They Owned the Night

chapter four: "it's business casual"

I was not someone who believed in fate. Not to be pessimistic, but the idea that there were forces in this world pushing and pulling people together seemed too grand, too whimsical. Life was stupid and often shitty, and I thought that things just happened and that was it, that everybody lived and died by sheer coincidences and that there was no particular reason for anything. And that was okay; I was content with constantly seeing where everything fell into place. It made the world an easy place to understand.

But then there was August. 

Once again standing before me in the library, a force to be reckoned with, and it didn't feel at all like plain happenstance. Nothing about him was coincidental. He was less of a boy and more of a hurricane, and I did not know if I was ready to weather such a storm.

"You can't just throw books," I said, moving to collect the novel that he had carelessly cast aside. August slid in front of me to stop me from going any further, making me bounce off his chest. The chain that he always wore around his neck hung before me. For a moment, I was mesmerized by its shine.

"Ruby," he sighed, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I jolted back into focus. "You and I both know that I'm not here to discuss books. I just wanted to get you somewhere we could talk a bit privately."

"Any damages that you make will be charged to your card and have to be paid within 30 days, or else you risk suspension—"

"Ruby!" August exclaimed, "Please stop talking." 

I stuck my tongue out at him.

Even under the fluorescent lights, he still managed to look wickedly handsome. But I thought once more of all the piles and piles of money sitting out in my van, and had the suddenly sensation of wandering into some sort of trap. August Sandoval was not the type of person to be trusted. And yet here we were, alone.

I racked my brain for options out of this situation. August was a formidable opponent, tall and broad and unnerving. I contemplated clocking him over the head with a book, but didn't think I'd be able to reach. The only weapon that I had on hand was a plastic fork from lunch still stuffed into my pocket. I felt out the dulled tips of the prongs. There was still some crusted food on it, but it would have to do. Pulling it out, I abruptly stabbed it into August's arm without a second thought. 

"Ow," August said, wrestling the fork from my hand and snapping it in half in one fluid motion. He idly examined the marks it left embedded into his skin. "What the fuck, Ruby."

But I had already used the distraction to wriggle past him, fleeing back towards the steps. I had made up my mind: I would call the police and explain what happened, how I had found the money and met August on accident and suddenly seemed to be a part of something I didn't belong to. It would all be fine; I would be fine. 

Or so I thought. One second I was running, in another I was tripping. August had stuck his foot out and caught it on my ankle. I skidded across the ground, skinning my knees against the carpet as I somersaulted into a bookshelf. The shelf wobbled overhead, threatening to tip over and suffocate me under a mountain of encyclopedias, before August appeared and steadied it. He looked down at me on the ground is disdain. 

"I really didn't want this to be difficult, princess," he said, kneeling beside me.  

I shuffled away from him and groaned, examining the blood leaking from the scrape on my leg. "Well gee, I'm sorry I'm making it so difficult for you to murder me. I'll make it easier next time, I promise."

August snorted, rolling his eyes. "Christ, I'm not here to murder you." Grabbing me by the elbows, he hauled me to my feet, pausing to look me up and down. I tried to ignore the way his hands felt as they rested on me. His eyes lingered on my fresh wounds. "Mind if I take a look at those cuts—"