Unlocking Hope Preview
Zoey wished for running water, but when she twisted the handles to the faucet, only a couple of drops trickled out. Like the last three months, she was out of luck. Instead of leaving and trying to find another foreclosed house, she sat with her back against the wall in the master bedroom.
She checked herself in the broken mirror propped up in the room’s corner. She couldn’t even run her fingers through her tangled brown hair. Zoey wished she had some makeup to cover the bags under her eyes.
When she’d first ended up on the streets a few months ago, she still did her makeup every morning. Carrying makeup around took up room in her pack, though, and when she had to decide between a few granola bars or foundation, she’d decided on the granola bars. At the thought of food, her stomach growled.
“You’re not hungry,” she murmured to herself. Zoey reached into her pocket and broke off a small piece of the granola bar. It was stale. She’d stopped looking at expiration dates her second week on the street. At first, she wouldn’t have choked down an outdated bar. Now, when it was her only option, it didn’t bother her.
The foreclosed house would be her safe haven for a few days. Zoey curled up against the wall and hoped for a few hours of sleep. Paul had told her to use this house for the week. He had a contact at the Bexar County Courthouse. Every so often, he would find out about a home that was empty. She trusted Paul as much as a person could trust anyone living on the streets. However, something about the old man made her take him up on the offer. Maybe it was for the hope of a shower, but that dream had gone out the door when she tried to turn on the water.
Zoey wasn’t the first one to stay in the house. The previous squatters had left their trash and crap on the wall. She never understood who would touch their own poop and smear it on a wall. She shook her head and looked around the room. It was bare, the only room with no trash. In addition, it was in the far back of the house. Wires hung out of the outlets, and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling. Like the water, the electrical was off.
The Texas sun beat down on the house. She reached up and wiped the sweat dripping down her face. She smelled. The first few days of being on the street, she worried about her smell, but she no longer even cared what anyone thought. Zoey’s only goal was to stay alive until she figured out what to do with the thumb drive in her pocket. Zoey reached in her pocket to make sure it was still there. When they found her, they would torture her until she gave them the information they wanted.
Zoey glanced out the window. The sun was going down. She still wished the window had blinds so she could block out the early-day heat.
The smell in the house had been awful at first, and she’d almost gone back to the homeless shelter in downtown San Antonio. Zoey reached into her bag and pulled out her last bite of granola bar. Today, she would need to leave and find food.
The front door squeaked. Time had run out. She only hoped it wasn’t one of Nixson Walker’s men. If it was, she didn’t plan to go down easy. Living on the streets had taught her a few things, like to shoot first and ask questions second. She knew she should jump out the back window. Nevertheless, if she could take the person down, she could take his cash and have a meal. She reached into her backpack and grabbed her gun. It still felt strange under her fingers. Until a month ago, she’d never imagined owning one or having to use it. She hadn’t pulled the trigger yet, but it had helped her out when someone tried to steal her bag three nights ago.
Nixson, her ex-boss, was a ruthless businessman, and he wanted her dead. His men almost succeeded at killing her the night she went on the run. For three months, she had outrun Nixson’s men, until now.
Zoey stood on her wobbly legs. Not eating much for the past month had left her body weak. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a real meal. When she’d gone to the homeless shelter, Nixson’s men were outside. Paul had given her a box of bars, and she had paced herself, eating one a day for the last week.
With a gun pointed at the door, she waited for the men who planned to kill her. A man opened the door, dressed in a polo and jeans. He was well over six feet tall and muscular, with sandy-blond hair. His eyes were a piercing blue. She noticed them because when they landed on the gun, they widened in surprise.
“Ma’am, please lower the gun, and we can talk.”
“You won’t take me back.”
When he took a step forward, Zoey closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The force of the gun firing knocked Zoey on her butt. Her head banged against the wall. She hoped she’d hit him, because that was her only bullet.
“What the fuck? You shot at me.” His gruff voice sounded angry.
“You won’t take me back.” Zoey opened her eyes and peeked at the handsome man sent to bring her back to the boss.
He ran his hand through his hair. “Darling, you’re mistaken. I don’t plan to take you anywhere. You’re squatting in my house.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t good. She’d wasted her only bullet.
He cocked his head to the side. “‘Oh’ is all you have to say when you shot at me?”
If he called the cops, they would take her to Nixson. He had them all paid off. Zoey reached for her bag and purse. Time to run. “I’m sorry I’m in your house. If you will excuse me, I will be on my way.”
The sexy man crossed his arms over his chest. “You shot at me, and you think I’m just going to let you walk out the front door.”
Zoey’s hands started to shake. She could feel the tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t escape the room unless she walked by him. “Please let me go. You can’t call the cops.”
“Why can’t I call the cops?”
“Because the man after me has them paid off. His men will take me to my old boss and not the police.”
“Let’s start over. My name is Cole. What is yours?”
“Kate.” It was the first name to pop into her head.
His lips twitched as if he knew she’d lied about her name. “Okay, Kate, how about we get some food?” When she started to protest, he held up his hand. “You owe me that after shooting at me.”
“Why do you want to take me somewhere to eat?”
He shrugged. “It looks like luck hasn’t been on your side lately, and I’m hungry. So let’s grab some food, and if you feel you can trust me to help you, we’ll go from there.”
This all sounded too good to be true. Who would help someone after being shot at? It could be a trap. Zoey gripped the gun in her hand. He didn’t know she was out of bullets. Zoey pointed her weapon in his direction and grabbed her bags from the ground. “Move.”
The sexy man listened to her and moved away from the door. She slogged across the room and slipped past him. His cologne was the only nice thing she’d smelled in days. It looked like her time in his house was up anyway. Maybe Paul would know another place she could hide.
Once she cleared the door, she ran down the hall toward the front door. She didn’t hear the man’s footsteps behind her. The front door was still open, and she continued out the door. She stopped when she saw the Range Rover parked in the driveway. Nixson’s men all drove Mercedes-Benz G-Classes. Maybe the man wasn’t lying. She didn’t trust anyone, though. Everyone lied.
Zoey ran down the sidewalk as fast as her weak legs would take her. She was only a few blocks from the alleyway where Paul slept. The sun was setting, so Zoey hoped he was already there. The neighborhood she walked though was beautiful, and a woman watering her front yard gave Zoey a disgusted look. Zoey didn’t blame her.
Why did she have to take a job as a CFO for a corrupt man? She’d realized too late that the consulting firm was a front. If she’d done some checking instead of just looking at the dollar signs they offered after the first interview, she never would’ve moved from Dallas to San Antonio. Zoey had left her job working as a financial advisor at Nova Satellite Security, and she’d loved working for the Black brothers. The money at Walker Consulting was all too good, though. Her close friend had told her about the job. Well, Linda used to be her friend. She had no problem working for someone running drugs and extortion. Zoey thought that type of people only existed in the movies; she’d never expected to run into them in real life.
She let out a sigh and looked back to make sure the sexy man wasn’t following her. Zoey reached into her pocket and patted the USB drive. It was her only copy of the information, she had made another, but they’d stolen it when she lost half her things at the homeless shelter.
Over the years, she had gone to the gym off and on, but not enough to keep her in shape for this run. Her stomach growled, reminding her she needed food. Her vision was blurry from the exercise and lack of carbs. She looked up at the street signs. 8th Street. One more to go.
When she turned down the side street to where Paul normally slept, Zoey let out a breath, seeing him crouched near his corner. Paul had been on the streets long enough that most people respected him. Nobody took his corner. Newcomers sometimes tried but would end up beaten by the younger homeless guys. Paul was like everyone’s grandfather. If he liked someone, he helped.
As she got closer, she noticed something wasn’t right. “Paul?”
He didn’t move from his position. She rushed to his side. He was hunched over leaning against the wall. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed. No. No. No. When she gently shook him, he groaned and opened his eyes.
“You need to run.” His voice was hoarse.
“What happened?”
“They are watching—you need to run.”
Zoey knew that coming back to downtown San Antonio had been dangerous, but she couldn’t leave Paul. She could only imagine his current condition was because of her. Zoey tried hard to keep the tears at bay. She had cried more in the past few months than she had her entire life.
When she reached forward to grip Paul under his arm, her hand hit something wet. Her eyes burned with tears as she pulled her hand back. Blood. “Come on, Paul, we need to get you to the hospital.”
“You need to go.” His words came out so weak, she almost hadn’t heard what he said.
Zoey wouldn’t be able to get Paul to a hospital alone. After her first week on the streets, she’d realized Nixson could track her with her phone, so she’d ditched it.
Movement caught her eye to the side. She raced over to a box near the dumpster, where Paul’s friend Al usually stayed. Al had a prepaid phone, and Zoey hoped he was under the box. She screamed when a raccoon ran out. She took a couple deep breaths before she glanced inside. She found Al, with a knife sticking out of his chest. His eyes were still open, but the color was gone from his face. This was bad—really bad. There was nothing she could do to help Al. With one last glance, she left his side.
Zoey ran back to Paul. “Hold on, Paul. I’m going to get help.”
He started to shake his head. Without waiting for his answer, Zoey raced down the alley. When she was almost to the front, three thugs turned the corner. Zoey inwardly cussed at herself for leaving her gun next to Paul. It wouldn’t do much, anyway, since she didn’t have any bullets left.
“Zoey, the boss isn’t happy with you.” Eric, Nixson’s second in command, stepped forward. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, his two henchmen, followed close behind.
“I swear I have nothing.”
“Boss doesn’t care.”
Zoey took another step back. She was getting close to where Paul lay on the dirty ground. Glancing from side to side, she looked for something she could use to protect herself. Al had a bat near his makeshift cardboard home.
Eric caught where her eyes landed. “You should have heard the old man squeal as I plunged the knife into his chest. He will not help you. That one”—he pointed toward Paul—“will not last much longer, either. Time’s up.”
This is bad. But a quick death would be better than letting them take her back to Nixson. Shivers ran down her arms as she thought about the last person she’d seen him torture for talking out of turn. She needed to figure out something quick. If she didn’t, Paul might not make it. Zoey wouldn’t let the thugs take her without a fight. She dove for the bat. The dirty pavement scraped her arms as she slid toward the only thing that might help her.
She gripped the wooden bat and rolled to the side as she heard the gun go off. She sprang to her feet, and a loud siren echoed down the street. Eric and his thugs turned to see if they’d been spotted. She used the opportunity to swing the bat at him. With a good hit, Zoey took out his leg. She felt it crack as she made contact. His thugs reached to help him. Zoey ran. She pumped her arms, trying to get away. With a few feet to go before she exited, Zoey felt the grip on her hair.
The people on the sidewalk watched as the men threw her back and her head hit the ground. One of the hired thugs kicked her in the side. She felt her rib crack. She had to blink a few times to get the edge of darkness to go away. No one stopped.
The pain was all she could feel. Eric hobbled back to where she lay on the ground. He had one arm around one of his henchmen and a gun pointed at her. Her eyes were trained on his finger as he slowly squeezed the trigger.
Find out what happens in Book 2 Unlocking Hope.