Chapter 11
Eleven
Ella
The coconut and fruit scents of hair products fill my nose, along with the chemical scent of dyes. Comfortable chatter bounces around the busy room, although every time someone runs a hair dryer, everyone talks louder to be heard over it.
Natasha and I are at a hair salon. It’s a birthday treat from Sebastian, and Natasha’s impressed because he thought to get her input on which salon to use; Natasha sometimes has difficulty finding stylists who will do a good job with her hair.
“I like your men,” she says again while our stylists work.
“You said that already,” I say. My stylist is a fairly stoic man, his face a mask of concentration as he works on my curls. He had a “vision,” he said, when he first saw me. He explained his vision and it sounded pretty much like what my hair already looks like, so I gave him the go-ahead.
“Well, it’s the truth,” she says with a wink. “There are two of them…ever thought of loaning one out?”
“Fuck you,” I say with a laugh.
She laughs, too. “That’s what I’m hoping for, thank you so much.”
I dissolve into giggles and catch my stylist’s eye in the mirror, and he’s holding in a smile.
After our hair is done, we send a selfie to Sebastian to say thank you.
He responds, telling us that we’re gorgeous.
He’s right. Natasha’s hair is in glamorous, oily waves, and my curls are flowing and luxurious, rather than frizzy like they’ve been lately when I try to wear my hair down.
The stylist recommends some products to me, and I write them down to come back for later, after my next pay day.
Sebastian next sends me a message that our final stop on my birthday morning is to Carol’s Closet, a dress shop that’s just a block away, where we are each to pick out a dress and shoes to wear tonight for Vice. He asks if he can come and hang out while I try on dresses.
“Is it cool if Sebastian meets us at Carol’s?” I ask Natasha.
“Of course,” she says.
I text Sebastian that we’d love to see him.
“This whole morning is super generous,” Natasha says as we walk down the sidewalk toward the dress store. “It’s like a fairy tale.”
“I know, I’m a little uncomfortable,” I confess.
She shoots me a glance. “Uncomfortable?”
“All the fuss, all the expense,” I say. “I wonder if I should tell them to back off a little.”
She stops short and tugs on my arm so I face her. “Ella, your men want to pamper you. Lucky for you, they’re rich enough to do so without breaking the bank. You should let them. They’re showing you they care.”
“I guess you have a point.”
“I am absolutely correct,” she says with a smile. “You one hundred percent deserve love and affection and yes, you even deserve to be spoiled a little. Try to enjoy it, babe.”
“Well, it’s definitely enjoyable with you along.”
She hugs me, and I hug her back.
“Tonight’s going to be so much fun,” she says. “We’re going to be the hottest girls in Vice. Your guys and Gabe are going to lose their minds.”
“Well, you will definitely be the hottest,” I say.
“I don’t know, you attract quite a bit of attention on your own,” she says. “Even now, you are.”
That’s news to me. I haven’t noticed anyone’s attention. “I am?”
“Yeah. Those guys are staring at you,” Natasha says, gesturing subtly to a few guys standing near the bus stop. “In the baseball caps.”
I look over at the guys in question. My gut goes cold. It’s the same guys who showed up at Bartleby’s and asked about Tommy. This time, there are three of them. Two are wearing baseball caps, and the third has a beard.
Chills run up and down my arms as I remember how they talked to me at Bartleby’s. They want something with Tommy, and with me. It can’t be a coincidence that they’re watching me now, can it?
It’s late morning, though. Fully light. What are they thinking they can do to me here? There’s nothing they can do. They just want to scare me.
Intimidation tactics piss me off. Anger makes my face go hot. I pull my phone from my purse and snap their picture. I text it to Tommy. Do you know these goons? Because they’re following me .
He doesn’t respond. Of course he doesn’t. That would mean he needs to accept responsibility for something, and he doesn’t know how to fucking do that.
Not even on my birthday.
“Let’s go,” I say to Natasha. “I’m uncomfortable with those guys.”
To her credit, she doesn’t ask a single question. “Follow me. I know how we can loop through here and lose them.”
“Are you sure?” I ask as she leads me into a nearby deli.
“Yeah, I used to work around here,” she says. “The deli will bring us around to Carol’s. But if you’d rather stay on the main sidewalk, we can just walk away from them. The worst they can do is watch us.”
Kristin’s kidnapping comes to mind. Being watched isn’t the worst that can happen. Shaking my head, I say, “No, let’s go your way.”
She sets off, and I hurry behind her. I want to be away from those guys’ creepy stares as quickly as possible.
We go through the nearly-empty deli, down a dim hallway where restrooms are on one side and then, beyond those, there’s a door with a red EXIT sign above it.
I’m panting with nerves and the effort of rushing.
Are those guys behind us? I keep hearing footsteps, but it could just be the cooks walking around in the kitchen, or a patron going down the hall toward the restrooms. This is messed up—we shouldn’t have to run from creepy guys in downtown San Esteban.
But at least we’re being proactive about our safety, even if it seems like it might be an overreaction.
Natasha pushes open the door and steps outside, with me on her heels.
“Carol’s Closet is just over—” Natasha breaks off and skids to a halt.
I look in the direction she’s staring and see two of the men at the end of the alley, walking toward us.
“Fancy meeting you here,” one of them says, a cruel smile on his face.
I try to turn around go back through the deli, but when I move to go through the door, the bearded guy is standing there. He sneers at me, his arms folded across his chest.
My phone is in my back pocket. If I could grab it, I could dial nine-one-one and…and what? These guys are here right now. The police are going to be several minutes away, at least.
Natasha reaches back and grabs my wrist. “Ella, do you know what’s going on?”
“Not really,” I whisper, but I speak louder. “What do you want with us?”
“Nothing at all,” the bearded guy says. “We’re here because of Tommy.”
Of course they are. “Does he owe you money or something?”
“Or something.” The guy nods.
Shit. What has my brother gotten into?
“Look,” I say, “I don’t have any money, I don’t have whatever you think Tommy owes you. I can’t even get in touch with him anymore. So my friend and I will just be on our way.”
A heavy hand comes down on my shoulder. A second later, Natasha moves and the guy is screaming.
She’s wrenching his finger back, a terrified but determined expression on her face.
The man flails, grabs my hair, and yanks.
I go down. The impact sends all the air from my lungs. I can’t breathe—I can only stare stupidly at the narrow strip of sky that shows between the two buildings.
Natasha shoves the guy hard. He trips on my arm, loses his balance, and stumbles past me, into the open area of the alley.
“Ella, come on,” Natasha yells, grabbing my hand and pulling me up.
The men rush toward us. I can’t suck in a breath to scream. Instead, I give a gasping yelp and swing my purse around. It hits one of the guys in the face.
“You’re going to regret that,” he snarls, batting my purse aside.
I freeze at first, before realizing that fighting might be the only thing keeping Natasha and I alive. Whatever these guys want with me, it isn’t good.
“Hey!” Another man shows up at the end of the alley—and I recognize his sharp chin and sunglasses. It’s Sebastian’s driver, Kellan. He takes one look at the situation and shouts, “Bash!” before rushing forward.
I expect the guys to scatter, but the nearest one to Kellan takes a swing. Kellan dodges the blow and strikes out with his own fist, clipping the guy in the chin.
The guy takes out a knife and the swick of the switchblade echoes in the alley.
I scream in alarm, but if Kellan’s worried about the knife, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he exchanges swings with the guy, expertly dodging the blade.
Someone else runs into the alley—Sebastian. He spots me, then Kellan fighting. Before he can do anything, the second and third guys rush Sebastian.
Everything devolves into chaos. Natasha grabs me and yanks me away from the fighting.
We move to a dumpster and stand behind it.
I want to go out there and help, but I know I’d only get in the way.
I reach into my bag because I can at least call the police, but my phone fell out when I swung my bag at the guy.
It’s three on two. As soon as one of our attackers goes down, another takes his place. Then another recovers. Currently, Bash is fighting one guy, but a second is approaching him from behind.
“Bash!” I scream. “Turn around!”
He takes a swing at the second guy. His fist makes contact with a loud thwack and I grimace.
Kellan is wrestling the third guy to the ground, but his energy is flagging. The man gets out of Kellan’s grasp and lurches away. He grabs his friend’s shoulder. The two of them take off down the alley past Natasha and me, and the third one shoves past Sebastian and follows them.
Kellan looks like he wants to run after them—Sebastian, too.
They both look like avenging angels in their black shirts and dark jeans.
But they see Natasha and me huddled by the dumpster, and they stop short.
Sebastian’s lip is bleeding, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.
His hazel eyes are wild, his knuckles bloody.
He’s pressing one hand to his side. He looks me up and down, concern etched on his face.
“Ella,” he rasps. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” A little scraped up, maybe bruised, but I don’t want to worry him, so I don’t say anything about the scrapes. I’m going to be okay, thanks to him and Kellan and Natasha.
“Natasha?” he asks, his gaze sweeping her.
“I’m okay,” she says, holding my hand. She’s shaking next to me, so I wrap my arm around her.
“What were you even doing back here?” Sebastian asks.
“I’m so sorry,” Natasha says. “It was stupid to go back this way. I had no idea they’d come around.”
“We were trying to get away from those guys,” I say, “but they must have figured it out and come around.”
“Lucky we were already on our way to you,” Kellan says with a frown. “When we didn’t see you walking to the dress shop, we got out of the car to look for you. Hey, Bash? You okay?”
Sebastian nods. “Let’s get the women inside. I don’t trust those guys not to come back...”
He trails off and shakes his head again. He looks terrible—his bloody lip only emphasizes how pale his skin is.
“Bash?” I let go of Natasha and move toward him, cataloguing his features. His hazel eyes are tight with pain, his hand stiff at his side. Something’s off.
He shakes his head. “I need to go…”
“Hey,” I say, taking his free hand, “where do you need to go? What’s wrong?”
“Got…hurt,” he says, before slumping agains the wall and sliding down.
I try to keep him upright, and only barely prevent him from falling forward.
His other hand falls away from his side, and I see it now. His long-sleeved shirt is wet with blood.
He was covering up a knife wound.