Chapter 4 #2
I input the last line of code, the one that had been eluding me for months.
Feet stomp closer. Right in front of us.
Sirens sound in the background, getting closer, louder.
A shadow falls over us as an accented voice says, “What do we have here?”
A bearded face with a jagged scar in his eyebrow bends down and meets my eyes.
“Got you,” the Russian man says.
I hit the button.
Everything goes dark.
Someone screams, sharp and startled.
I’m already moving. I haul Marco with one hand and Hannah with the other, ripping us out from under the table. Hands swipe blindly at my legs, fingers grazing my ankles, but I kick free and keep going.
We stumble for half a second, disoriented.
Then we run.
I’ve always had unnervingly good night vision. In the blackout, it saves us. The only light comes from the red emergency EXIT signs glowing high on the walls, steady and ominous. I lock onto them like they’re beacons, leading us to safety and freedom.
Hannah’s hand is clenched in mine, white-knuckled, desperate.
She gives my hand a squeeze, and I squeeze back just as hard.
Needing to feel her, to know she’s there, keeping me calm and focused.
Marco’s arm is trapped in my grip as I drag him along behind us.
I don’t stop to question why I’m bringing him.
This isn’t the time for a morality check.
We slam through the door that leads to the kitchen as gunshots fire over our heads and strike with a sickening thud into the wall next to us. I’m guessing they were fired wildly, without aim. A desperate attempt to stop us.
“Damn Russians,” Marco mutters, ducking low.
We sprint past hulking shapes in the dark. Massive industrial refrigerators, steel counters, stoves where flames still lick at pots left unattended. Sauces boil over, hiss, spill down the metal sides.
I killed the electricity.
Not the gas.
For half a heartbeat, I picture it, the whole block going up in flames, maybe half the city with it, but there’s no time to stop and turn off the burners.
I have one goal right now. Just one.
Keep Hannah safe.
“Down there!” Hannah points to the left. “An exit.”
I swerve, following her directions.
Footsteps pound behind us. The sound of the door to the kitchen being flung open, but we’re already in the hallway that passes by the restaurant’s storerooms, stacked with crates and shelves, straight toward the alley exit.
I shoulder the door open, and we explode into the night, where the sirens wail even louder. We stagger a few steps into the alley, bend forward, hands on our knees, sucking in air like we’ve just broken the surface of deep water.
No time.
I move.
“There,” I gasp, already running toward the large dumpster parked along the wall.
I grab the wheel lock, fumble it open with shaking fingers, then throw my shoulder into the metal side.
“Marco,” I pant. “Help me.”
He’s there instantly, hauling on the opposite edge while I shove. The dumpster screeches as it rolls, metal wheels shrieking against concrete.
“Jesus, it smells,” he says, gagging.
“Pull,” I bark. “Now.”
The door behind us rattles violently. Angry shouting erupts from the other side. A heavy thud slams into the metal.
We wrench the dumpster into place just as the handle on the restaurant door jerks hard.
I slam the wheel locks down.
The door bucks again. Someone fires a gun. The shot cracks through the alley, deafening. We all clap our hands over our ears, ducking instinctively.
The door holds.
For now.
Marco wheels around, eyes wild, lips pulled tight. “Where’s your car?”
“Over here!” Hannah shouts, and she’s gone.
She sprints into the street, moving shockingly fast even in heels.
Marco and I tear after her, lungs burning.
I lose all sense of direction as she takes a series of sharp turns, left, right, another left, until suddenly her battered sedan appears like a miracle.
She skids to a stop and gasps, hands flying to her cheeks. “My keys. My purse. I left them inside.”
Without hesitation, Marco yanks his sleeve over his fist and punches through the driver’s-side window.
The glass shatters with a bright tinkling rain, shards skittering across the pavement.
“Hey!” Hannah protests. “You’re paying me back for that, you asshole!”
Marco doesn’t even look at her. He shoves her gently but firmly aside and slides into the driver’s seat like this is his natural habitat.
I grab Hannah by the waist and hustle her to the passenger side, opening the door and tucking her in before I climb into the back seat directly behind her.
It takes Marco less than five minutes to hotwire the car.
The engine roars to life, and we’re flying down the street.
“Not bad,” I mutter, watching Hannah stare in horror at the tangle of exposed wires dangling beneath the steering wheel.
Marco shrugs, steering one-handed like he was born doing this. “Got my start lifting cars for my uncle. I was fifteen.”
He says it with pride.
Hannah shakes her head slowly, the expression on her face suggesting she’s mentally drafting a very stern lecture for a man she’s never met.
The sound of sirens slowly fades into the distance. After checking the rearview mirror, Marco declares us free and clear. “I don’t see anyone tailing us,” he says.
He drives us to our apartment building without even asking for directions, which freaks me out until I remember that Hannah gave him her address. He was supposed to pick her up tonight.
That seems like a million years ago.
Not wanting him to know the code, I punch it in so the gate lifts and he can drive the car down to our underground garage. I have a moment of panic, thinking he’ll peel out of here. Kidnap Hannah and take her away from me.
Instead, Marco parks neatly between the lines. Even checks the mirrors twice.
We all climb out of the car and just…stand there, blinking at one another under the flickering fluorescent lights of the garage.
“Well,” Marco says at last, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t almost get us killed. “Sorry I ruined your Valentine’s, Hannah.” His gaze slides to me, sharp and assessing. “Although I don’t really get why you’re so upset when you already have a boyfriend.”
Hannah blushes instantly, pink flooding her cheeks as she looks down and scuffs the toe of her heel against the concrete.
I look away, unable to watch her discomfort at the thought of it.
Me, as her boyfriend.
It shouldn’t bother me, but I can’t help but cringe when she stutters out, “Oh, he…uh, Damian, he’s not my boyfriend. We’re, um, neighbors.” She pauses, then says softly, “Friends. Kinda.”
Friends.
That word hits like a punch to the gut.
My head drops to my chest, and my shoulders slump.
“Really?” Marco’s brows lift as he looks between us, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You might wanna rethink that,” he tells Hannah.
Hannah opens her mouth to respond, but he’s already waving it off, far too cheerful for a man with the Russian Mafia actively hunting him.
“Well,” he says, giving us a lazy salute, “I’ll let you two get back to your very neighborly evening.”
He turns to leave, then pauses, his head tilting like a thought just occurred to him.
“Maybe I’ll go apologize to Brenda.” He adds thoughtfully, “I really do like her—”
Hannah’s shoulders soften. A tiny, hopeful smile flickers to life.
“—and she gives the best head.”
The smile vanishes.
The scowl that comes over Hannah’s face is like a thundercloud. “Out,” she snaps, her arm shooting toward the exit. “Get out, Marco, and don’t come back. We never want to see you again.”
Marco grins, utterly unrepentant. He throws me a wink on his way past. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Right before the door swings shut behind him, he tosses over his shoulder, “You know, it’s only ten. There are still a couple of hours of Valentine’s left. You might not want to waste them.”
The door slams shut behind him.
“Hmph,” Hannah mutters. Folding her arms, she glares at the empty space he left behind.
That angry look snaps to me.
“We need to talk.”
My stomach drops to my feet.
Because Hannah—
Hannah’s terrifying when she’s mad.