Free The Token 7: Thorn (A Token Novel) by Marata Eros

with you at a later date.”
    She doesn't answer.
    He turns to me.
    “Who are you?” I ask.
    He smiles, and it's genuine. It makes my primal alarm system sing like a canary.
    “They call me Shepard.”
    That's so bizarre it's poetic.
    He lifts an eyebrow, and I return the favor. “Thorn.”
    Shepard opens his mouth and laughs, throwing back his head. “That's precious, really.”
    “Why?” I ask.
    His smile vanishes like sunlight behind a storm cloud.
    “Why the moniker?” he asks.
    I nod.
    Fancy mouth to go with his fancy duds.
    “I tend my flock.” He speaks to me, but his eyes are all for Simone.
    I don't like where this creep is looking. I move in front of her.
    He frowns. “You are named for something that has beauty.”
    I shake my head.
    “Thorn makes things bleed.”
    The unspoken warning lies between us.
    “Touché,” he answers softly.
    With a searching look, he turns on his heel and walks out.
    The very room breathes easier without him around.
    A new complication.
    I turn around to get some damn answers from Simone.
    She's gone.
    Kiki and I look at each other and she shakes her head.
    Simone has disappeared like a ghost.
    One thing's for sure: She haunts me.

12
    Simone
     
    I'm running again. Tears burn my eyes as I hold them open against the wind as I jog.
    I reach the door, jam my key into the entrance of my apartment, and swing that first door open. It opens easily and closes softly behind me.
    My heels clatter on the six steps to my apartment door.
    It's off the hinges, scattered like a wooden sheet of paper on the floor.
    I survey the mess while flipping my small baton, letting my keys succumb to gravity as I swing the fob forward of my body.
    Without a door, it’s easier to enter without worrying about a bad guy hiding behind it.
    I hear a noise and recognize it for what it is: a drawer being tossed.
    My heels are left behind.
    I pad bare-footed across a minefield of dumped knick knacks, silverware, broken glass, and kitchen debris.
    I use stealth that is learned, holding hands out for balance as though walking a tightrope. I'm on the balls of my feet, and they swivel as I assure my footing on the carpeted hallway.
    The escape routes are behind me. It fills me with unease. Two exits are always better than one.
    I close my eyes. Small noises alert me I have one, maybe two intruders.
    I open my eyes and weave down the hall like a dancer entering the stage.
    The bathroom door is to my right, and I hear makeup and bottles being shifted. Someone is rummaging through my things.
    My heart thumps, blood rushing like a river of noise inside my ears.
    I swallow.
    I blink slowly again, steeling myself to do what needs to be done.
    Straight ahead is the tiny bedroom that houses more than my escape duffel.
    Another man is there.
    It's not Shep. He never does his own dirty work.
    I move to the frame of the bathroom doorway. The space between that door and the bedroom is three meters.
    I won't be able to surprise them both, but I can't have bad guy number one behind me. That's just bad form.
    I turn in a half circle, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror as I move in behind him.
    His eyes widen in the reflection. I strike him at the back of the neck with a precise tap that is as deliberate as it is forceful.
    I'm too small to catch him and make it quiet. Besides, his lack of tearing through my crap will alert bad guy number two.
    Too late.
    I spin out of the bathroom as number one falls in a loud heap of garbage on linoleum.
    Bad guy number two is already moving to meet my dance steps.
    At this level of thug, gender means nothing. He assesses me as a threat.
    As he should.
    He strikes me hard. I block with my left arm, but it still glances off my chest. The blow numbs me from forearm to wrist, but I jab my six-inch solid steel baton into his Adam's apple, crushing his esophagus.
    He tries to howl, but I've made that impossible. He's a gasping fish without breath.
    I move in. I let the keychain fall as I palm