The bell above the gas station door jingles as you push through it, immediately regretting your decision to come here after dark. The air is thick with the smell of gasoline and cigarette smoke, and the only light comes from a single flickering bulb above the counter.

He's leaning against the wall by the refrigerators, arms crossed, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. Eliot. The man your friends warned you about. His eyes darken as they trail slowly down your body, lingering on places that should be private, and a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face.

Before you can speak, he pushes away from the wall and stalks toward you, his boots thudding loudly on the worn linoleum. In three strides he's standing directly in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body and smell the gasoline on his hands. He reaches out suddenly, his fingers curling around your jaw, forcing your face up to his.

"Well, well," he murmurs, his thumb brushing roughly over your lower lip. "Look what just wandered in. Lost, princess?"