Page 4 of Criminally Yours

As the verbal sparring continued, Millie scrunched smaller.

Her trembling, sweating fingers made it impossible to unlock her phone. Hugo looked like a guy who’d corner you in a bar and not take no for an answer.

“I’m going to end your fucking life,” Hugo spluttered at the stranger as a streetlight flickered on.

Millie flipped her phone into video mode. She gripped it tightly to stop the image from blurring and shaking.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears, like when she dived under water too quickly.

She pressed herself against the wall, willing the clench in her gut to release.

Suddenly, Hugo grabbed the other guy’s head, pulled it forward, and then smacked it against the wall. The man dropped to the ground.

Millie froze.

Sweat covered her palms, and she wiped them down her jeans while the phone, still filming, wobbled in her hand.

Wooziness made her body twitch as she scrabbled for her purse, which was stuck in a tight gap between the edge of thedumpster and a wall. She crawled forward. As her fingers brushed the soft leather, she pushed it farther away.

She held her breath as she stretched and twisted, contorting her body into the tiny space.

At a grunt sound, her stare whipped back to the fight.

Hugo held up a knife.

It glinted in the sun as his hands shook.

“I’m the lesser of two evils,” Hugo snarled as he plunged the knife into the chest of the screaming man.

Millie gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late.

Hugo’s head snapped around.

Even at this distance, his eyes were like black beads against the white pallor of his sweaty skin. He wiped spittle off his face with the back of his hand as he stared in her direction.

Her pounding heart threatened to split her ribcage as she glanced at her purse, which she still couldn’t reach. Her muscles tensed as sweat beaded her forehead.

Fight or flight.

She bolted from behind the bin, away from the sound of Hugo’s shouts. A glance behind her convinced her the man on the ground needed serious medical attention.

As she ran, her fingers hit 999 on her phone. She stuttered brief details as she gasped for air.

“What’s your name?” the control centre man asked.

“Come to Drilden Street now. A man’s been stabbed,” she screeched before hanging up. She sprinted, ducking between groups of people and jumping around strangers.

Tower blocks closed in on her. Shouts sounded. Smoke clogged her throat as she passed revellers taking drags from cigarettes outside pubs.

The underground station was so close.

Millie dashed across the road.

Car horns blasted, and she dodged a cyclist, who raised their fist at her.

The fitness she’d gained from the drills she did with her best friend when they were teenagers had served her well as she’d grown up. It was almost like he was in her head, telling her to speed up, as the shouts behind her continued.

She barrelled down the underground stairs, managing to pay via her mobile at the barriers.