Chapter 32 Reyna
REYNA
What an absolute shit show.
I splash cool water on my face and screw my eyes shut. It’s absurd how I’m expected to attend class like everything is normal after what I learned last night.
This morning, Maddox and I left the safe house together. I went home to change, then spent the entire walk from the subway to the lecture hall looking around, wondering whether the room with the honeycomb ceiling was beneath my feet.
All I could think about was that they’re watching. If I thought I was paranoid before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now.
Dropping my head into my hands, I groan.
It’s going to be a long evening.
I exit the bathroom, then snatch my coffee off the kitchen bench and chug the lukewarm drink down before checking how far the Uber is. “Shit,” I mutter, and grab my filming equipment and run downstairs, piling everything into the trunk before slumping onto the back seat.
I’m only running a couple of minutes late, but I’m getting a stress migraine just thinking about the work I have to do.
There’s a text waiting for me from Maddox that I can’t bring myself to read.
Probably saying he couldn’t find any information about Dad.
He promised to meet me back at my place tonight, but after being told about the video taken in Spencer’s bedroom, my apartment doesn’t feel safe.
I’m too scared to ask to go back to his house, because I know it serves multiple purposes, and managing my insecurities isn’t one of them.
I’ve put myself into the Order’s path. Maddox didn’t confirm or deny it, but I heard his frantic calls when he thought I was asleep.
I was caught on video somewhere at some point, sneaking through their lair, and he was seen helping me. I don’t know what that means for either of us. If they’d kill him for insubordination, or if I’d be made to sell my soul to them and perish later rather than sooner.
Until then, life goes on. Capitalism requires its sacrifice. I can’t skip tonight’s booking. They’re paying me far more than I’m worth to film an ad for some big-shot finance guy. It’s not the type of job I want in the long run, but it covers the bills.
When the car comes to a stop, I say a quick thanks to the driver and grab my stuff, then set it on the ground against the wall of the building.
Frowning, I survey the street. Unease trickles down my spine. This place is deserted.
I move out from beneath the lamppost and fumble for my phone to send the client a text saying I’ve arrived. I glance up and down the street, the prickle of unseen eyes crawls down the back of my neck.
The lump in my throat thickens. I check that the mini switchblade is in my skirt pocket, then my emails to confirm I have the right place.
I mean, it’s the correct address.
I squint through the darkness at the sign above the door.
It’s the right building too.
I shake my head. The events of last night are making me overly paranoid.
Shaking off my nerves, I take a deep breath, put my business mask on, then try the handle.
The door opens with ease. Silence greets me, but maybe everyone else is late as well?
Sometimes people drive over in groups to avoid worrying about parking.
Though someone is probably already here if the studio is unlocked.
With one last backward glance around the street, I slowly head up the stairs. My footsteps thump against the old wooden stairs, broadcasting my arrival to anyone in the building.
“Hello,” I call out, only to be met with silence. “Anyone there?”
This feels like the start of a bad horror movie.
I call out again once I’m on the third floor, where the ad will be recorded. No response.
It’s an open-space studio, not the largest I’ve been to, but by no means the smallest either. A blue backdrop stands against one wall, a wooden chair in front of it, and some plants and office props in the corner.
No windows, no moonlight, only the glare of the studio lights. If anyone asked for my input, I’d say it would be better to film in a real office building. Natural lighting would also make the guy seem more approachable, but I’m not getting paid to have an opinion.
The creative director decided that we’re doing it in a studio, so I guess that’s what we’re going to do. But I won’t be adding it to my portfolio any time soon.
I set my gear by the back wall and yell louder. Maybe whoever unlocked the door stepped out and forgot to close properly.
I slump down onto a nearby seat and send the organizer an email before begrudgingly setting up. The later they are, the later I’ll have to stay. If rent wasn’t due, I would have canceled and risked taking a reputation hit because I can’t deal with any of this crap right now.
Twenty minutes later, I’m considering calling it quits. We were meant to start more than half an hour ago. I would bet my bottom dollar that the talent is a spoiled rich kid who gets away with holding everyone up. The director could have at least done me the courtesy of sending an email.
I throw my phone on top of my bag, then pull myself up and check out the other rooms. There are a couple of offices and studio spaces on the second floor and another on the third.
All empty.
And still no email.
This place is giving me the creeps.
Okay, I’m out of here.
I’ll take the financial hit if they ask for their deposit back. I’m not going to wait around all night. I’d much rather be held by Maddox, in bed, hiding away from the world.
Wiping a hand down my face, I sigh and start to leave the studio. A hand clamps around my arm. The room spins before air punches from my lungs as my back collides with the floor.
The blood drains from my face as my eyes focus on the man looming above, dressed in black, wearing a balaclava, holding a hunting knife in his grip. A shrill cry escapes from my throat. I scramble back.
He’s on me in the next second, straddling my hips. Raw terror tears through me. I try to scream again, but deadly fingers wrap around my throat, and fire instantly burns through my skull.
I put everything I have into trying to kick him off. It’s useless. He’s too strong, and dots are starting to blur my vision. I clamor for the switchblade in my pocket, struggling to get a good grip.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, bringing the knife up my cheek. “You—”
My mind blanks out. Panic drives my limbs, and instincts take over. The mini blade slices through skin and tendon until it’s buried to the hilt in his armpit. A garbled cry tears from his throat. Or maybe it’s mine.
Blood gushes from the wound at the very top of his inner arm. Warm liquid falls onto my chest and splatters a spray of scarlet onto my neck and face, seeping past the seam of my lips so I taste copper.
My eyes round in horror. A bloodcurdling scream tears from my lips. My hands fly out to shove him back. He barely sways, yanking the blade right out of his skin. Then he crashes, trapping me with his weight against the floor.
He’s still struggling, holding me down with his hands on my shoulder and chest. Bleeding all over me. Something glints out of the corner of my eye, and I throw my hand out to grab the knife. He beats me to it.
I try to buck him off, slapping the floor around me in search of my switchblade. I can’t feel anything but the paper backdrop beneath my slippery fingertips. My throat burns from screaming but I don’t stop, hoping and praying I can grab anything to use as a makeshift weapon.
“No!” I beg, fighting him with my dwindling energy.
My foot catches on the nearby prop table and sends the items clattering onto the floor. He raises his arm, weapon gripped in his hand.
A muffled bang goes off. A spray of red splatters onto the blue backdrop as I watch the man collapse onto me.
Time slows. I stare at the dotted ceiling, crushed by his weight. The drip, drip, drip of thick blood trickles over my skin.
Someone just…
He just…
I blink up.
There’s a dead man on me.
Nausea twists my stomach. Movement at the door kicks me out of my trance.
There’s someone else in the room.
Fear clamps its claws into me in a solid vise. I scramble to throw my attacker’s weight off me, then lunge for my bag to grab the can of mace. I hold it out in front of me, aimed, trembling and ready to let loose on the masked newcomer who snuck in without my notice.
A dead man was on me. His blood is still on me.
The intruder acts like I’m not even there, crouching down next to my attacker and lifting his mask off. I grab my phone, dial Maddox’s number, and shove it into my pocket to focus on the man.
Pick up. Pick up. Pick—
My attention catches on the gaping hole in the side of my attacker’s head. Red pools around him like a demonic halo. In the middle of the sea of crimson is the blade he was going to kill me with.
I was going to die. He was trying to murder me. He—He—I can’t get enough air into my lungs. It’s hard to hear anything beyond the roar of my pulse.
“He’s one of your boyfriend’s men.”
My eyes snap up to the person who spoke. I gasp, and stumble back, aiming the can higher.
Alex. From class.
“You’ve been a giant pain in the ass.”
The weapon rattles in my hand. What the fuck does that mean?
“Y-You’re in the Order.” A tremor threads through my voice.
Am I—Is he going to finish the job?
“We thought you might have worked it out, or had Maddox explain it to you.” Alex eyes me. The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end when I spot the gun at his side. “I’m curious, what else do you know?”
He takes a step forward. Panic slices up my spine, and my back hits the wall. “Stay back!” I growl, waving the mace. “I’ll use this on you.”
Alex raises his brows in amusement. I’ve brought mace to a gunfight. “We’re getting you out of here,” he declares.
“Touch me, and I’ll gut you,” I threaten with enough conviction that I might even believe that I’d have the upper hand in a fight. I probably wouldn’t last two seconds.
He slides his gun into the waistband of his pants, then raises both hands in the air. “You can either come with me willing—”
“The police are already on their way, Alex.” I show him just enough of my phone so he can see that I’m on a call—at least, I hope I’m on a call. “Either shoot me and I empty this can on you, or leave. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I’m dead if he calls my bluff.
He works his jaw, eyes darting between my phone, the mace, and the corpse.
“Fuck,” he groans, running his hand over his face and hair. My grip tightens as he paces, muttering words I can’t make out. He takes a step toward me, then turns around only to turn back, racked with indecision. “Shit, shit, shit, fuck.”
I eye the switchblade on the ground between us. I might be able to make a run for it if he’s distracted enough. Before I figure out my next move, Alex is running out of the door like there are hounds on his heels.
I stare at the spot he occupied seconds ago. White dots my vision. The sound of the door slamming shut stirs me into motion. He… It worked. He’s actually…
I need to get out of here.
I snatch the switchblade off the floor, and run into the hall to the top of the steps. When I’m certain I’m the only one in the building, I check my phone to see if Maddox has picked up, and bring it up to my ear.
“M-Maddox,” I stutter.
“Are you ok—”
“Th-There was a guy here. And he attacked me. And I-I stabbed him. But he took it out.” I keep rambling despite his curse.
I don’t realize there are tears streaming from my eyes until the salty taste hits my tastebuds and mingles with copper.
“And then—and then Alex came in. And blood splattered everywhere because he shot him. And he said he’s your man and he thought I knew about everything.
And then he left, and I-I don’t know what to do.
There’s a body. He’s still there. He’s dead and—and I can’t go to jail—and—and—and—”
“Breathe, Reyna.” His voice is tense. “Stay on the phone. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
No, no, no. That’s too long. “I can’t stay here. H-He might come back.”
“Make it five.”
I pocket my phone and run back into the studio.
They’re going to send me to prison.
My career is over.
My fingerprints are everywhere. There’s an Uber transaction and emails taking me straight to the crime scene. I’m covered in blood.
They’re going to fucking kill me, because what did Alex mean by my attacker being one of Maddox’s men? Did the Order send Alex to watch me? He could have called reinforcements already and it’s just a matter of time before he realizes that the police aren’t coming.
I can’t wait for Maddox to arrive. Jumping toward my bags, I rush to pack everything up. I can’t leave any evidence behind. But my fingerprints and—
The front door slams open. “Reyna!”
I stagger from the relief. “Third floor!”
Footsteps pound up the stairs as I finish putting all my gear away. Maddox’s crazed eyes crash with mine and turn lethal in an instant. My muscles tense as I brace myself for the verbiage on safety when he storms up to me. His lips collide with mine, kissing me with frantic intensity.
“You’re bleeding.” Maddox’s voice seeps with violence against my lips.
“It’s not mine,” I assure him, pointing at the corpse bleeding out on the floor.
Then it hits me. I was set up.
No one is here, yet the paper has been rolled out on top of a waterproof canvas, and there’s a chair with duct tape on top of it. He laid out everything he needed to kill me, clean up, then dispose of my body like I was never there.
My chest heaves as I run through the facts. The booking was made a month ago. Has the Order been planning on killing me for that long, or did they sabotage my work after discovering me last night?
“He’s one of my father’s men.” The predatory look from before turns downright murderous.
I suck in a sharp breath as another realization makes my heart stop beating. They want to kill me because of Maddox. They’re going to keep trying to kill me because I’m the reason Maddox isn’t falling in line.
He tugs on my arm. “We need to get you out of this building.”
I nod. It’s not safe for me in New York anymore. “I need to leave.”
Tonight.
And I’m never going to see Maddox again.