"Excuse me."

The voice is light, female, and practically glides across the space between them, and it makes his hands want to curl into fists because it's the worst possible time for someone to come. The Rider screams in his head, urging him to hurry up and go, to paint the streets with sinners' blood.

He hears those two words from customers and strangers he bumps into all the time, and it never fails to put him on edge. How could it not, when those same words are scrawled across the dip of his collarbone, right under the name of the person he's supposedly meant for?

Whoever they are, they'd want nothing to do with him if they ever found out about the other guy.

Securing the door that's hiding the Charger, he turns to see the speaker. Her hands are stuffed in her pockets, her shoulders drawn in like she's trying to protect herself, but there's a precision in her step as she comes closer and a feeling of unease hanging in the air that frays his nerves.

"The yard's closing," he tells her, walking towards her and she freezes in her tracks. "To sell a junker, you can call the number on the gate-"

"Oh, no, I'm not here for that," she says, and maybe it's his paranoia talking, but there's definitely a double meaning there, and he doesn't like it. "I, uh, sorry, what's your name?" she asks, clearly thrown off by something.

"Robbie," he answers, a little impatiently.

"Robbie," she repeats. "That short for anything?"

"That really important right now?"

She crosses one foot over the other, a distinct unease in her expression. He just stares at her, and she's forced to laugh the awkwardness off.

"Well, Robbie, I am looking for a guy with a sweet black '69 Charger," she says, "Maybe he bought some parts here?"

She's following The Rider? It's not that it hasn't happened before, but he's always dealt with it. This time, something feels off.

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell," he says, blatantly lying to her face, but if she doesn't leave soon, he has a feeling she'd become dangerous real quick. "I only work nights once a week."

"Oh, well, maybe I'll-I'll come back in the morning. Thank you." She gives him a look he can only describe as apprehensive as she turns on her heel to leave.

Shit. No, that would be worse, with all his co-workers around- The Rider shrieks for him to leave, but he grits his teeth and says, "Or, there's a book of sales you can flip through in the main office. Not really an office, more like a trailer-" He's rambling now, "I can show you."

She turns back around. "That would be great, thank you."

He turns, feeling uneasy about turning his back on her, but what choice does he have? Glancing back at her, he's she's started following his lead.

She doesn't look like too much of a threat: short, thin frame, dark hair, and big brown eyes that would be disarming if it weren't for the lethal coolness behind them.

But, they say knowledge is power, and it feels like she has far too much of that.

She catches up to him just as they reach the office. "That's it there," he says, pointing. She smiles and starts walking ahead.

"What did you say your name was?" he asks, hoping, praying that she doesn't say the same name that's been burned into his mind since he turned to eighteen,

"I didn't," she answers, and he waits for her to tell him, but she doesn't. That does absolutely nothing for his nerves.

"Do you live around here?" he tries.

"No, but I used to-"

Lie, The Rider hisses.

"-I'm just in town for a few days, soaking up the sun."

"Strange place to spend your vacation," he says, tightening his grip on his keys, and they rattle. She slows down a bit, then comes to a full stop as he says, "Not a great neighborhood."

She stops and turns to face him, dismay on her features, already anticipating him trying something, her gaze flicking down to the keys in his hand."

Just his luck that he would meet and have to kill his soulmate at the same time, he thinks, if that's who she is, as he throws the first punch.

It never lands. She throws out a hand, and a force hurls him backwards into an old van covered in graffiti.

What the hell?

He off and picks up a nearby piece of long scrap metal. It goes up in flames, and he sees the shock on her face as he says, "So, you got the devil inside you too."

Good to know.

Her face sets in determination, and she charges towards him as he swings his makeshift weapon.

She's nothing like he expected, meeting him blow for blow, blasting the flaming metal out of his hands. It lands in the dry grass and goes up too.

She's definitely not normal, the way she moves just as fast as him, the way her punches actually land, the way she manages to throw him to the ground.

If she's his soulmate, what a deadly pair they'd make, that is, if they weren't trying to kill each other at this very moment.

Somehow, that seems only fitting.

He gets to his feet, but she throws out a hand, and that same unnatural force pins him to a heavy steel shelf.

Her hand, still pulsing with same force, lays flat on his chest, and he wants to laugh, thinking about how his mark is just under her fingers, separated only by a few layers of clothing, but even with those layers, her touch sends electric shocks where her fingers graze the dark letters. Instead, he snarls at her."You shouldn't have gotten involved."

"Serial killers always complain when we try to intervene," she counters.

"I only kill asesinos who deserve it," he snaps. "It's vengeance, chica."

"For what?" she hisses. "You killed a detective."

He can't help but grin. Someone's done research, but clearly not enough. "But he had blood on his hands."

Her fist flies through the air, slicing open his cheekbone, and even in all the heat and fire and sweat, he can feel warm blood trickling down his face.

"A teacher!" she shouts.

"A pedophile!" he fires back. Lashing out, he escapes her grasp, but she swings her leg up and her foot lands squarely in ribs, sending him into the shelf and toppling it.

"You don't get to decide who deserves to die," she says.

The Rider is hissing inside him, wanting to take control, and he knows that if he doesn't let it, his problem could get worse. Looking up at her, he can feel his eyes turning to embers. "I'm not the one who decides."

And then he changes, feels the fire taking over, the need for revenge, and sees the shock in her eyes.

And then The Rider takes over, and Robbie Reyes is nothing more than a passenger.

It sends her sprawling with one blow, and knocks over a shelf, threatening to crush her. Her hands fly up, and the shelf and its contents vibrate in midair. The Rider kneels down next to her, and she glares up at it.

It expects her to beg, to plead for mercy, but there's a very different reaction instead.

"Do it," she gasps, "I deserve it."

The Rider cocks its head at her, searching her soul.

It sees an unnecessarily cloudy conscience, and a young woman who puts all the blame on herself regardless, which is irritating and rather unreliable.

"Do it," she urges it.

She isn't guilty, not really, and she isn't a sinner. As far as it can see, she's just a girl in the throes of grieving.

She isn't worth killing.

Unless they have more proof, that is.

No point. Besides, there's no way she'll come back after this. No one is that stupid.

The Rider stands up and walks away, leaving her there. In the time it takes for her to roll aside, narrowly miss being crushed and regain her bearings, it's already in the Charger and drives off, melting back into Robbie Reyes, leaving him to wonder what the hell just happened.

Later, when he gets home and Gabe is asleep, his mark is still tingling.

This is definitely a problem.

Robbie.

His name is Robbie.

She can only think of two names that would have that nickname, and she definitely doesn't want it to be one of them.

Upon further investigation/hacking, to her chagrin, she finds out the last name too and wants to throw her laptop against a wall.

Goddamnit.

Just her luck that the guy who murders people in the street and has a flaming skull.

She can hear it now.

"How did you two meet?"

"Well, we sort of tried to kill each other."

Jesus Christ, what else is the universe going to chuck at her?

She must have touched the mark at some point during their fight because her hand feels like it's fallen asleep, all pins and needles, which is odd enough, but it's been doing this ever since they fought, and that was hours ago.

This is definitely a problem.