AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh no? One of the ladies must have gotten you confused with another bride. Come to the design table.”
We follow, and I sit next to her at a huge gold table where assortments of beads, fabric swatches, photos and sketches are laid out on one side, and an office caddy full of colored pencils and a sketch pad on the other.
There are tall windows with white satin drapes, so the upper floor is bathed in natural light. Beads and sequins glitter from gowns that hang in neat rows. In the corner, a pair of women with steel-gray hair hunch over a cream lace dress they’re hand-sewing.
While I show Magda pictures of my flowers and some clippings of dresses I like, Ash wanders over to the window. Magda shows me some different styles of draping that she thinks will look beautiful on me, and I say, “Ash, do you want to look with me?”
“Be right there,” she says, walking to the second window that’s even farther away. “Magda, do you get many men in the showroom?”
“No. The gentlemen like to be surprised, no?”
“Yeah.” Ash’s tone is soft and distracted. “Shit,” she mutters. When she turns, her brow is furrowed, and she strides across the floor like she’s warming up to run a race. “Magda, is there a back door?”
“A back door?” Magda asks in confusion.
“Come on, Liv. We need to go.” She grabs my arm and tugs.
“What’s happening?”
“Right now. Let’s go.” Ash’s voice is as sharp as a blade and spurs me into motion.
“What is it?”
“Miss Magda,” Ash says. “Back door? Yes or no?”
“Yes, for deliveries.”
“Take us.”
Magda glances toward the front where a tinkling chime sounds. “This way.” The older woman rushes ahead of us, and we weave through a maze of dresses to reach a plain wood staircase with a dark carpet runner.
We hustle down the stairs, and Magda opens the back door for us.
When we step outside into the cold sunshine, Ash’s left hand grabs my arm and guides me, staying close to the brick so we’re in the shadow of the eaves.
When we’re a few feet from the corner of the building, a man steps into view. He’s dark-haired and bulky.
Ash freezes and puts an arm out to block me from taking another step.
“Olivia Nichols,” he says in a deep, gruff voice as he points a finger at me and then crooks it toward himself. “Come. Someone wants to speak with you.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Get your hand away from your bag,” he barks at Ash. Pulling his black wool coat open, he reveals a gun.
It’s as though the air is sucked from my lungs. Why is an armed man ordering me to go somewhere with him? Who does he work for?
“Just reaching for my lip balm,” Ash says in a soft, innocent voice.
“Who are you?” the guy asks.
“Ashley. Olivia’s friend from high school. Who are you?”
I blink. Her name is not Ashley; it’s Ashling. And of course, she’s not a school friend, either. My rigid posture goes even stiffer.
A dark sedan with black windows pulls along side us. The man with a gun steps forward as the door opens. There are two men inside, a driver in front and a passenger in the back.
“Get in,” the gunman says, shoving the back of my shoulder.
