The silence on the corner was brittle, held together only by the mounting pressure of Theron's presence. Mark, whose bravado was usually fueled by intimidation and the physical size difference between himself and Sierra, looked suddenly small. His hand was still clamped around Sierra's bicep, but it had turned into a desperate, white-knuckled grip rather than a show of strength.
Theron didn't repeat his question. He didn't have to. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his weight balanced, looking less like a bodyguard and more like a predator deciding which part of his prey to bite first.
"You again," Mark stammered, his voice jumping an octave as he tried to regain some semblance of control, "Listen, this is private business! She's my girlfriend. Get lost before I…"
"One," Theron interrupted. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, which made it infinitely more terrifying than a shout.
