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That was the front door at that moment.
A choir of angels serenaded me as I made it there, hands scrabbling with the doorknob. It came as no surprise it was unlocked. After all, the bastard had gotten in somehow, but I still wasted precious seconds as I tried to figure out how to turn the goddamn handle.
Pissed at myself, I finally managed the simplest task in existence, and opened the door just as I heard him groan.
That sound sent shivers down my already weak spine, and I accepted that my time was more than just running out.
I could hear the ticking clock in my ear as much as I sensed how jarring that fall had been. My brain felt foggy but I had to act. It was either move it or lose it.
Literally.
Gritting my teeth, I darted out into the hall as quickly as I could, fear giving my knees the strength I needed to move faster.
There was technically only one way to reach the penthouse—a private elevator. But one time, I’d gained access to the helicopter pad up there.
I’d never know how my dad had pulled that particular string but he’d done it because Mom was rushed to the hospital with a punctured lung of all things, and I’d had to go through the emergency fire exit, up the stairs, and to the helicopter pad where my winged carriage had awaited me.
There, I’d learned about another set of stairs that would take me down to the penthouse’s terrace, and gave the owner easy access to that exit.
I didn’t know which O’Donnelly lived up there, but I was praying it was Aidan. He’d help me. He would. I knew it. He’d helped me before when I was young and stupid.
"Jesus, let it be Aidan," I rasped to myself.
I darted over to the elevator first, then summoned it. The doors immediately opened because the upper floors accessed a different elevator, one that only served a handful of people. Rushing in, I pressed the button that’d take me to the ground, then jumped out as the doors started to close.
Thanking Christ that the way I was holding my sweats meant blood wasn't dripping onto the floor, I peered down at the blood-soaked fabric and knew it wasn't going to hold for long.
Praying the intruder would take my actions with the elevator to mean I’d gone downstairs, which would have been the smart thing to do—the move that every blonde bimbette in a horror movie wouldneverdo—I stayed on course and headed for the fire exit.
I needed an O’Donnelly.
Someone had managed to break into a secured apartment building that required four different access codes to breach.
Someone had managed to do all that and then get into my apartment itself.
I knew who.
The Sparrows.
Because I’d been the one to break the news about them, because I’d been the one to write that initial exposé, to reveal the first round of faces and their purported crimes, they were gunning for me.
When you had a secret society coming after you, who were you gonna call?
Well, the Ghostbusters were out, but the Irish fucking Mob sure as hell felt like a safety net when the cops themselves had been infiltrated by the NWS too.
So, up it was.
I just never imagined that I'd be trying to find safety in a group of people who, once upon a time, had wanted me dead too.
