Prologue #2
I force myself to stand, legs shaking so badly I have to lean against the wall for support. My mind races, calculating. They're still in the back room, they have to be. Dealing with the body, cleaning up the blood, figuring out how to dispose of Tommy. That gives me maybe ten minutes. Maybe.
I can do this. I have to.
I start moving, retracing my steps through the neighborhood, back toward the bar. Every shadow makes me flinch. Every passing car sends my heart into my throat. But I keep going, adrenaline overriding the terror screaming at me to run the other way.
When I reach the alley behind the bar, I pause, pressing myself against the brick wall. The back door is still propped open with the crate, exactly how I left it when I ran. Dim light spills out into the darkness. I can hear voices inside, muffled, distant, coming from the back office.
They're still in there.
I take a shaky breath and move toward the door, every nerve screaming at me to turn around. I slip inside, my sneakers silent on the concrete floor. The hallway stretches ahead, narrow and dimly lit. The office door is partially open at the end, light cutting across the floor.
Now I can hear them clearly.
"Get rid of the chair. Burn it," Vega's voice, cold and commanding. "And make sure there's no blood left. I don't want a single drop."
"What about the girl?" Bruno asks. "The waitress. She see anything?"
My breath catches. I freeze, my back pressed against the wall.
"I don't know," Vega says slowly. "Carlos said she left early. Forgot her purse."
Shit. Shit. They know.
"You want us to check her apartment?" Sal's voice, low and menacing.
"Not yet. Let's handle this first. Then we'll deal with her."
I don't wait to hear more. I move quickly, silently, toward the office.
My heart hammers so hard I'm sure they can hear it.
The door is open just enough for me to see inside.
Vega's back is to me, his suit jacket draped over the chair.
Bruno and Sal are crouched near the floor, wrapping something in plastic sheeting. Tommy's body.
My purse sits on the desk. Right there. Five feet away.
I reach out, my hand trembling violently, and grab the strap. The leather slides across the wood with the faintest whisper of sound.
Bruno's head snaps up.
I don't think. I just run.
"Hey!" Bruno shouts. "Someone's out there!"
I bolt down the hallway, purse clutched against my chest, legs pumping as fast as they'll go. Behind me, chairs scrape and footsteps thunder.
"Stop her!" Vega roars.
I burst through the back door and into the alley, my lungs burning. I don't look back, I just run, cutting through the shadows, weaving between dumpsters and parked cars. I can hear them behind me, shouting, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls like gunshots.
I turn a corner and nearly slam into a chain-link fence. I scramble over it, my hands slipping on the cold metal, my jeans snagging on the top. I drop down hard on the other side and keep running, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the footsteps fade. I risk a glance over my shoulder. Nothing. Just darkness and silence.
I slow to a jog, then a walk, my whole body shaking with adrenaline and terror. I dig into my purse with trembling hands and pull out my keys. They're there. My phone. My wallet. Everything.
I did it. I actually did it.
But I can't stop now. They know I was there. They know I saw. And now they know I came back.
I start moving again, faster this time, heading toward my apartment. It's only a few blocks away. I can pack a bag, grab my car, and disappear before they figure out where I live.
Move, Maddie. Move.
I reach my building and take the stairs two at a time, keys already in my hand. I unlock the door and slip inside, locking it behind me. My apartment is small, cramped, but it's mine. Or it was.
Not anymore.
I drop my keys by the door then yank a duffel bag from the closet and start throwing things in. Clothes, toiletries, my laptop, chargers. I don't think about what I'm packing, I just grab whatever I can reach. My hands are still shaking so badly I drop things twice.
Faster. Move faster.
I zip the bag closed and sling it over my shoulder. I grab my car keys from the hook by the door and take one last look around the apartment. This was supposed to be my fresh start. My safe place after years of bouncing through foster homes and shitty jobs.
Now it's just another place I have to leave behind.
I slip out the door and down the stairs, moving quickly but quietly. My car's parked on the street, a beat-up Honda Civic that's seen better days but still runs. I toss the duffel in the back seat and slide behind the wheel, gripping it so hard my knuckles go white.
I start the engine and pull onto the street, my eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds. No one's following me. Not yet.
I wind through the city, taking side streets and back roads, avoiding the main highways where cameras might catch my plates. By the time I reach the interstate, the sky's already lightening with the first hints of dawn.
I merge onto I-90 North and press down on the gas, watching the city shrink and disappear behind me.
I don't know where I'm going. All I know is I need to get as far from Frank Vega as possible. Because if he finds me, I'm dead.