Chapter 4
Aurora
“Take out the trash from the front bar, will ya?” Nick’s mouth brushes my ear as he issues the instruction. My body responds with a nauseated tremor. “There are two bags.”
Like I’m not already dealing with enough trash in this place, boss included. At least this type of garbage I can haul out.
The bachelor party in the back has entered that sloppy, destructive phase of inebriation where glasses get knocked over and napkins become confetti.
Thankfully, after the mysterious stranger who never shared his name threatened Mr. Handsy and kissed me like he owned me, no one in that group has given me any problems.
If I wasn’t aware of all the disgusting slop that went into the trash, I’d poke through the bags before tossing them. Broken beer bottles create perfect curves, which can add an extra dimension to my mosaic artwork.
“Right now?” I ask.
“No, next week. Yes, right now.”
He tosses me the back door key on its coiled plastic bracelet.
I bite down my snarky reply and slip the bracelet over my wrist. The money in my pocket crinkles as I move. After that exorbitant tip, nothing can bring me down tonight. Six hundred dollars from one customer.
I wonder if the intense, sinfully hot tipper who acted like he could read my mind will return. Unsettling or not, I wouldn’t say no to another kiss. I squirm just thinking about it and find myself scanning the crowd, searching for a pair of broad shoulders and predatory grace.
No luck. The man’s long gone, and I doubt he’s coming back. I might as well take out the trash.
In the staff area, I dig through the supplies for industrial-strength rubber gloves that extend past my elbow. After a memorable incident involving broken glass and a mysterious foul-smelling liquid, I can’t be too careful.
The two bags stuffed under the front bar bulge at the seams. I hoist one in each hand, stopping at the exit to unlock the door before nudging it open with my hip. After the sweltering heat inside, Chicago’s summer night air provides relief.
But the sight of two men in the alley freezes my blood.
The incredibly hot stranger who kissed me has murder in his steely blue eyes. And he’s facing off with a second man who’s holding a gun.
Wait, they both have guns.
My brain catches up with the scene. I know the other guy. Benny Parker. A regular at Red Bird’s since his release from prison.
Holy shit.
Time for me to get the hell out of here.
When I drop the trash bags, they hit the concrete with a clatter. I scurry backward and collide with the door, which slams shut behind me. The metallic clang echoes through the alley. I fumble for the key around the thick rubber glove before yanking the bracelet off.
Both heads snap toward me.
Recognition flares in Hot Guy’s eyes.
In that split second of distraction, Benny charges me. “Give me that key!”
Without conscious thought, I sink to all fours. Rough concrete scrapes my bare knees.
Benny lunges. When his foot catches on a bag, he pitches forward, sprawling across the dirty alley while trash spills free.
We collide in a tangle of limbs, his weight crushing the air from my lungs.
“Give it to me!” He tugs at my arm, digging his fingers into my wrists as he attempts to pry my hands open.
“I don’t have the key, Benny. You made me drop it!”
The bracelet’s lost in the mess he created when he tripped.
In my peripheral, Hot Guy lurches toward us just before a cold object pushes against my temple.
“Either put your gun away, or I’ll put a bullet in her brain.”
Benny’s threat chills me. His hand trembles, but I don’t dare move. I can barely suck air into my collapsing lungs.
Without saying a word, Hot Guy trains his gun on Benny. A humorless smile curves his lips.
“Take your hands off her or lose them. Your choice.” The stranger’s threat to the handsy customer resurfaces in my mind.
In this moment, I understand with a cold certainty that he wasn’t bluffing.
No wonder Benny’s terrified.
“I mean it!” Benny wraps his free arm around me, sour breath steaming my neck. “I’ll kill her and won’t think twice.”
Hot guy and I lock gazes. A beat passes. Then another. An indecipherable emotion flickers in his eyes. Indecision? Calculation?
He lowers the weapon.
A streak of hot anger pulses through me. Do these assholes actually believe I’m just going to give up and die? Or worse, be used as their bargaining chip?
Un-freaking-believable.
Still sitting in the pile of garbage, I elbow Benny in the gut. He grunts, unleashing a string of almost unintelligible curses. The gun at my temple wobbles. I grab the hand holding the weapon and manage to wrench it away from my head.
More curses follow.
Breaking free from my captor’s grasp, I dive and roll. Benny scrambles after me, clawing at my neck with his free hand. He clutches a handful of my hair and yanks. A startled cry escapes me as a fiery sting engulfs my skull.
Ignoring the burn, I twist and kick out as viciously as I can from my awkward half-lying, half-sitting position. The heel of my shoe connects with his shin. Benny shrieks, but I don’t let up. I kick out again and miss.
“Sukin syn.” Hot Guy’s closer now, but I’m sort of busy.
My next two kicks strike their target. After the second one, Benny releases my hair.
“Fucking bitch!” He lurches toward me, but I’m already evading.
My heart pounds with fury and fear as adrenaline propels me forward. I army crawl toward the dumpster. If I can just make it there, I’ll call 911. Tell them two guys are threatening me outside of Red Bird’s. Benny wouldn’t dare shoot me then.
As for Hot Guy—
A hand grips my ankles and tugs. “That’s it. I’ve had enough.”
I whip around to find Benny releasing my ankle and training the gun on me. His finger curls around the trigger.
Terror slices through me, rendering me speechless.
I’m going to die in this filthy alley. My sister will be all alone. No family to love and support her. She’ll drop out of college. Never go to med school. I won’t fix her veil with teary eyes on her wedding day.
I’m so sorry, Sam.
There’s a sudden pop, no louder than a wine bottle uncorking.
Hot, wet liquid splashes across my face and neck. A coppery tang permeates the air. Beside me, Benny goes slack, his gun clattering to the concrete. Vacant eyes stare into mine, the life behind them gone.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up as I struggle to process what just happened. I reach for Benny’s gun.
“Chyort vozmi. That didn’t go as planned.”
I blink up through the shock to find Hot Guy towering over us, his own gun raised.
He shot Benny.
He saved me.
Wait.
Why does he have a silencer on his gun?
Did he plan to shoot Benny all along?
“Put the gun down, sweetheart.” All traces of the man who kissed me in the bar vanish, replaced by the markings of a cold, terrifying killer. “It won’t do you any good.”
My breath catches as a chilling realization pummels me.
His gun’s still raised. Only now, he’s aiming at me.