Chapter 14
Aurora
When I push open Red Bird’s front door, the rush of air-conditioning shocks my overheated system.
The bar is quiet at this hour, with just a few regulars nursing drinks in dark corners.
Behind the bar, Carlie, with her messy blond mom bun and overly mascaraed eyes, stops mid-pour, her mouth hanging open at the sight of me.
Lindsey and Rachel freeze in their prep work, their eyes wide.
“I’m safe! I’m back!” My voice echoes too loudly in the almost empty space. Even to my own ears, I sound manic.
Nick emerges from the back office, black hair still greased back, clipboard in hand. His eyes go from bored to shocked to hard in the span of three seconds.
“You’re fired.”
The words pummel me like physical blows. I sway on my feet, bare toes curling against the sticky floor.
“Whaaaa?” That’s all I can manage as my brain refuses to process his response. Not what I expected. Not after what I’ve been through.
Nick sets his clipboard down with deliberate care, avoiding my eyes by peering down at his hairy knuckles. “You can’t just walk out of a shift.”
Surely he’s kidding. “I didn’t walk out. I was kidnapped while taking out the trash!” My hands tremble at my sides, fingers clutching the heels I still haven’t put back on.
Everyone gawks.
The handful of customers, the staff, even the ancient bartender who usually doesn’t notice anything beyond his bottles. Their gazes rove over my tangled hair, my bare feet, the stained maid outfit, the wild look I know is in my eyes.
Announcing my abduction was the wrong move. Based on their faces, they’d be more likely to believe I was doing shots with flying monkeys. I should have kept quiet, but I can’t let Nick fire me.
I need my paychecks.
Nick scans me over with the clinical detachment of someone assessing damaged goods.
His gaze lingers on the maid outfit, now wrinkled beyond salvation, dark stains still visible despite my scrubbing attempts in Alexei’s bathroom.
“Mm-hmm. You walked out. Just because you didn’t want to take out the trash. ”
“What? No. I love taking out the trash.” The hysteria builds in my chest and climbs up my throat. The absurdity of defending my trash-taking abilities while my life crumbles around me isn’t lost on me. “That’s what I was doing when I was kidnapped. There was a murder…”
My voice trails off once I realize how insane I sound. The bar has gone completely silent, everyone watching this train wreck also known as “my life now” unfold. Even the ice machine seems to be holding its breath.
I’m losing ground. Losing my job. Losing my freaking mind.
“Nick.” With conscious effort, I manage to steady my voice. “I’m serious. Last night, when I took out the trash, I found these two guys fighting in the alley. One of them shot the other right in front of me. Then he grabbed me, tied me up, took me to his place…”
Nick has the audacity to scoff. Carlie’s eyes bulge, and Lindsey whispers something to Rachel.
So much for having each other’s backs.
My heart hammers against my ribs. This isn’t working. No one believes me. I’m stuck in a living nightmare, the kind where you’re screaming but no sound comes out. Where you’re running but your legs move like molasses.
I grab Nick’s arm, fingers grasping the sleeve of his button-down shirt. “Let me show you. Please.”
I don’t wait for his response. I march toward the back of the bar and past the restrooms, Nick reluctantly following in my wake. Punching the exit bar on the back door, I fling it open toward the alley.
“Right there! Look!” I point to the spot where Benny’s body fell, where his blood pooled, where his dead eyes stared up at the night sky.
Nothing.
The alley stretches before us, unremarkable and empty. No body. No blood. No evidence that a man died here mere hours ago.
Nick peers outside, glances around, then shakes his head. “I’m going to need the costume back, Bailey.”
The alley is clean. Spotless. Not even a cigarette butt remains where Benny crumpled.
“It was right here.” My mind reels. “He shot him right here.”
Nick sighs, his patience visibly thinning just like the hairline on his head. He scans the outfit, lip curled in distaste. “Not sure what you did in that maid getup, but I’m gonna need it cleaned.”
His unjust assumption snaps something inside me. “Not sure what I did in it? I’ll tell you what I did in it. I was kidnapped in it!”
Nick just stares at me, unmoved. Do I see even a hint of concern in his eyes? Of course not. Only judgment. He thinks I’m lying. Assumes I went home with someone, got wasted, ruined my “uniform,” and now I’m spinning wild tales to cover my ass.
He doesn’t believe that I witnessed a murder or know I fled down a fire escape and ran barefoot through the city, terrified for my life.
“You can pick up your last check next Friday.” He heads back inside, leaving me alone in the alley.
I stare at the clean concrete where Benny died, struggling to reconcile what I know with what I’m seeing. Did I imagine everything? The gunshot. The blood. Alexei’s hands on me.
I rub wrists still sore from the zip ties.
Not a dream, then. Not a hallucination.
Just a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
The door clicks shut behind me, the sound final and irrevocable. I’m alone. Unemployed, in a bloodstained maid costume, with no phone and no credibility.
I spin around, scanning the alley again.
There has to be some piece of evidence. Some trace.
I move forward on tender feet, ignoring the bite of gravel against my soles.
It happened right here. I can still see the tableau in my mind…
dropping the trash bags, struggling with Benny, the sudden crack of the shot, the spray of warm liquid across my face…
My fingers trace the brick wall near where Benny’s body slumped. Nothing. No smear or stain. Just pristine concrete, swept clean of alley debris. Too clean. Unnaturally clean. Even with the heat, the realization chills my spine. Whoever Alexei called to remove the body sanitized the entire scene.
Professionals. The kind who know how to erase a murder.
I crouch down, inspecting the ground inch by inch. A murder happened here. A man died. His blood pooled on this concrete. Surely they missed at least some small detail. A microscopic trace. A modicum of evidence proving that I’m not crazy.
Nothing. I find absolutely nothing.
Hot, sour panic rises in my throat. I need somewhere safe to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.
Home. My tiny studio apartment in Northalsted. It’s not much, but it’s mine. A door I can lock, walls I can hide behind, clean clothes I can change into. After I’ve had a chance to come up with a plan, I’ll call Samantha and check on her.
To warn her, maybe, though what would I even say? “Hey sis, I witnessed a Russian mobster kill a guy last night. Then he kidnapped me, but I escaped, and now I’m afraid they’re all after me, and you by extension, so watch your back.”
She’d think I was crazy.
After making one last stop inside the bar to get my cell phone and purse out of the employee locker, I start walking, my bare feet finding the smoothest and coolest path on the scorching sidewalk. Home. It’s the only place I can go. The only refuge I have left.
The five-story walk-up to my apartment has never felt longer. Each concrete step hurts my bare feet, and my shoulders sag from a combination of exhaustion, fear, and knowledge of my unemployment. I just want the safety of my own four walls, no matter how small or shabby.
Another hot shower. Clean clothes. Time to breathe, to think, to figure out how to navigate the nightmare my life has become. My hand trembles as I fit the key into the lock, the metal scraping against metal before catching.
One turn, and I’m home.
Safe.
The door swings open too easily, like it was barely latched. A warning bell chimes in my head, but I’m already barreling inside and switching on the light. The bulb flickers once, twice, then floods my tiny studio with harsh fluorescent brightness.
I go still, every muscle in my body freezing.
My home is gone.
In its place, I find a war zone.