Page 7 of Pretty Little Shadow
Dare's grin was wide as I stalked to the tiny half-door that separated the bar from the rest of the brewery. His hand brushed my hip casually as I walked past him, leading him outside. My gaze was trained straight ahead, and I refused to make eye contact with anyone we passed.
That eye contact would be particularly uncomfortable.
"The black Ducati is mine," he said.
"You can't actually think I'm getting on a motorcycle with you," I whispered, my gaze cutting to the many people around us. They would follow us to wherever we went. I'd seen the Scorch Tracker. I knew it was accurate. There was photographic evidence.
"Do you have a better idea?"
I checked out the buildings around us and silently went over what I knew about them. "How fast can you run?"
He snorted.
I glared over my shoulder.
"Oh, damn. You're serious. Uh, I'd say I'm an average runner."
Slow, then.
He was probably too gigantic to be fast.
I plucked the beers from his hands. "Follow me."
Tucking the bottles beneath one of my arms, I took off toward the largest building nearby.
Shouts and exclamations followed us as Dare sputtered a laugh, jogging after me. He was faster than I expected, so I picked up the pace, streaking behind one of the buildings.
We ran the length of it, and disappeared into the alley. When I gestured for him to go up a ladder hanging off the side, he lifted an eyebrow.
"People follow you everywhere.Go." I waved him up it.
He went up.
"This might be the weirdest night of my life," he called over his shoulder.
"Are you insulting me after forcing me to have a drink with you?" I called after him, following him up the ladder.
"No. That was a compliment."
"Didn't sound like one."
I crested the top of the building and breezed past the ginormous male fae.
Darius followed me behind the back of a large, lettered sign and up another ladder, until we were on the roof of the brewery. I plopped down, sitting with my back to a large air conditioner. Without a beat of hesitation, Darius sat next to me.
"What do you mean, people follow me?" he asked.
"There's a tracking website."
"No, there's not."
I wordlessly pulled it up on my phone, then handed it over to him. His eyes widened as he scrolled through his last few days, looking at the pictures and videos taken of him at his barista job, at bars, and even on a neighborhood stroll with his friend, Liv.
"Holy fuck. How did you find this?"
"It's common knowledge." I plucked the phone out of his hand and deleted the tab, though I automatically itched to open the website again.
I'd been following him way too closely.
