KHAOS

Chapter 2

Audrey

The least you can do for a homeless guy when he saves your life is buy him a meal.

I'm still a little shaken when we stumble into the nearest diner open at such an ungodly hour but not so shaken that the stranger has to help me stand.

That would be way too embarrassing.

Even so, I slide into one of the many open booths, fighting back the tears that threaten to escape. The stranger hovers over me, silent and...well, strange.

"Aren't you going to sit?" I ask, scrubbing at my no-doubt red eyes with my fingertips.

I feel him take the seat opposite me. His knees knock against mine. He doesn't say a word.

I take a deep breath, recognition making me close my eyes and open them again.

He's huge. Not bulky and overly-muscular. Just tall and...wide. His dark hair looks like it's only just growing back after he'd cut it all off. The fact that his hair is so short draws attention to eyes so dark they could be black but are probably chocolate. I want to say he's handsome, but there's something about his features that makes him look...slightly off. Just short of perfect. I don't know if it's the way his nose is slightly crooked – broken in the past, no doubt – or how his lips are pulled tight into a grimace, as if it's painful to even be sitting with me.

The T-shirt he's wearing might have been white once upon a time, but the dirt and blood stains that cover it make that hard to believe.

I catch sight of tattoos crawling their way up his neck – Bible verses – and when he sees me looking at those, his eyes bore into mine, as if daring me to say something.

"I've seen you on TV," comes out my mouth once I've averted my eyes. "You were in that cult. The one led by that ex-marine-turned-religious-fanatic? Yeah."

Silence.

"It doesn't matter. I don't care." I probably should. Even so, I let out a weak laugh, resting my arms on the table. "You saved my life. You didn't have to do it, but you did. So thank you."

It feels like a small victory when he gives me a slight nod.

"Hi, there! Welcome to Darryl's Burgers." The waitress pops up out of nowhere, pen and notepad in hand. "What can I get you two?"

Her eyes slide over to the stranger and I know the exact moment she recognizes him, because she takes a significant step backwards, mouth agape.

"Isn't he..." Her voice trails off and she shakes her head, clearing her throat loudly. "I'm sorry," she directs at me, voice firm. "Is he bothering you?"

Bitch.

"He saved my life," I reply with a bite, reading her nametag. Hailey. "So could you get me your largest cheeseburger and fries? And a glass of water. Make that two glasses."

She blinks at me before turning her attention to the stranger, who has yet to even acknowledge her presence. No, his eyes are still on me. I can feel them.

"I apologize, sir," says Hailey, scribbling on her paper. She's clearly waiting for any reaction from the man, but when it's obvious that she isn't going to get one anytime soon, she gives me a small smile before turning and walking away with my order.

Leaving me alone with the stranger.

His eyes aren't on me anymore. No, they're closed. I wonder if he's fallen asleep. I wonder if the news got it right about him and the other former members of that religious group. If the evil things they said their leader did are true. If the things this man did are true.

If they are, you need him.

"Do you sleep on the streets?" I ask, and his eyes slowly open.

So...not asleep.

He gives me an imperceptible nod.

"You didn't get any money?" I want to know.

He shakes his head.

Nothing? From the government? From do-gooders? Sympathizers? Tabloids? What's the protocol for victims like this?

"How do they expect you to live when you've never been outside that cult before?"

I sound incredulous, and in truth, I am. The world is unfair and everyone gets served a pile of shit at some point in life. But what happens when that warm dog shit is all you've ever known? You shouldn't be expected to continue expecting it.

"One cheeseburger and fries," Hailey's singsong voice comes from above me, "and two glasses of ice-cold water."

She sets the burger down in front of me before placing one glass next to it and one in front of the stranger.

"The food's for him," I mumble, pushing the plate over to the man.

His eyes meet mine.

"It's yours," I tell him, while Hailey places the cutlery beside the plate.

"Enjoy your meal," she says when she's done.

I take a sip of the water once she's left. The stranger still hasn't touched his food. Steam rises from the mound of thick, golden fries and tall burger. But he doesn't touch it. Doesn't even look at it. Because he's looking at me.

"It's yours," I repeat, and now I'm beginning to think he might not be all that okay in the head. "Eat."

"I have no money."

"But you can speak," I murmur, committing the sound of his deep, monotonous voice to memory. I get the feeling I won't be hearing it that often.

His brow furrows. "Of course, I can." He sounds insulted.

You just choose not to.

"Well, I want you to eat," I say. "Please."

"But," he begins, "I have no money."

"It's okay. I'm buying. Consider it a You-saved-my-life-and-I-want-to-thank-you meal."

Again, that piercing stare. "You sure?"

"Positive."

His gaze dips down to the plate of food. Without another word, he digs in, forgoing the use of the fork and knife Hailey put on the table.

Actually, that would be an understatement. He plows into it.

Pain. That's what I feel when I watch him eat. It's obvious that this is the first hot meal he's had in forever. His hands are shaking each time he brings the burger to his mouth and takes a large bite out of it.

Normally, I'm not such a bleeding heart but watching this is making my heart sink. So I look away, afraid to make this even more awkward. Or make him feel embarrassed.

The next time I look his way, he's cleared his plate and downed his water.

"Listen, here's the deal," I start, leaning forward. "I have an empty room in my apartment. It's yours if you help me out."

There's a smudge of tomato sauce on one corner of the man's mouth. He frowns at me.

I decide to be as honest as I can afford to be. "There's...someone out there who wants to...hurt me. If he ever finds me" – I take a deep breath – "I don't want to face him alone."

Him, and his army.

"Hurt you?" The stranger's voice is rough.

"Yes. So, would you like the room?"

"I have no money."

I huff out a breath. "I'm just going to assume that that's your strange way of saying yes."

And because he says nothing, I just assume I'm right.