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Another twenty minutes pass when my stomach starts to ache and my phone buzzes on the table. I quickly scoop it up and find a new text from Heather. My stomach sinks.
Heather - Wow. And to think I almost believed you when you said bailing on your shift last week was a once off. You missed your shift last night and now tonight! Don’t bother coming back. You’re fired.
FUCK! Work didn’t even cross my mind.
Soaring guilt storms through my veins and drops heavily into my gut. Working in a bar wasn’t exactly my dream job, but it was fun and meant something to me, and now . . . I hate that I’ve left a bad taste in Heather’s mouth and let her down. This isn’t who I am as a person, but with everything going on right now with random shootouts and murdering hairdressers, work has been the furthest thing from my mind.
Suddenly not so hungry, I push the two plates aside and slouch back into my seat, feeling like shit. The waitress comes by and gives me a strange smile, her eyes hard and too focused. “All finished?” she asks, her tone not matching the strange look in her eyes.
I sit back up out of sheer politeness and nod. “Umm, yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”
She reaches forward to take the plate, but her hands linger as she inches closer to me, blocking the boys’ view of me. A slip of paper falls out of her hand, right into my lap, and I catch it with wide eyes, quickly burying it deep in my pocket. Then as if nothing happened, she picks up both plates and scurries away with a fake smile.
The note burns in my pocket, and despite the need to sit here all night and waste the boys’ time, I push up from my chair, grab my things off the table, and make my way to the bathroom. There’s no way I can open this note while the boys are watching.
I don’t dare look back at them, but I sense their stares on my back, knowing without a doubt one of them will be standing right outside the bathroom door as I pee.
Pushing through to the bathroom, I head into a stall and quickly lock the door behind me before tearing the note out of my pocket, only having a few moments before I’ll be bombarded by an alphahole. Having no idea what this could be about, I go into this with an open mind, hoping like fuck this is some kind of weird way for the waitress to slip me her number rather than anything sinister like everything else seems to be these days.
The note is like a dead weight in my hand, and I quickly unfold it before glancing over the small letters, my heart sinking with every new word.
You were supposed to run. You promised you would run.
What are you doing? Going on dates and messing around with DeVil’s crew.
Don’t be foolish, daughter. Get your ass out of there. Save yourself before it’s too late.
Time is running out.
Dad.
What the fuck?
My heart races, and I drop down on the toilet, unable to hold my weight. I look over the note again, reading the words over and over, my hands shaking violently.
How the hell did he get this to me? How did he know I was on a date?
So many fucking questions race through my mind, but one thing is for sure—my father has a bigger pull than I could have ever known. He would have to know people out here watching over me and tracking my every step. But how? He’s supposed to be a dead man, supposed to be some kind of nomad locked in Empire’s prison system. How the hell does he have people working for him when no one is supposed to know he’s even alive?
A wave of guilt crashes through me, and I whip around, throwing myself off the toilet before violently throwing up my two dinners straight into it. I’ve been out here fucking around, concentrating on living my best life for the little time I have left, when I should be finding a way into the darkest pits of Empire to free my father and save both of us before it’s too late.
Fucking hell. I’ve been so stupid. It’s been a week, and all I’ve managed to do is find some bullshit blueprints that are absolutely no use to me.
I hear someone outside my stall and groan, knowing it’s one of the boys. “You good?” I hear Easton on the other side of the door, and honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t broken the door right off the hinges to check on me.
“Fine,” I lie, trying to calm myself. “Just over-ate.”
He scoffs, and the amusement in his tone makes me want to smack him. “Yeah, no shit. I know grown-ass men who couldn’t put food back the way you just did.”
