1. Sloane #2
It cut across their path like a blade, tires squealing against asphalt as it lurched to a stop barely three feet from where they stood.
Then two men emerged from the front seats with the coordinated efficiency of people accustomed to intimidation.
The driver stood well over six feet, his shoulders straining the seams of his leather jacket while his companion was shorter but broader with hands that looked capable of crushing bones without much effort.
"You need to come with us." The taller man's eyes fixed on Sloane with predatory focus, completely ignoring Tasha's presence.
Sloane's body shifted into a fighting stance without conscious thought as every instinct screamed danger. "I'm not going anywhere with you two."
"Our employer wants to speak with you." The shorter man stepped closer, his voice carrying the kind of casual menace that suggested violence was always his preferred solution. "Best to do this the easy way."
Tasha moved slightly to Sloane's left, creating space between them while positioning herself for maximum mobility. Her expression remained calm, but Sloane caught the subtle tension in her shoulders. They both recognized the situation for what it was—not a request but a barely veiled threat.
"I said I'm not going anywhere." Sloane's voice dropped to the tone she reserved for opponents who underestimated her. "You need to leave. Now."
Instead of retreating, both men stepped forward, and the taller one reached for Sloane's arm with the arrogant assumption that size alone would ensure compliance.
His fingers had barely grazed her sleeve before she moved.
Her elbow drove into his solar plexus with precision and he doubled over, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
Before he could recover, Sloane's knee connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling across the alley's broken asphalt, and he soon crumpled to the ground.
Tasha had already engaged the second man, her compact frame moving with the fluid efficiency of someone who'd learned to turn size disadvantages into tactical advantages.
She ducked his wild swing and drove her fist into his nose, following up with a precise strike to the nerve cluster behind his knee, and he dropped immediately.
Both attackers lay motionless on the concrete, their confident swagger replaced by bruised egos and probable concussions.
"Well, that was refreshing." Tasha brushed dust off her knuckles, breathing only slightly harder than usual. "Been a while since someone gave me an excuse to practice."
Sloane stared down at the men, her mind racing through implications and possibilities. Professional muscle didn't appear randomly. Someone with resources and connections had sent them. Someone who knew where to find her and wasn't concerned about subtlety.
Tasha crouched beside the driver, rifling through his pockets until she found a set of keys. "Come on, jump in. We need to get you out of here before reinforcements show up."
The SUV's engine still hummed with expensive efficiency, and the leather seats and tinted windows spoke of someone with serious money behind this operation. Sloane slid into the passenger seat while Tasha adjusted the driver's seat and mirrors with practiced ease.
"I can't go back to my apartment." Sloane's voice remained steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her system. "I get the sense these are the type of men who hunt people down."
"You can stay at my place." Tasha pulled away from the curb, checking mirrors for any signs of pursuit.
"No." The word came out sharper than Sloane intended. "I can't put you in danger. Take me to a hotel. I've got this eleven thousand in cash. That should get me by for a while."
Tasha's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You can't run forever."
"I won't. I just need to figure out my next move and who's behind this." Sloane stared out at the passing streetlights, each one marking distance from the life she'd built over the past year. "Someone wanted me badly enough to send professional muscle."
"Okay." Tasha's agreement carried reluctant acceptance. "But call me when you get somewhere safe."
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside a mid-range hotel that promised anonymity and accepted cash payments without excessive questions. Sloane grabbed her duffel bag from the back seat, everything she now owned compressed into worn canvas and fading zippers.
"I will," Sloane promised, meaning it. Tasha was one of the few people whose concern felt genuine rather than manipulative.
Then Tasha drove away in the stolen SUV, leaving Sloane standing beneath the hotel's neon sign with nothing but her winnings and the growing certainty that her carefully controlled life had just shattered completely.
Seconds later, the hotel lobby smelled of industrial carpet cleaner and resignation.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead while a bored desk clerk processed her cash payment without making eye contact.
She paid for two nights upfront—enough time to figure out her next move without committing to anything permanent.
I've been in bad situations before, she told herself, though this ranked near the top of genuinely concerning predicaments.
But instead of heading straight to her room, Sloane found herself drawn to the hotel bar. The familiar weight of crisis demanded the ritual of planning, and she'd always thought more clearly with a drink in her hand and background noise to muffle her thoughts.
The bar was nearly empty—just a few business travelers nursing their loneliness and a petite woman sitting alone at the far end, her snow-white bob perfectly styled despite the late hour.
She wore a bold emerald pantsuit that should have looked ridiculous in a hotel bar but somehow appeared effortlessly elegant instead.
Sloane claimed a stool several seats away, ordering whiskey neat, and the bartender poured without conversation.
"You look like you've had a rough night." The voice came from the woman in emerald, warm and knowing in a way that made Sloane's defenses flutter unexpectedly.
"Yeah, it's been a bit challenging." Sloane took a sip of whiskey, feeling the familiar burn settle her nerves slightly.
"I don't mean to meddle," the woman continued, and something in her tone suggested she absolutely did mean to meddle, "but if you need some help, I could certainly assist you."
Sloane's first instinct was to decline politely and disappear into her room. She'd survived this long by trusting nobody except herself, and accepting help from strangers ranked somewhere between stupid and suicidal on her personal risk assessment scale.
But something about this woman's confident warmth made her pause. Her eyes held genuine concern rather than the calculating interest Sloane had learned to recognize in people who wanted something from her. And beneath her polished exterior was an energy that felt almost... safe.
"I'm in trouble, actually." The words escaped, desperation overriding caution. "Some bad people are after me."
"Well, I can bring you somewhere safer than this place, just until you figure out your next move." The woman's smile held no judgment, only practical compassion. "And if you're interested, this place can offer you a job too."
Sloane stared into her whiskey, weighing options that all felt equally risky.
Running alone with eleven thousand dollars would buy her time but no permanent solutions.
These men had found her once—they'd find her again.
And the underground fighting circuit was small enough that staying hidden while earning money would prove nearly impossible.
Going somewhere safe and working an honest job until she figured out her next move sounded like the most reasonable choice available. Even if accepting help from a stranger violated every survival instinct she'd developed over the years.
"I already paid for a room here," Sloane said finally.
The woman waved a dismissive hand, her gesture carrying casual authority. "I know the owner, dear. He'll give you a refund." She slid off her barstool. "Let's go settle up with him, and I can drive you to this safer place."
Sloane nodded, following her toward the front desk while her mind cataloged all the ways this decision could backfire.
This is just temporary, she reminded herself. Just until I figure out what to do next.
The woman's heels clicked against the lobby's marble floor like punctuation marks to her confidence, and Sloane found herself wondering if she'd just made the smartest decision of her life—or the most dangerous.