Free Dissonance by Shira Anthony Page A

Cam. Take care of yourself, okay?”
    Why did Americans insist on being so informal? As if the guy cared at all what happened to him. “You too.” Seemed like the proper response. Bollocks, of course.
    Galen smiled to reveal a set of dimples Cam hadn’t noticed before, then turned and walked back up the platform and disappeared around the corner. Cam shivered and pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck.
    Another train pulled into the station but only slowed down a bit. An express train on the local track. Cam decided Galen was right: he’d be warmer upstairs. More exposed too, but warmer felt like a higher priority. He got to his feet and wrapped his scarf around his neck. That was when he noticed something on the bench at his side.
    A hundred-dollar bill.

Chapter 12

     
     
    “G ET UP !” someone shouted in Cam’s ear.
    Heart pounding, momentarily unsure of where he was, Cam sat bolt upright. The subway platform. Right. When his eyes focused, he saw a half-dozen young men standing around the bench where he’d been sleeping.
    “What do you want?” Cam demanded angrily. They’d scared the shit out of him. Did they think that was funny?
    One of the men—the one standing in front of Cam so he couldn’t get up from the bench—looked at his companions and laughed. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said in a pathetic, mocking attempt at an English accent, “let’s start with any credit cards or cash you have.”
    “Fuck off,” Cam hissed. He’d had enough shit, he didn’t need any more.
    The man hauled Cam to his feet by the collar of his jacket. Cam kneed him in the groin and, in return, got slapped across the face. Bollocks! Where the hell was everyone? It was a Saturday afternoon, for God’s sake.
    “Now are you going to give us what we need, you fucking queen ” — this drew several sniggers from the man’s friends—“or am I going to have to cut you?”
    Cam saw the glint of steel out of the corner of his eye. He knew better than to mess with a knife. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket. Not that the credit cards would do them any good, but his wallet had what was left of his money. The hundred-dollar bill and a handful of change. One of the other men pulled the wallet out of his hand.
    “Gimme the jacket,” the man said after one of his buddies high-fived him. Apparently the gold and platinum credit cards were a good haul.
    Cam hesitated, and for that he got a knee to the gut. He bent over and coughed a few times while one of the men pulled the jacket from his shoulders.
    Fucking hell. It’d be damn cold without that jacket.
    “You got a phone?” one of the other thugs asked as Cam struggled to catch his breath. His gut hurt, and if he’d had anything in his stomach, he might have vomited. Thank heaven for the little things.
    “Of course he’s got a phone,” the first man said. “Hand it over.”
    “No.” He couldn’t give up his phone. Without his phone, he’d have nothing at all. And if Duncan called—
    He won’t call. You know that already. Still, he needed to hold on to the hope that Duncan’s silence was a huge misunderstanding, or he’d be totally lost.
    The second slap hurt more than the first. “Gimme the fuckin’ phone, fag. ” More snorts from the rest of the men.
    “No.”
    One of the other men grabbed Cam by the shoulders and held him upright. And fuck, but his abdomen hurt as they pulled him up! He closed his eyes and waited for the blow he knew was coming, but just at that moment, a train pulled onto the platform. Cam opened his eyes to see the men scatter as some of the riders exited.
    He collapsed onto the bench, near tears. He wouldn’t fucking cry. He wouldn’t. He wrapped his scarf around his neck and took deep breaths until the urge passed. After a few minutes, he slipped one hand into the pocket of his jeans to touch the phone. Thank God. He knew it was mad to have worried about the phone more than himself, but at the time, fighting for it had