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I can’t wait until the day that I’m out of this god awful city.
Shivering, I pull my coat tighter around me.
Fucking Chicago.
I’ve never enjoyed cold weather, even as a native of the city. When I was younger, I always dreamed of moving to Texas or LA, just so I could finally soak up the blessed rays of the sun.
That was until I got caught up in the underworld of Chicago, that’s when I’d decided that I’d throw on a thick peacoat and pretend that the cool air wasn’t slowly killing me. I’d rather be freezing with money and power than warm and comfortable but broke.
When it became clear the power I wanted wasn’t something that seemed to be attainable, I still hadn’t left the city because something else had been driving me.
Revenge.
Two years gone and I still haven’t gotten it.
More times than I could count, I’ve packed my bags up, determined to find a warm city in Europe, because as a grown woman I can dream way bigger than Texas and California. But each time, I’d barely packed my bag before common sense kicked in.
Now I keep my getaway bag packed at all times but I’m determined that I won’t use it until I see the look of shock onhisface as he realizes his greatest asset, turned worst enemy finally won, finally showhimexactly why he shouldn’t have cut me loose.
If I can manage to finally get in before the old bastard dies that is.
Sighing, I watch the puff of smoke that forms in front of my mouth and I shake my head. I go through the same tangents every day, the same plots of revenge moving through my head.
And yet after two years, I still have nothing.
Me, the Architect, one of the most renowned thieves this side of the hemisphere, still hasn’t figure out how to rob her own fucking mentor.
I grit my teeth, turning to head in the direction of the nearest Starbucks for a hot coffee when I feel a hot gaze on the back of my neck.
Well, fuck.
I’ve gotten used to being followed at the most inconvenient times. It’s the perks of being on the top of everyone’s shit list.
Another day, another pissed off person ready to kill me for a job I probably don’t even remember.
I don’t pause my steps, fighting back the urge to turn and see who’s watching me.
The only advantage I have is them not knowing that I’m onto them.
So, I keep forward, moving in the same direction.
It's late, the streetlights that aren’t broken, barely giving off any light. There aren’t many other people on the street besides the homeless. This part of the city is typically barren at night, which is why it's one of my favorite haunts. And it's going to work to my benefit as I corner whoever is tracking me.
I shove my hands deep in my pockets, my fingers dancing over the switchblade in my right pocket. Beneath my jacket, I can feel the bulge of my piece sitting on my left hip. I’m a better shot with my right, however I’m still not anything to blink at when it comes to my left.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t cut a fucking pig if it sat on my blade itself with my left hand, so the placements of my weapons is a pure tatical one, especially since I’m traveling light tonight, with not near as many weapons as I usually would carry.
Should have fucking known better.
I let out a light whistle, keeping my steps even and composed as I turn down the next alleyway. One of the streetlights is busted, so it's dimmer than the others.
Perfect.
It stinks, rotten food and god knows what else permeating the air, but I ignore the stench.
The two tall brick buildings only leave a couple of feet of space, but I can see that there’s a small passageway behind them as well.
It’ll be a better place to confront my stalker.
