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I try to imagine what it would be like to have friends. It’s hard to see my world where I get to do girls’ night. Vera is sweet and all, but we have zero things in common. I like them rough around the edges and she likes them with sweaters wrapped around their shoulders and sitting on trust funds.
I want dirty sex talk and she likes missionary sweetness. I know because every time she goes out on a date, I spend the next night hearing about it as we work the bar together.
Yeah. No. I don’t do hanging out. I work, go home. Save. Rinse and repeat. It’s the only way to keep people at a distance and myself out of trouble. “Sounds cool,” I lie with a smile. I look behind me but nothing. No bear of a man and his partners.
“What’s up with the kinky maid’s uniform?” Vera shakes a finger in my direction while she loads her tray up with more fresh tequila shots.
I look down. Shit again.
“Long story.” I lean in and raise my voice over the electric music with the heavy base. “Listen, let’s catch up later. I need to head to the bathroom and I’m meeting up with some people.”
“Oh, a date?” Her head is back to bobbing up and down. “We’ll catch up tomorrow then. I wanna hear about whatever heartthrob you take home tonight.”
My brows pinch in confusion.
She puckers her lips with judgment. “No one wears kinky sex costumes without a plan.”
Oh. Dear God. Is that what I look like? The white zip-up dress is a little tight around the bust and my ample ass but it’s not sex kitten porno vibe material. I go to defend myself, sprinkle another lie on top of all the others, but I quickly clamp it shut. Every inch of my skin prickles with the burn of someone’s eyes on me. I spin around in time to see a set of black eyes lasering in on me from the top of the stairs.
I glare in his direction. Fucking Ryth. I knew it would be him.
“Later!” I don’t wait to hear what Vera says as I push my way through the crowd. I hunch over and let the people nearly swallow me as I move to the back of the club. Lights are dimmer back here and I use the shadows to mask my location. I hit the back door and fall into the staff’s locker room.
Passport. Cash. Back exit. Precinct.
My plan in a tiny nutshell.
It takes me several attempts to punch in the code on the keypad with shaky fingers, but I eventually manage. When the door springs open, I stuff my passport and a couple hundred bucks I keep here as an emergency backup behind the zipper of my dress. Wolfe calls me paranoid, but I like to be prepared for almost any eventuality.
I really should opt for better clothes. Starting with ones with pockets.
Though I have to admit, I never saw myself on the run from the mob.
I yank the zipper down and ditch the borrowed uniform. Instead of leaving it as proof of my location, I stuff it in the locker and tuck my phone into the waistband of my skirt.
I swing the locker door open and reach for a jacket but come up short.
Shit seems to be the word of the night. I huff a growl of frustration. For once I would like just a little bit of a break. I must have left it back at the high-rise when I switched it out for this stupid uniform.
Whatever. The police station will be heated.
I pick up the burner I bought and leave in my locker for emergency purposes. I’ve been known to forget my phone at home by accident. On those nights I turn on my burner to let my brother know I’m ready for pickup.
I grab the burner and go to leave my real phone in the locker. On second thought. I pull up my brother’s chat and shoot him the video as a backup. Having multiple copies is a good idea. When it goes through, I stash my real phone with the evidence tucked away inside.
I’m out of the locker room in less than three minutes and testing the security system for weaknesses on this side of the building. Going back the way I came in doesn’t seem like the wisest move, but I need to keep moving.
I’m in a dark hallway with only the glow of the red exit sign leading the way.
I press the handle on the door and an alarm will go off. Might as well paint a glowing sign over my head if I do that.
My head falls back, and my eyes immediately swing to the exit sign. Yeah, I get the irony.
I could head back to the other end of the hallway. The manager has his private exit. He’ll have a million questions, but I can probably buy him off with the promise of working a double shift tomorrow. He doesn’t need to know I’ll be long gone by then. It’s as solid of a plan as I can come up with on the fly.
I turn on my heel and my world just sort of freezes, and I can’t breathe. Literally. The air in my lungs is stolen and I can’t seem to take it back.
Alaric.
