Peering over the edge, a new wave of anxiety hits me.
Am I really about to throw myself over the side of this thing as if I weren’t terrified of falling from the same height a few moments ago?
The heavy footfall of security closes in, and before I can think better of it, I carefully turn myself around, using my elbows and limited upper body strength to lower myself over the edge.
A six- or seven-foot drop is vastly better than a ten-foot drop, and given how broken my body already is, I don’t want to risk hurting myself any more, especially when I have no idea when I’ll be able to be seen by a doctor.
The reality I’ve conveniently allowed myself to ignore is that the Lombardis run this city. They’re the oldest and most powerful mafia family in the South, which means if I present to a hospital, they’ll know about it.
Voices close in on me, dogs barking, people shouting, and before I can talk myself out of it, I release the wall, dropping to my feet and promptly falling on my ass.
Agony shoots through my ankles and shins, and I hiss out a breath, willing myself to stay quiet as I allow myself a few seconds to regain my composure.
Forcing myself to my feet, I limp for a few steps and lean against a nearby tree.
It’s unlikely any of the guards are going to hop the wall, but I want to be out of sight if they decide to look over it nonetheless.
Taking a look around the dark night, I realize I’m close to the back corner of the property, meaning two things.
One, I’m far from any of the gates, which will slow them down.
And two, I’m not far from a service road that has a gas station at the other end of it.
The guys and I used to go there for a popsicle on hot summer days, and even if I stay off the road itself, I’m fairly confident I can navigate the surrounding area.
I’m slow as I move through trees and over rocks, keeping out of sight of the road. Not that anyone seems to come looking for me.
Maybe they assume I’m dead. Or that I will be.
I’m sure there are gators around here, but I’m trying not to think about the dinosaurs that live in the nearby waterways.
Just another thing I’m living in denial about until later because I may be afraid of falling, but alligators are among my biggest fears.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I breathe a little easier once the gas station comes into view, and I even find myself moving a little faster despite the exhaustion dragging down every step I take.
The clerk, a guy around my age with a rat’s tail and a backward cap, looks up at me as I enter, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the blood and dirt caked onto my skin.
“Would I be able to use your phone?” I ask, my voice shaking as the weight of everything that’s transpired over the last few days begins to hit me.
He nods slowly. “Do you need the police? An ambulance?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Just your phone, please.”
The clerk pushes it across the counter, and I take it with shaky hands.
“I’ll just stand over here, if that’s okay?” With an answering nod of approval, I step toward the fridges that line the far wall, dialing a number I thought I’d never have to use but am glad I memorized.
There’s only one man that will dare to go up against the Lombardi family.
“Hello?” His rough voice comes over the line, and my chest tightens at the sound.
“It’s Chloe Weaver,” I choke on a broken sob. “I need your help.”
CHAPTER ONE
CHLOE
NOW
