cover design by Navy House Designs

  Copyright © 2014 by Becca Henrie

  https://www.facebook.com/navyhousedesigns

  Dedication

  To Aspiring Writers! You never know until you try.

  #NaNoWriMo

  Chapter One

  "Come on, come on," the mugger mumbled at me, looking around for the police, holding a gun shaky in one hand and making that c'mere gesture with his other. I could only see his eyes because of the ski mask. They were a steely dark color, impossible to determine as gray or brown in the low light at Grand Circus Park Station. This stop was freshly constructed, but nobody used the People Mover anymore, and frankly, I didn't know what this clown was worried about.

  I hadn't seen a cop all night. Or anyone else for that matter.

  I was a little scared. But my instincts weren’t giving me any alarm bells for some reason. It was 11:39 at night, (I knew this because I had just looked at my phone), and I was coming off my shift at Lazy Eye's Diner, a double shift because Marjory had called in sick, (again), my feet were throbbing and I just wanted to sit on the train and zone out for a while. I didn't want to go home yet, though, and this fruitcake looked like he was going to make that happen for me. Either he was going to kill me, rape me, or rob me, and any of those options were most definitely not going to end with me at home in front of my cheap television eating Moo Goo Gai Pan out of a box. It was going to be the morgue, the hospital or the police station. I tried to calm him down. He might be about to make my day, but I wanted it on my terms.

  "What do y’all want, Sugar?" I asked him in my best Southern drawl. I hoped my racing heart wouldn’t make my voice shaky.

  I was raised in the South for the first half of my life, and I could pour on the honey-accent at will. I kept talking to keep him off balance.

  "Because my phone is about two seasons old. I got 43 bucks in tips, mostly quarters and ones, and one of my molars is gold," I told him. I was scared, but I was also tired, and the more I talked to this guy the more I became amused rather than frightened. "So ya want the tooth? 'Cuz Sugar, that is the only thing of value I got with me," I told him. "Unless you got a pair of pliers though, you're gonna have to settle for the 43 bucks," I looked down in my big purse. "What about coin wrappers? You got any coin wrappers? This purse weighs about a thousand pounds."

  Mugger slowly lowered his gun, a .22 pistol that my daddy would have used as a toothpick, and stared at me.

  "What the hell, lady?" He said. He shook his head, stuffed his pistol behind his back and peeled off his ski mask.

  I gasped. My mugger was the most handsome man I'd ever seen in my life. And crap. He was definitely going to kill me, now that I’d seen his face.

  My adrenaline spiked in that moment and every detail of his appearance came into hyper focus.

  His eyes were gray with black specks. His hair was chocolaty brown. He had a couple days’ worth of shaving to catch up on, a strong jaw, beautiful teeth and a great build. Really? A mugger this hot? Who knew? He stood in an aggressive posture, shoulders forward, and arms at the ready, legs shoulder-width apart. He wore black denim jeans, black sneakers, black turtleneck, and black leather coat. Obviously he’d dressed for the occasion.

  I could smell his sweat mixed with his soap…was that Irish Spring? It had the tang of bar soap, as opposed to the fruity bouquet of a shower gel.

  My risky commentary had knocked him off guard for a moment, but how long would that last? I had my mace, of course. And my “insurance.” But he’d have to be a real idiot not to know that that was what I was reaching for as soon as I put my hand in my purse.

  With adrenaline flowing freely through my veins, I found myself maximizing breaths and charting a getaway route. I balanced on the balls of my feet, forgetting my earlier fatigue. My legs were slightly spread so that I could spring in any direction. My purse really was heavy. I could easily use it as a weapon. I discreetly hefted its weight on my arm and tried to judge how much force I would require to swing it in an arc that would disable Mugger.

  The Mugger ran his hands through his hair and then squeezed his own head at the temples.

  “What the f…” he stopped himself from finishing his sentence.

  If ever there was a moment to run like hell, it was right now. But I still stood there. He reminded me of someone, and I couldn’t quite tear my eyes away.

  I bounced a little on my toes. I could run. I could even drop my purse. Another 43 dollars wasn’t going to make a hill of beans worth of difference compared to what I owed the landlord and my credit cards. Plus, he’d probably bend over to pick it up, and that would buy me another good thirty seconds away from violent crime.

  But I still stood there. His behavior was so reminiscent…

  He appeared to be breathing deeply and counting, since his lips were moving. But his eyes were shut tight.

  Yeah, this would be my signal to get the crap out of Dodge. I took a quiet step backward. He didn’t make a move.

  The train was supposed to be here any minute. I took another step back. When it looked like he wasn’t going to chase me, I pivoted on my foot and began running down the cement walkway. I was headed for the stairs and civilization about a block from here. I had to pass some crappy dilapidated buildings and Harry the Homeless guy, but he was harmless. My bag bounced awkwardly against my side; I hadn’t dropped it after all. Hey, 43 bucks was 43 bucks.

  I rounded the railing to hit the steps, when I ran into three big guys wearing gang colors. What the frick was this? 80 ways for Lauren Beckers to die tonight?

  “Hey baby,” one of the guys said while the others laughed.

  Tonight was getting crappier and crappier, excuse my French. I swallowed. My mouth was dry, my heart was racing, and my extremities were freezing cold as my body sent warm oxygenated blood to my innards, in case I got stabbed or shot or eaten by a dinosaur. My brain didn’t really know the difference, but it knew what the heck to do. I just had to work with it.

  My ice cold hand gripped the railing and I measured my breaths.

  I would not be able to outrun these three men. I might be able to outsmart them though, and thanks to my daddy, I would definitely be able to outgun them.

  I hated violence, dammit.

  “Hey yourself,” I said to the outspoken one. I lifted my chin a little. Never let them see fear.

  One of them whistled low and melodic.

  “Got us a live one, tonight,” he said.

  “I already outran one mugger. You boys better make your peace and catch the train,” I said, forcing my voice to sound steady and firm. I could both hear and feel the train roaring toward our stop.


  One of the guys grabbed my arm.

  “Don’t be like that, baby,” the biggest one said.

  I kept my grip steady on the metal railing. My peripheral vision was extra keen. Oh. My. Word. Mugger was approaching us.

  “Pretty boy,” I said, deepening my voice. “Get your hand off my arm, or you will have a hole the size of the Detroit-Windsor in your gut,” I told him.

  He actually removed his arm.

  “What, you packin’ heat?” he asked in disbelief.

  Right then Mugger came up to me.

  “What’s goin’ on, honey? These boys aren’t bothering you, are they?” he asked me.

  All four of us stared at him like he had two heads. I realized I better go along with it, though. This might be a smarter move than what I had planned, which involved a little parkour, a little purse ninja, and perfect timing in order to clear the railing and get out of their reach fast. Or my Plan B, which involved a lot of slippery blood and guts. Not mine, of course.

  I cleared my throat and turned my gaze back at them. They squinted at us, probably doing a threat assessment. The train screeched to a halt.

  It was time to decide.

  Train?

  Run?

  Shoot?

  Mugger decided for me. He took my arm, almost exactly where the guy had grabbed it earlier. “Let’s go, hon. It’s late,” he said.

  I looked at the guys. Their aggressive stance had relaxed just a little. A small group of people were getting off, just enough to be inconvenient for the gang bangers.

  Mugger pulled-pushed me simply by the pressure he put on my arm, and I tripped along with him as he broke through the few people like a wedge.

  We got on; slid into seats facing the door we’d just entered, and watched the gang. They hung back, rather than get on.

  I counted myself the luckiest girl this side of the Mississippi and noticed the hand that had been clenching the railing in a death grip was still in a fist. Both my hands were like ice and I couldn’t feel my toes. It was September, so a little nippy, but not enough to cause my hands and feet to be so cold that they were almost numb.

  Then I began shaking and my teeth began chattering and I looked at Mugger and almost started crying.

  “I c-c-c-can’t s-s-s-stop-p-p…” I couldn’t even finish my sentence.

  Mugger pulled my head to his chest with strong arms.

  “Shh. You’re in shock. Want to go to the hospital?” he asked me, his voice full of concern.

  I closed my eyes and let his arms hold me to his warm chest. Now the smell of sweat, soap and leather assaulted my nose. I concentrated on breathing in and out. I seemed to be shaking from the very core of me. I hated the out of control feeling that was gripping me. It reminded me of that night I found…I shuddered. No. I shut out that memory right away and thought of him asking did I want to go to the hospital. A couple more breaths and I was going to be okay.

  After a couple minutes, I had to laugh a little bit.

  “Ha, the hospital. I figured you were going to be the reason I ended up at the hospital tonight,” I told him with less chattering.

  I felt him stiffen up beneath my head.

  He said a bad word.

  “Do you want to go or not?” he finally asked again.

  “No,” I said. I allowed myself one more deep breath, and then sat up. My head was clearing; my heart rate was slowing.

  “I think I’m going to be okay,” I said. I scooted a bit away from his solid thigh. “Um. Thanks, I guess,” I said. I looked at his reflection across from me. He had a stern expression, but he shifted in his seat.

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  I figured that out already.

  Chapter Two

  About an hour ago, Zack Daniels had only a couple problems, not the least of which was where he was going to find a ski mask.

  Now he stared at her reflection in the People Mover glass. God, but she was beautiful. Wild brown curls went every which way around her petite face. She had hazel eyes and the palest skin. He would have thought she’d be more tan, coming from the South. Judging by her accent, he placed her as Texan or Oklahoman. He couldn’t quite tell yet because she hadn’t spoken enough.

  He wanted to hear her talk more. All night. Into the morning. He was a dumb ass. First time he ever tried to mug someone and he ended up ‘rescuing’ her instead. He’d be lucky if she didn’t call the cops on him.

  He put his head against the glass and closed his eyes.

  She was going to be okay. She’d calmed herself down in a few short minutes. The gangbangers had him tied up in knots too. They weren’t playing, and if they ever saw him again on their turf, he would get drawn and quartered, he didn’t doubt it.

  Well, just put that neighborhood on the list of places he didn’t want to go to, including home. He didn’t want to go home. Couldn’t go home. He’d beaten the crap out of his roommate, stolen his gun and ran off, deciding to rob somebody and use their credit card to make a single purchase.

  He’d chosen Grand Circus Park Station because he knew it was going to be deserted, even though it was brand spanking new. He’d chosen his mark easily enough. She was the only person around.

  He’d not let himself admire her figure, especially her hair and her shapely legs. He saw the big purse, and hoped the credit card would get the job done. Then she’d gone off on that rant, and her accent and her smell had done him in.

  Now he had more problems. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t make his big purchase. Mickey Cobras were probably going to order a hit on him. And he felt responsible for getting this Scarlett O’Hara home safe.

  He felt the headache coming on again, the adrenaline rush of the night easing and taking the analgesic effect with it. He put his head into his hands and began reciting the digits of pi. It had to work until he could find a drug store and get some Advils.

  Chapter Three

  I watched my reluctant hero put his head between his hands. He was messed up, there was no question. My mama always told me to stay away from strays and crazies, but I never listened.

  Granted, this one found me, but still. I wondered what to do now. I was riding the midnight train through Detroit, away from work, toward home, but I didn’t want to go.

  It wasn’t just the Moo Goo Gai Pan I was avoiding. But I didn’t want to think about it. I also found myself inexplicably drawn to the Mugger.

  By all rights, I should have called 911 as soon as we got on the train. I could have pretended to be calling my mama in Texas, he’d never know she was long passed, and hopefully the operator would get the message that I was a girl in trouble. But was I? Mugger hadn’t made a single move toward me since he held me briefly so I could get it together.

  Now he looked like he belonged on the train. Permanently. He rocked a little, and it sounded like he was mumbling.

  Maybe he was the one that needed a hospital? I wondered just how crazy he was. Tried to mug me. Tried to save me. Now he was trying to ignore me…or possibly the voices in his head?

  Mama always told me I talked too much. I expect she was right.

  “You okay mister?” I finally asked him.

  I saw his shoulders move, like he was taking a deep breath, then he sat up.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “You want to go to the hospital?” I asked him.

  He shot me a look.

  “What?” I said. “You don’t look like you’re doing that well, to be honest. Makes no difference to me,” I said with a sniff, and opened my bag.

  He no longer frightened me. I could get my phone out now and get this guy put in jail by the next stop. But I didn’t feel the need. I figured saving me from gang rape was redemption enough.

  I still had a problem though. I’d made up my mind. I was not going home. I was going anywhere but home.

  I wondered what was going on in this guy’s life that had him mugging an innocent woman one moment, hauling her butt out of trouble the next.
r />   I took a deep breath. My mama was about to roll in her grave.

  “Wanna go out for coffee?” I asked him. I was refreshing my red lipstick while I looked in my compact. I was a Southern girl, after all. We don’t leave the house without full hair, full makeup. That includes riding the late train to anywhere after a double shift at a greasy spoon. There was no help for the hair, but I could put a spot of blusher on while I was at it.

  I angled my compact just so, so I could make sure I was hitting my cheekbones just right.

  “Now who needs to go to the mental hospital?” My strange train buddy asked.

  “What?” I echoed his earlier question.

  “Who puts on makeup after getting mugged at a train station?” he asked me with folded eyebrows.

  I made a kissy face at him.

  “I do, Doll,” I said, snapping my compact shut and stowing my cosmetics away in my bag.

  “What’s with all the ‘dolls’ and ‘sugars’?” he asked.

  “You’re just full of questions, Mugger,” I told him.

  I didn’t look at him, but rather dug through my big bag, reorganizing its copious contents. Put the mace in a side pocket. Makeup boxes in the cosmetic bag. Started crunching up receipts that would go in the trash receptacle once I got off the train. Found three pens and put them in their slots. Caressed my box of ammo. All was as it should be.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Yes what?” I said back.

  “Yes, I’ll get coffee with you,” he said.

  I smiled at him, my first of the night.

  “Great. I know a place,” I said.

  We got off three stops from my home. It was said that the People Mover only used ten percent of its capacity. It showed. There was barely anyone else on the train or boarding the train.

  We walked together, mindlessly matching steps.

  “You cold?” the Mugger asked me.

  “No sir,” I said, watching my words form a cloud in the darkness around me. “My jacket is fine,” I said. And it was.

  “What about you? You cold?” I asked him, because it seemed like the polite thing to ask.