16. Camille

I don’t know how long we ran. But by the time we stopped dodging and ducking and backtracking, and all the sounds of pursuits had gone quiet behind us, I was too winded to even call for a halt.

I merely stumbled to a stop and leaned against the building we’d been running beside.

Brick said nothing as he paused next to me and glanced around.

“I think we lost them,” he said, staying alert as I continued to gasp for air.

It was another thirty seconds before I could nod and ask, “Who was that?”

“No idea,” he murmured, keeping his gaze vigilant. “Neighborhood gang, I’d say. They didn’t seem to like outsiders trespassing on their territory and tagging their shit.”

“Oh my God.” I pressed a hand to my heart and panted rapidly. “I thought we were going to die. Do you run into gangs a lot when you’re painting?”

He shrugged. “Occasionally.” Finally glancing at me, he waggled his brows. “Never been caught by one, though.”

“Wow, Brick.” I straightened and shook my head. “That is so dangerou