Chapter 1 #2
Dash leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "What kind of trouble are you in, Madelyn?"
The question catches me off guard. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you've got that look. Like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop." His gray eyes bore into mine. "If someone's going to come looking for you, I need to know."
I want to lie and tell him everything's fine, that I'm just a girl looking for a fresh start.
But something about the way he's looking at me, like he actually gives a damn, makes the truth claw its way up my throat.
"I saw something I shouldn't have," I admit quietly.
"And the people involved don't want me talking about it. "
His jaw tightens. "How bad?"
"Bad enough that I left everything behind and drove six hours to a town I'd never heard of."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I watch his face, trying to read what he's thinking. Then he steps closer, and the small apartment feels even smaller. "You're safe here," he says, his voice low and rough. "Finn and I don't let anyone fuck with what's ours."
What's ours? The words hang in the air between us, and I tilt my head slightly, studying him. Ours? Like the bar? But the way he says it makes me think he’s not talking about the bar, but me.
Me, the person he just met thirty minutes ago.
Heat creeps up my neck. Jesus Madelyn, just because a hot man stares at you too long doesn’t mean he’s interested. "Thank you," I whisper.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his calloused fingers brushing my cheek. "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You have no idea what you just walked into."
Then he's gone, his heavy footsteps echoing down the stairs, leaving me alone in the apartment with my racing heart and a dozen questions I don't have answers to.
What did I just walk into? What's the dynamic between Dash and Finn? Why are they both so interested in me?
I walk to the window and look down at the street below, replaying everything that just happened. The way they moved together. The way they communicated without words. The way they both looked at me like I was something worth protecting, or possessing.
frank vega
Silence settles over the office above the bar, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner.
Tommy Ricci bled out behind my desk yesterday.
The cleaning crew scrubbed every trace away, leaving behind nothing but the sharp bite of bleach and an empty space where the chair used to be.
Like it never happened. Except it did, and someone saw.
I lean back in my leather chair, fingers steepled, jaw tight. Carlos stands in front of my desk looking like he's about to piss himself. Good. He should be scared.
"Madelyn Graves. Where is she?" I ask, voice calm.
Carlos swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I…I don’t know, boss. I tried calling her but there was no answer. I went by her apartment this morning like you asked.”
“And?”
“It’s empty. Like she was never there.”
Silence stretches between us. I let it sit, let him sweat. Then I stand slowly, buttoning my suit jacket. “Show me.”
Ten minutes later I’m walking into Madelyn’s shithole apartment, two blocks from the bar.
It’s a third-floor walkup with peeling paint and a broken buzzer.
Carlos leads me up the narrow stairwell, keys jangling in his shaking hand.
“Got these from the office.” He says before unlocking the door and steps aside.
I walk in and find it empty. The furniture’s still here, cheap secondhand shit the landlord probably provided, but everything personal is gone.
I move through the space methodically, opening drawers, checking under the bed, looking for anything she left behind. There are no clothes in the closet or toiletries in the bathroom. Nothing tells me where she went. But I know she ran.
I pull out my phone and dial Bruno. He answers on the second ring.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Madelyn Graves. The waitress. She’s gone.”
There’s a pause. “Gone how?”
“Gone as in she cleared out her apartment and disappeared sometime between last night and this morning.” I keep my voice even, but the anger simmers underneath. “She was here when we handled Tommy. She saw everything.”
“Fuck.” Bruno’s voice hardens immediately. “You want us to find her?”
“I want you to do more than find her.” I walk to the window, looking down at the street below. A few people pass by, oblivious. “She’s a witness, Bruno. The only witness. If she talks to the cops, if she testifies, everything we’ve built falls apart. You understand?”
“Loud and clear, boss.”
“Good. Get Sal. Start asking questions. Check with the other staff at the bar. Did she mention family? Friends? Anywhere she might run to?”
“On it.”
I end the call and turn back to Carlos, who’s hovering nervously in the doorway. “You worked with her for two years. Where would she go?”
He shakes his head quickly. “I don’t know, Mr. Vega. She mostly kept to herself. I know she doesn’t have any family. Mentioned once she grew up in foster care. She just… worked her shifts and went home.”
“Friends?”
“Not really. She was friendly with some of the regulars, but nothing close.”
I nod slowly, processing. She’s a loner with no ties which makes her harder to track but also more vulnerable. She’s running scared so she’ll make mistakes. “Get out,” I tell Carlos. “And keep your mouth shut about this. If anyone asks, Madelyn quit without notice. That’s it.”
He nods frantically and bolts.
Back at the bar, I make the calls. First to Detective Kowalski. He’s been on my payroll for three years. A dirty cop with expensive tastes and a gambling problem. Perfect combination. “Ray,” I say when he picks up. “I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” His voice is wary. He knows better than to ask too many questions, but he’s not stupid.
“I need you to run a plate for me. Silver Honda Civic, 2015.” I rattle off the license number I pulled from the bar’s security footage last week when Madelyn parked out back. “I need to know if it’s been spotted anywhere. Traffic cams, toll booths, gas stations. Anything.”
“This official business?”
“Does it matter?”
He sighs. “Give me a few hours.”
“You’ve got two.”
Next, I call my contact at the credit card company. Another guy who owes me. “I need transaction history on a Madelyn Graves. Last twenty-four hours. Anything she’s used, debit, credit, doesn’t matter.”
“That’s gonna take some time.”
“You’ve got one hour.” I hang up before he can argue.
Then I sit back and wait.
Bruno and Sal show up an hour later. They’re my best guys, ruthless, efficient, and smart enough not to ask questions they don’t need answers to. Bruno’s the talker, smooth and charming when he needs to be. Sal’s the muscle, six-foot-four and built like a brick shithouse.
“What’d you find?” I ask.
Bruno pulls out a small notebook. “I talked to the bartender, the cook, and a couple of regulars. Nobody knows shit.”
“She saw us with Tommy and knew we’d come for her. So she ran.”
Sal cracks his knuckles. “Smart girl.”
“Not smart enough.” I lean forward, elbows on the desk. “She’s out there somewhere, and she’s the only thing standing between us and a murder charge. We find her, we handle it, and this problem disappears. Understood?”
“Understood,” Bruno says.
My phone buzzes.
Ray: Civic spotted on I-90 North, 7:15 AM yesterday. Toll booth cam. Heading toward the mountains.
I show them the message. “She’s running north. Trying to disappear in the mountains.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Sal points out.
“Then you’d better start narrowing it down.” I pull up a map on my computer, tracing the route north from the city. “Check gas stations, motels, truck stops. Show her picture around. Someone’s seen her.”
Bruno nods. “What do we do when we find her?”
I meet his eyes, my voice cold and flat. “You make sure she can’t talk. Permanently.”
“Got it.”
“And Bruno?” I stand, buttoning my jacket. “Don’t fuck this up. She’s a loose end, and I don’t leave loose ends.”
“We won’t, boss.”
They leave, and I’m alone again in the office. I pour myself a scotch and stare out the window at the city below. Lights stretching to the horizon, thousands of people going about their lives, oblivious.
Madelyn Graves thinks she can run. Thinks she can hide in some nowhere town and I’ll just forget about her. She’s wrong.
I’ve built an empire on making problems disappear. Witnesses, rivals, anyone who threatens what’s mine. She’s no different. Just another name on a list that needs crossing off.
I take a slow sip of scotch, the burn grounding me.
She’s out there right now all alone. Probably thinks she’s safe because she put some miles between us.
But safety’s an illusion, and distance doesn’t mean shit when you’ve got money and men like I do.
I’m coming for her, and when I find her, she’s going to wish she’d kept walking past that back room.