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My lungs flood with a burn that cools at the same time, and I take two more long drags as calm begins to seep through my bones.
Maybe I’ll just cut out now and ditch Monica and the other girls we came with.
Hell, she probably won’t even notice.
Of course she won’t. She’ll be too busy getting banged by Chad in the bathroom.
I chuckle softly to myself, leaning against the wall and tilting my head up to blow a stream of smoke into the cool air. I’m wearing a tank top and jeans, and the rough brick of the building pokes into the exposed skin on my upper back. But I like the feeling.
It’s grounding somehow.
The door I stepped out through is solid metal, so it dulls the sound of music from the club, but I can still feel the beat reverberate in my body like an echo.
I move my head to the rhythm, dancing just a little as I finish my cigarette and flick the butt onto the dirty pavement. Then I glance toward the door one last time before shoving away from the wall.
If Monica does notice I ditched her, I’m sure she’ll be pissed. It’ll probably spark some stupid-as-shit drama at school, and we’ll have a “falling out” even though we were never actually friends.
Oh well.
I head toward the mouth of the alley, walking carefully among the discarded bottles and other trash that litters the dark ground.
As I near the street, I notice a figure standing on the sidewalk near the mouth of the alley. As I get closer, I realize it’s the guy from the club. The one with the strangely mesmerizing eyes.
He’s deep in a low conversation with his two friends. They’re standing in a loose huddle, heads bent slightly toward each other and their faces set in serious masks.
It strikes me as a little odd, the way they’re talking. What could possibly be that serious on a night out at a club? They’re definitely not arguing over who’s gonna Venmo who for a cab, that’s for fucking sure.
All three of them are standing just outside the alley, and the street here is dark enough that I can’t really get a good look at their faces. Which sucks, because for some reason I really want to.
I want to know what these strangely serious men look like. They can’t be much older than me. Maybe a few years at most. Twenty? Twenty-one?
For a wild second, I think about pulling out another cigarette and trying to bum a light from one of them. Anything to give me an excuse to talk to them.
But that’s not how I live my fucking life.
Monica, who’s never had to deal with anything worse than a speeding ticket or getting grounded by her parents or a bad breakup—she might do something like that.
But me?
I’ve learned that the best way to avoid trouble in this world is to keep your head down and stay invisible. To not invite it into your life.
So instead of turning toward the three men when I step out of the alley, I turn away.
Or at least, I start to.
Before I can take more than a step, a dark SUV rolls by, silent and smooth. The back window is halfway down, and I see a hand emerge, something dark and metallic held in its grip. The dim light of the flickering streetlamps nearby glint off the shiny surface, and adrenaline explodes inside me like a bomb as I recognize the object for what it is.
A gun.
My heart jumps in my chest, fueling the adrenaline that pours through my system like lighter fluid.
Everything seems to happen too fast and too slow all at the same time.
The weapon is pointed toward the man with the blue and brown eye, who’s got his back turned, still talking to his friends.
My mouth opens to yell a warning, but before a single word can come from my lips, my feet are moving.
I’m darting forward.
