Collin's eyes were dark, a storm brewing beneath the surface, but the moment he got a clear look at the man's face, his hold around the stranger's neck loosened.
The man staggered forward, struggling to keep his balance. His body swayed as though the ground beneath him would not stay still. He stumbled twice before collapsing to his knees, palms scraping against the rough pavement. The sharp scent of alcohol hung thick in the air, unmistakable and overpowering.
It was then that Collin realized the truth. The figure who had been tailing him through the dimly lit streets was not a trained watcher or hired threat. He was merely a drunk who had chosen the wrong person to follow.
"Give me money," the man slurred, his voice hoarse and desperate, as if he had not nearly lost his breath moments ago.
