𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲

Chapter 44

— Chapter 44 —
Predator

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E L L I O T

I read over Noah's note for the fourth time as I was walking down the streets of Boston the next morning.

Keep the jacket on your shoulders.
Don't open the envelope.
~ N.

The rest of the note was an address scribbled in cursive handwriting.

Noah had left it next to a few belongings on his nightstand while I'd been sleeping. It was the strangest set of instructions I'd ever seen, but I did my best to do as I was told.

By 'the jacket', I assumed Noah was talking about his Stray Dogs one. It was thick and plush on the inside, made of old leather, and marked with patches denoting his prestige on the back.

I still never understood why he felt that I was worthy enough to wear it, but I didn't voice that opinion to him.

The envelope he mentioned was a crisp white color and noticeably thick, but stuck closed so that I couldn't see what was inside. I put it in the inner pocket of Noah's jacket before leaving, careful not to make any sounds that would disturb his sleep.

Tying my hair up in a half-up-half-down style, I'd let the shorter locks of hair frame my forehead and hid it all beneath an inky black baseball cap. My earrings had gotten tangled again, but it didn't take long to get them in order. I had to get out of the habit of forgetting to take them off before bed.

By the time I'd made it to the right suburb, it was early in the afternoon and the sun was blaring up ahead. Downtown Boston. Not the safest place to be in the daytime, much less at night. My resolve to stay out of trouble had spiked tenfold.

This might have been a terrible idea, I thought to myself, realizing that I wasn't at all familiar with the area—much less the people I'd find in it.

There was an itch at the back of my mind that I couldn't scratch. I had no idea what was inside Noah's envelope, and it was making me nervous.

Oh, please don't make me regret this.

His address put me on a long street of markets in a neighborhood that seemed largely rough around the edges. By the docks to the sea, it had people lined up at small tables selling things like fish or jewelry or even spices—but I couldn't help but feel that something was off.

The area smelled like seafood and gas. There was a stall grilling all sorts of meat for sale, plumes of smoke reaching for the clear sky. The people loitering around the place seemed to be from all walks of life—elderly women with crocheted clothing, young kids playing soccer in the street, women and men in piercings and tattoos smoking out amongst the stalls. Some passersby had vests on their backs. Pit Vipers, according to the patches.

I reminded myself, just get Noah's things and go.

While I was walking through the busy market street looking for the right address, the reason for the nervous feeling in my stomach quickly became apparent.

People had been staring.

They weren't trying to hide it, either. Their shameless glares seemed to shoot daggers right into my back.