Car keys
Chapter 9
S O P H I A
"There you are."
Ten minutes of navigating through smoke and dancing bodies, and I finally find them tucked behind a makeshift bar at the far end of the lot, close to the wall where the noise drops just enough to think.
James is standing with Maria's jacket folded over one arm and her handbag hooked over his shoulder, which should look ridiculous and somehow doesn't.
Maria herself is sitting on an upturned crate and elbows on her knees.
"Oh my gosh." I crouch in front of her. "Are you okay?"
She looks up at me with the expression of someone who has moved past shame and arrived somewhere more philosophical.
"I'm so sorry, love..."
"Why are you sorry?" I laugh, a little helplessly, and reach out to rub slow circles on her back.
"Someone probably mixed something into her drink," James says, quieter his voic deep with a light hint of anger. He is going through his jacket pockets with a methodical calm "She didn't realize until it was too late."
"Who would do that?" I look up at him.
"I bet it was Alex , that absolute ...." Maria starts but gets immediately interrupted.
"We don't know that." He says with a hint of a warning in his voice as if he has had this exact conversation before. He looks at Maria with an expression that is fond and tired in equal measure. "Also, you should have stopped two drinks ago."
"Okay, dad," she says teasingly, and James rolls his eyes before he turns to me.
"Sophia." He says pulling his car keys from his jacket pocket. "Could you do me a favor? Can you go to my car ,and check under the passenger seat for a small black bag?."
"Of course." I take the keys. Then pause. "Where was it parked again?"
This place has swallowed every sense of direction I thought I had. The warehouses all look identical from the outside with the same concrete, same graffiti, same darkness pressing in at the edges.
"Second hall," he says and shifting his focus back to Maria who makes a sound that is not a word.
I don't wait to find out if she has more to say.
Getting back through the crowd is its own project.
I press sideways through clusters of people, apologize three times to strangers I walk into, decline four separate drink offers with the polite-but-firm smile I have been perfecting since I arrived in this city, and finally push out the other side into the relative quiet near the warehouse walls.
Finally
Second hall. Second hall. But second hall from which direction?
It takes four seconds for me to decide for the right hall.
Near the first warehouse door, six people stand in a loose huddle, laughing over clinking bottles and drifting cigarette smoke. They look up as I pass the gate but when I offer a polite nod, they turn their backs, cutting me out completely.
Inside, the air changes. I stop, scanning the room as the realization sets in that this is not the exit.
This is a sanctuary for something else. Pristine motorcycles line the left wall like trophies.
Four old sofas sit in the center, surrounded by scattered junk and a table buried under empty liquor bottles.
I am barely teen steps into the room when my gut tells me to walk out . I turn on my heel, but a massive, rough hand drops onto my shoulder, stopping me dead.
"Wow," a voice purrs, dripping with self-satisfied amusement.Stepping around me.
Ignoring the sudden chill in my veins, I spin around and brush his hand off, keeping my shoulders square and my expression blank.
"Easy, easy... I thought you came to find me,"a guy in his late twenties says chuckling.
He is close enough for me to smell the alcohol.
His dark hair is slicked back into rigid, wet-looking ridges, and a thick gold chain sinks into the collar of his shirt.
He flashes a wide, gold-toothed grin, his eyes taking a slow, predatory tour of my body.
When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, my feet move on instinct, forcing me one large step backward.
Santos.
The one Lorenzo has beaten tonight. The one who has been pointing and arguing afterward and hasn't quite managed to hide how much he minds losing.
"No," I say, keeping my voice even and my meaning clear. "I'm looking for the exit."I move to step past him.When two figures shift in my peripheral vision. Both of them blocking the space between me and the door at the end of the hall.
Great. Just Great
"I've got somewhere to be," I say, my voice clipped as I look back at Sandro, praying he sighs and waves me off. "My friend needs help."
"Oh, in that case!" One of the guys lets out a mocking laugh. And steps to the side, feigning an open path, but the moment I move forward, he shifts right back into my space.
"What is your problem? Just let me go." I force the words out flat and even, keeping my chin up while my heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"I haven't seen you here before," Sandro says.He bridges the gap between us, that gold-toothed grin frozen in place. "Let me guess Weststar? You here with someone?"
"I was just about to leave, actually." I edge toward the gap, desperate to cut this short.
Sandro acts as if I haven't spoken. He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as he studies my face. "Wait. Aren't you the girl who..."
"Lascia perdere, Santos"
A deep voice from outside cuts through the warehouse.
And I see Santo's grin widens. He glances behind me toward the entrance and before I can register what he is doing, his arm comes back around my shoulders heavier this time and more settled.
"Are you nuts?" I ask angrily, glaring at him. But his focus is fixed behind me.
"Lorenzo!" he says, his hand still heavy on my shoulder, his grin recalibrating into something cold. "Perfecto. We were just talking about you. This little one wanted to congratulate me." He turns me around roughly.
There he is, standing in the entrance of the warehouse.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his helmet tucked under one arm, his other hand loose at his side.
He isn't walking toward us. He doesn't need to.
Lorenzo takes in the scene with a terrifying, absolute stillness.
His gaze moves from Santos to me, and back again, in a slow, deliberate way that drags out the silence.
That ice-cold calm makes me strangely more uncomfortable than Santos's suffocating presence.
"Drop it, Santos. You know the rules." Lorenzo's voice carries an immediate air of intimidation. His eyes bore into Santos, his jaw tightening as he speaks. While he completely ignores me, my heart begins to race.
Why does he care? And what rules is he talking about?
"Oh, I know the rules, Calloway," Santos barks back. I can feel the massive weight of his hand on my shoulder. My eyes dart to the guys who were blocking my way just a few minutes ago. They have gone completely quiet now. No more laughing. But they don't back down.
"That's my point. She came to me," Santos laughs, a harsh sound that breaks my shock. I finally snap back to reality and yank his arm off my shoulder, stepping sharply to the side.
"Okay, first of all, I was looking for the damn exit." I turn to Lorenzo and point my finger directly between him and Santos. "And second of all, I think it's better if I leave you two alone."
I march straight toward the exit and stop right in front of Lorenzo.
My chest rises and falls. Taking a deep breath when I force myself to look up into his eys.
"I think you have some unfinished business to talk about."
It is the last thing I say to him, ignoring the way his almost black eyes burn into my face, showing a hint of something dangerous that I don't know how to name.
Lorenzo makes no sign of moving aside. He doesn't budge an inch. My breath catches. I press myself past him, squeezing through the tight space, my shoulder brushing against his hard, warm body. Every muscle in my body tenses up at the contact.
"At least tell me your name!" Santos shouts after me. But I am already out. Finally, I take a deep breath of the outside air, making my way straight to the left.
When I finally reach the parking area, my eyes are already scanning rows of cars that cost more than most people's yearly salaries."
This is so crazy," I mutter to myself as I walk past hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of supercars.
If someone wanted to rob this place, it would be the perfect location , no cameras, no security.
It's like an open invitation for thieves.
And here I am, thinking about how unfair life can be, while the rich kids party somewhere just around the corner and the kids in this city are starving.
But yet again, just another reminder of how unfair life is.
Then I finally spot James car and cross toward it, already reaching into my pocket for the keys. My heart sets out for a beat.
My pocket is empty.
I check the other one.
Also empty.
I stop walking.
"Oh no." I turn a full circle, which accomplishes nothing except confirming that the keys are not somehow on the ground around me. "Please..."
I panic and search the pockets again. Still empty.
"Looking for these?"
His deep, cold voice causes me to freeze mid-motion.
I press my eyes shut, annoyed, before I turn around slowly, feeling like I just got caught stealing something.
Seeing him standing a few feet away, helmet still under his arm, holding James's keys between two fingers, looking annoyed and angry at the same time, makes me breathe out hard.
Of course.
Why is he everywhere. It's like that thing that happens on holiday.
You make accidental eye contact with a stranger on the plane, nothing significant, just a glance, but somehow you keep seeing that person everywhere afterward.
At the hotel. At the beach. In the convenience store.
It starts to feel like a pattern even when it isn't.
That is this. I ran into Lorenzo by accident in the locker room a few days ago, and now, apparently, I am cursed, because he is everywhere. Literally everywhere.
And he has the audacity to call me the stalker.
I take a slow breath.
Be kind, I remind myself. Kindness is the best weapon. This will be over soon.