Chapter Eight
Blake had never liked tourists. They were loud and obnoxious. Most of them reeked of sweat, too much food, and a nervous excitement that made him want to hunt them. Didn’t they realize they smelled like prey when they acted like that? There were also their flashing cameras to take into account. He hated those too.
“Why are we dressing like tourists again?” he asked Bree.
“Because we want to blend in.”
“We already blend in. We look just like every other New Yorker.”
“Exactly,” she laughed, “and most people who live here don’t go touring the Empire State Building.”
“It’s going to be almost dark anyway.”
“That’s an even better reason to look like lost tourists.”
“I don’t want to wear this. I hate I love New York t-shirts,” Blake said holding up the shirt.
“We’re all wea
