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“You know I’d help you if I could, right?” Her voice wavers, almost as if she feels she should offer some solution. It’s not her fault. Lacy lives several miles outside the city with her boyfriend, and I could never impose on them.
“I know,” I say, offering her a smile. “It’s not your job to deal with my current financial crisis. Thanks for listening, though.” My voice is flat. I hate venting to her so often.
It’s her turn to offer me a sweet smile, but it’s the kind that falls at the end. Although even a frown on her is beautiful. Lacy’s freckles scatter across her cheeks, creating small constellations on her face. Her complexion is a milky white, which makes her auburn hair stand out even more. Add in her green eyes that can pierce your soul and you have dynamite. I have always told her that her unique features would make for an in-demand model, but she always shakes it off and tells me I’m crazy.
She takes a hair tie off her wrist and pulls her wavy locks into a bun—a few pieces outlining her face and ending below her jaw. It’s a stark difference between my bright blonde hair with blue eyes and her green eyes with auburn hair. I slap my hands down on my legs fitted with tight black pants for food service and stand, winking at Lacy.
“Time to go.”
* * *
The week drags by.We have several nighttime events, but there is a bunch of prep to be had during the day, and I don’t get much time to myself. Thursday comes before I’m ready, and our manager has a meeting scheduled this afternoon to go over the campaign event this weekend for some senator. To be honest, all the clients and events run together.
A bunch of rich people throwing money around like it grows in their well-maintained, backyard gardens. I try—hard—not to let my own circumstances turn my attitude bitter, but I’m not that good of a person. I know many people work hard for the money they have, but there are always those who inherit it or fall into money, and they are the loudest. The arrogant elitists who flock to these posh events think they are untouchable.
Thickness in my throat has me checking myself—I shouldn’t complain. There is money there, and if it weren’t for my tips, I would not be making ends meet with my salary alone from Emporium.
I pull myself to the kitchen and tug the refrigerator open, scanning the shelves. It’s pathetic—three jars of dill pickles, a handful of apples, and a carton of eggs.I need to make time on Sunday to go grocery shopping.
Fishing out an apple, I twist the stem, making it all the way to L before the stubborn thing comes off. Biting into the tart flesh, I slurp its juicy flavor as I make my way to the window. The run-down courtyard is nothing spectacular, but the sun is catching on the air conditioner units that line the sides while steam rises and evaporates.
The sky has not a cloud in it, the sunlit skyscrapers I see beyond pierce the cobalt blue, and now I’m yearning for a run. Gobbling up the rest of my Honeycrisp, I bound into my bedroom, pulling out a sports bra and black leggings.
After wrestling with the bra and sliding my leggings on, I braid my shoulder-length waves. Pushing a headband up and over my face, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Anxiety over dwindling funds creeps in, and I know I have got to get out of this box of an apartment into the open air. I insert my headphones and head out the door.
I don’t knowwhy I thought a run was a good idea. I’m not one of those dedicated runners who can run miles each day and obtain a high that surpasses all euphoria. Nope—I’m dying. I can’t suck enough air into my lungs.
I push myself through the lush greenery of Highbridge Park and vow that I will never run again. I’m motivating myself with an enchanting espresso that I never treat myself to. When you can barely afford your rent, little beverages that you used to appreciate become money pits. However, I decide that I deserve a small cup since I nearly died three times over.
Exiting the park, I slow to a walk and pull out my phone, checking my messages. One from my mom.
Haven’t heard from you this week. Just checking in.
To avoid a bicycle coming straight toward me, I move to the side and type out a reply.
I’m okay. Things have been busy with work. I will try to call this weekend.
I take a deep inhale through my nose and blow out air as I near the coffee shop, knowing I’m about to spend money I don’t have on something I don’t need. I turn to take a glimpse behind me and narrow my eyes at an all-black town car with tinted windows parked across the street. It’s parked in a long line of colorful vehicles, making it stand out.
A screeching sound echoes along the station’s gas pumps.
Three large black SUVs barrel into the gas station.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Gunfire erupts around me.
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach and I divert my eyes. I’m being paranoid. All-black cars aren’t cause for anxiety.
A customer walks out of the coffee shop and smiles while holding the door. I pause a second, returning my eyes to the car as it pulls out of its spot, casually driving away.
“Thank you, appreciate it,” I say to the man holding the door. Time to spend a mini fortune and dilute my bloodstream with caffeine.
Chapter5
Luka
Thwack. Pow. Pow.
Nik grunts as I land three light-handed punches to his left side. The sweat is dripping down my stomach and the scarred skin there pulls taut as I rack my body back to deliver another blow. Nik deflects the throw and shuffles back, bouncing on his toes.
