Chapter 10 #2
Another crash, followed by screams. Roberto grabs my arm, yanking me toward the kitchen. “Move!”
We burst through the swinging doors as the kitchen staff scatter. Woks clatter to the floor, abandoned mid-service. Steam billows from forgotten pots, creating a hazy screen. My heart pounds as I scan for exits.
The back door’s too obvious. They’ll have it covered. Years of investigating trafficking operations taught me that much. These men—criminals, my father’s cleaners, or Remy’s team—they’re professionals. They’ll have every obvious escape route locked down.
“Here!” Roberto yanks open a massive steel door—the walk-in freezer. “Get in!”
“Are you insane? We need to—”
“The investigation matters more than either of us,” he cuts me off. “Those girls, those families—they need the truth exposed. I’ll find another way out, create a distraction.”
Before I can protest, he shoves me hard. I stumble backward into the frigid space, crashing against metal shelving. By the time I regain my balance, the door slams shut. The lock clicks.
“Roberto!” I hammer on the door. “Don’t you dare—”
The sound of shattering glass drowns out my words, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire. I stumble back from the door, retreating behind towers of produce boxes. The cold seeps through my thin blouse as I wedge myself into the furthest corner, trying to make myself as small as possible.
More gunshots. A scream. The thud of something—someone—hitting the floor.
I pull my knees to my chest, shivering as the temperature drops. The shelving unit partially shields me from view, but the cold… God, the cold…
At first, it’s manageable—just another obstacle to overcome. But minutes tick by, and the chill becomes a living thing, clawing at my skin.
I push myself up from my crouched position, legs stiff, and approach the door. The sounds outside are muffled but distinct—crashes, shouts, and the occasional thud. My heart races. Is Roberto alive? Did he make it out?
“Damn it, Roberto,” I mutter, pressing my ear against the cold metal. “You better have gotten away.”
Violent shivers rack my body, forcing me to move. I pace the narrow space between shelving units, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. The movement helps, but barely. Each breath comes out in visible puffs of vapor.
How did they find me? I’d been meticulous—switching cabs, doubling back, checking for tails. Amateur mistakes aren’t my style. Not after eight years of investigative work in war zones and trafficking rings.
Fear crawls up my throat as my mind races through possibilities. The cold makes it hard to think straight, but something nags at me. My fingers, nearly numb now, fumble through my bag. There—a tiny bump under the leather interior. I pry it loose, cursing as I hold up the miniature tracking device.
“Remy, you manipulative bastard.” The words come out through chattering teeth. Of course he planted it, playing me like a chess piece while I thought I was being clever.
Who can I trust now? The Chicago PD is either in my father’s pocket or Remy’s sphere of influence. His men will be combing every street, every possible hideout. The handful of contacts I maintained outside Roberto’s network are too exposed and easily traced.
My hands shake as I try to think through options, but the cold makes everything fuzzy. Every shadow in this frozen box seems to hold a threat, and every metallic creak sounds like footsteps are approaching. I’m trapped in here, but the alternative might be worse.
“Think, Eve,” I command myself, stomping my feet to keep blood flowing. “There has to be a way out of this mess.”
But the more I analyze my situation, the more hopeless it seems. My father’s reach extends through every level of Chicago’s power structure. And Remy—God, Remy probably has eyes on every safehouse I know about.
Pushing against desperation, I transform the chill into something useful—pure, seething rage. At Remy, at my father, at this whole screwed-up situation. The anger burns bright enough to keep my mind sharp, even as my fingers turn numb.
“That manipulative, controlling bastard,” I mutter, pacing the narrow space. “Thinks he can track me like some pet project.”
My hand brushes against the burner phone in my pocket, and for a moment, hope flares. Then reality crashes in, and I almost laugh at the bitter irony. Who would I even call? The cops are bought. My contacts are compromised. Roberto is—God, I can’t think about Roberto right now.
The laugh turns into something closer to a sob, but I crush it down. No crying. Not now. Not ever.
My legs give out, and I slide down the cold metal wall, tucking myself into the corner. The shivering is less violent now, replaced by a dangerous drowsiness that I recognize as hypothermia setting in. The clinical part of my brain catalogs the symptoms while the rest of me fights to stay alert.
“Stay awake,” I order myself, but my voice sounds distant, slurred.
My fingers, clumsy with cold, fumble with the phone. Before I can talk myself out of it, I punch in Remy’s number. The first ring starts, and I quickly hit the star key, redirecting to voicemail.
No way in hell am I actually talking to him.
“Hey, asshole,” I start, my voice rough from the cold. “Bet you’re real proud of yourself right now. That tracker was clever—I’ll give you that much. Real power move, tracking me like some lost puppy.”
I pause, gathering my thoughts through the fog of cold.
“You know what’s funny? I actually started to trust you. How stupid is that? Me, trusting Remy fucking Harding. The guy who probably already has plans to collect my father’s bounty. Me and my damn nostalgia of eight years ago.”
The words come faster now, anger providing temporary warmth.
“Twenty million. That’s what I’m worth, apparently. You always were good at getting the best deal.”
My teeth chatter, making the words stutter, but I press on.
“Here’s the thing, Remy. You think you know everything about me, about this situation.
But you don’t. You have no idea what’s really at stake.
And now—” I break off, fighting another wave of drowsiness.
“Now I’m stuck in a walk-in freezer, and I still won’t tell you what you want to know. How’s that for control?”
The sound of my bitter laughter echoes off the metal walls. “You know what’s really hilarious, Remy? Your twenty million payday is about to freeze to death. Not taken out by your skilled operatives or Ano’s hire hands—no, done in by industrial refrigeration. That’s just… that’s just perfect.”
I laugh harder, the sound edging toward hysteria. “All that planning, all that calculating control, and you’re going to lose your prize to a goddamn appliance. Good luck getting the money. Just make sure to thaw me first.”
My teeth chatter as I end the call, tossing the phone across the frigid space. It clatters against shelving, disappearing somewhere behind boxes of produce. Let him stew over that message. I can picture his jaw clenching, that muscle ticking in his cheek like it always does when he’s angry.
Leaning my head back against the icy wall, I close my eyes.
Bad idea. Remy’s face immediately fills my mind—those dark eyes that see too much, the curve of his mouth when he’s about to strike with some cutting observation.
How is it possible that one night eight years ago still haunts me? And now, after yesterday’s shower…
God, that shower. Steam and heat and his hands everywhere. The memory sends an entirely different kind of shiver through my frozen body.
“Damn you,” I whisper to the empty air. One night almost a decade ago, one stolen moment yesterday, and he’s carved out space in my head that I can’t seem to shake. Even now, facing what’s probably my last hour alive, he’s there, taking up real estate in my thoughts.
I try to imagine a different path—one where I wasn’t investigating my father’s crimes, where Remy wasn’t hired to end me. Maybe in that version, last night’s shower would have led somewhere real instead of just being another move in this deadly game we’re playing.
The cold seeps deeper, and I pull my knees tighter to my chest. “If you weren’t trying to collect a bounty on my head,” I murmur, “we might have had something worth keeping.”