R A Y V I N
Reaching into my purse for my cell phone with my free hand, the battery was dead. f**k! There was no way for me to get us a ride and from the way I was feeling, I knew that I couldn't get us to where we could get a cab. Damn Saint for being such a gentleman.
Standing aside the restaurant thinking about how to get us back home, a scary-looking man approached us. His eyes were a vivid gold, stark against his thick black hair. He wore it longish, the ends brushing his collar. He had a roman nose that had likely been broken and a razor-thin scar that sliced down across both lips. Yet, that didn’t fit with his expensive clothing: a tailored black coat and dress shirt, dark blue slacks, black leather shoes and belt. His outfit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Raising his
