Chapter 15
Yasmine’s feet were bleeding by the time she crested Canal Street.
It was her fault for grabbing whatever was lying around, but Bella was all she could think about as she slipped into her dress heels and went storming out the door. Now she was running across another intersection, the bottoms of her pants soaked with sewer water, and a screaming pinky toe.
And—she checked Google Maps and grimaced—all to no avail. She was still fifteen minutes away from the bar.
Yasmine had been right about one thing: Bella had been out drinking.
The address she’d shared with her was for a place called Little Midnight, a divey joint in Chinatown that only had a single (two-star) review on Google Maps that said “they don’t take Apple Pay.”
“Ms. Sokolov! Please stop running!”
The heel nearly broke off Yasmine’s shoe as she was forced to halt.
A black SUV slammed its brakes right over the crosswalk, the cars trapped behind it honking like a horde of frenzied geese. The SUV’s window rolled down, and the driver beckoned Yasmine in aggressively.
Relief washed over her when she saw who was driving. She reached for the handle. “Took you long enough,” she said, falling into the seat and swinging the door closed.
As soon as she was inside, Rebecca sent them jetting.
Her Lead Assistant was a very unsuspecting-looking person, a short, stocky, cardigan-wearing mother of two, or three, Yasmine couldn’t remember, but she had a quicker reaction time than a Navy SEAL.
She was the only person Yasmine interviewed that scored highly in driving ability, gun handling, grocery shopping, and business administration.
A real New York diamond.
“That’s because I’ve been chasing you down,” Rebecca shot back in a harsh whisper, keeping her eyes on the road but her mouth twisted in a very severe frown. “You told me to pick you up from your residence, but you weren’t there when I arrived. And then you kept running by me every time I honked.”
One thing Rebecca had not scored high on was personality. She tended to let Yasmine have it more often than not, which was actually another reason she shot to the top of the recruitment list. Yasmine hated kiss-asses.
“It would have been a waste of time for me to sit in traffic with you,” Yasmine said, leaning over the dashboard so she could scan the street. “Next left.”
The car swerved, tires shrieking across the sidewalk. Yasmine made eye contact with a pedestrian who saw his life flash before his eyes.
“What is this about anyway?” Her assistant asked. “Should I call Dr. Larson?”
Yasmine bit her nail and nodded. “Yes. Get him in a car and have him on standby.”
“Anything else? Security reinforcements?”
“Not necessary,” Yasmine said, then paused. What if Bella had been stabbed? The woman had completely stopped responding after she shared her location. Yasmine’s heart rate tripled just contemplating it. “Actually, have them on standby as well.”
Rebecca’s eyes briefly slid over to Yasmine’s bobbing leg.
“Is this a Wallace thing?” she asked softly. “You seem really…”
Seeing her assistant’s concern, Yasmine forced her hand over her knee, pressing it down.
She checked her map; just two minutes away.
The streets had gotten narrower now, and Chinese characters were pressed in thick red paint on window panes advertising roast meat and herbal medicine. Yasmine counted the blocks.
“There it is.”
Yasmine was opening the door before the words were even out of her mouth. Thankfully, Rebecca was used to her insanity, because she slowed in an instant, the car jerking violently backwards a few inches away from a fire hydrant.
“Not to be too demanding, but some extremely basic details on what we’re working with would be nice,” Rebecca said, leaning out the window as Yasmine slammed the door and curved around the hood of the car. “Should I contact my guy at the press? Is this another cleaning up after Sylvia situation? ”
“If that was true,” Yasmine said, giving her one last glance before pulling open the door to the bar. “The person you’d be cleaning up would be Sylvia.”
Yasmine’s foot faltered as she stepped inside.
There was no bar greeting her on the other side of the doorway. Just a set of steep stairs, narrow white walls, and a few cracked lightbulbs. Deeper down, she could hear a bass thrumming. Yasmine shoved her phone in her pocket and stalked down into the belly of the beast
And a beast it was—it was like walking into the end of a lit cigarette.
A smoke machine was pouring out red fog.
A small elevated stage sat in the center, where four adolescents with more hair colors than the rainbow tuned their guitars over the speakers.
It smelled like sour cherry and it was incredibly hard to breathe.
Is this where Bella hangs out?
Are these people her friends?
Horribly unhelpful questions. And that little flare of jealousy in her gut—that was unhelpful, too. It was as if her mind was designed against prioritizing.
Yasmine folded her hands over her ears. Where is she? She shouldered through clumps of twenty-somethings, spun around a few tall, dancing blondes, but none of them were her blonde.
She was considering stealing the microphone away to do a public service announcement when she spotted a girl folded over at the bar.
Yasmine’s eyes scanned down her limp body.
Black leather jacket. Cherry earrings. Slim boots with a ludicrous heel.
An outfit that said look at me, I’m enjoying myself.
The girl’s head was lying in her hands. Her fingertips were painted that dizzying bubblegum pink Yasmine fixated on the first day they met.
Yasmine’s body moved without instruction. She bulldozed through the crowd, laying a shaking hand over Bella’s back and leaning down towards her. She couldn’t see her face, only the reddened tips of her ears. They looked cold, almost frostbitten.
“Bella?” she shouted over the music. “Bella? Are you okay?”
She didn’t see any blood. There was nothing leaking through her white cotton turtleneck. Same with her jeans: spotless. The only thing that was unusual were the bruises on her hands, starting at her wrists and spreading into her palms.
Yasmine realized that Bella’s hands were the only exposed skin she had—her neck was covered by her long hair, and her ankles disappeared into leather boots.
Yasmine hurriedly peeled her turtleneck down, pressing two fingers to Bella’s neck.
She let out a sigh of relief when she felt a distinct pulse underneath.
But there was more bruising there. She nudged the cotton down further, and the bluish-brown pattern continued, not leaving even a sliver of unblemished skin.
“Oh god.” Yasmine felt herself begin to panic. “Bella. You buried the fucking lede.”
Bella had meant internal bleeding.
Yasmine’s heart leapt in her chest when Bella made a small groaning noise.
She slowly began to raise her head, dragging it slowly upwards, neck bent, like her skull was made of cement.
She blinked several times, slowly. Yasmine couldn’t see her pupils.
It was like they’d disappeared into the whites of her eyes.
She carefully curled her fingers around the side of Bella’s face, offering support. The woman’s skin was so soft and pliable, like a warm towel from the dryer.
“Can you hear me?” Yasmine whispered. “Are you able to walk?”
A bartender leaned over the counter, snapping his fingers. “Is this your friend? She’s too drunk. She needs to go home.”
Yasmine’s head snapped towards him. All the fear and fury she’d been packing into a tight coil in her chest bubbled up then, shooting straight out through her gaze.
As soon as their eyes connected, his jaw went slack.
His teeth started to chatter. He made a few weak whining noises, before he collapsed to the floor.
She winced, taking a breath in to steady herself. She had to stay calm. Good things didn’t happen when she got worked up. Saving Bella’s life would be a lot harder if she plunged the entire bar into living hell.
“Yasmine?” Bella asked weakly. “Do you have the cream?”
Yasmine’s fury drained away immediately when Bella spoke. The blonde’s eyes were closed, but she’d finally managed to sit up straight. She’d wrapped her hands around Yasmine’s arms, using her for balance as she swayed slightly on the stool.
“Of course I do. What the hell happened?” Yasmine said, sounding more accusatory than she meant to, her voice laced with worry as she nodded towards her purse. She’d brought just about everything in Bella’s makeup cabinet. “Did someone attack you? Are they still here? What did they look like?”
Yasmine was already imagining the instructions she’d give to her assistant once she knew who did this. No, she’d skip her assistant entirely; she’d speed-dial Sylvia and have her pass the phone to Aster.
“No one attacked me,” Bella whispered. “I…”
She winced mid-sentence, took in a haggard breath, then nearly collapsed against the bar again. Yasmine caught her, holding her completely. She felt so heavy, like complete dead weight. Her hands were clammy where they lay on Yasmine’s sides.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Yasmine said, her voice trembling. She tried and failed to keep it level.
Bella groaned into the nape of her neck. “Need to apply the cream. Give me.” She attempted to raise her own hand, but it shook violently before falling again.
“Please stop wasting your oxygen. I'm getting you out of here."
Bella seemed like she was going to protest, but Yasmine surprised her by scooping her from under her legs, heaving her upwards.
And it really did require heaving; if it wasn’t for the adrenaline, Yasmine probably would have dropped her. For a woman who looked like she’d be as easy to carry as a purse, she was as heavy as a whole soaking wet giraffe. It was inexplicable.