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The runner on the right pulls out a pack of cigarettes and torches the end with a skull-shaped lighter. He drags on the end of the cigarette and I hold my breath from the stench.
“Don’t count the money just yet. It’s harder than you think to find a single red-head who doesn’t want to be found. Why else would they take a contract out?”
“Touché.”
They keep talking like I’m not standing right here freaking the fuck out. Arrogant bastards. I scan the contract and sure enough. They are not wrong about the payout on my life. Mount’s name is printed in bold, black letters and stands out like a blaring red light flashing in my face.
And so does mine.
My ears burn like the devil has a hold of them. Sweat coats my palms and is this box getting smaller? I fan myself unable to cool off no matter how hard I try not to show I’m losing my shit back here.
My father said I would regret my actions. All I wanted to do was get answers about my mother’s death. I was so stupid. And it cost me.
My mind trips over all the mistakes I’ve made in my life. But I keep coming back to one question—why wait until now? Mount had a year to make me pay.
Logic says because he couldn’t find me. And the runners did say that they know I’m here in Chicago. That means someone spotted me.
My father’s last words to me pop off in my head.
Mobsters never forgive a slight against their family. Stay off the grid and don’t come back. You did this to yourself. Don’t expect me to pay for your sins.
Twelve months later and that blade in the heart still stings like a motherfucker.
Would he accept me if I were to return? No. He never takes back his words.
I should have seen this coming. Honestly, I thought it would be the Society that would want me dead.
The sound of the elevator bell pulls me out of the black hole my mind wants to fall into. The swoosh of the metal doors opening drags my eyes off the stack of papers in my arms. The runners don’t look back and I give them no reason to remember I am behind them. I let them get a few feet ahead before I make a swift exit in the opposite direction.
For the first time in my life, I wish I owned a pair of running shoes.
CHAPTERFOUR
BAILEY
Ten paces and I am in the middle of Club Genesis. Killers, Bratva, made men, wanna-be mobsters and their bodyguards surround me. Add in their mistresses and the back up mistresses clinging to all the bad boys and it’s a full house tonight.
The enemy has me where they want me, and not a soul realizes it. I want to keep it that way. Lucky for me club rules keep them all unarmed but I know for a fact a butter knife is just as deadly as a nine-inch blade in the right hands. I scan their faces.
Deadly. Will do anything for money. Period.
I don’t need to know the club members’ profiles or rely on my perfect recall to know I’m in serious hot water if one of these trigger-happy freaks sees through my dyed hair and contacts.
I tuck into myself and weave through the crowd careful not to bump into anyone.
The last thing I need is some asshole with a spiked double espresso having a fit because I made him spill his juiced up bean water.
Yards of red carpet, white marble, and crystal chandeliers spread out before me. I dodge behind a large Frasier Fir. Baubles bounce and branches sway as I pretend to reorganize a few glass ornaments. There’s a well-hidden garbage chute tucked behind the tree. I stuff my armload of contracts down it.
Everything on the first floor is light and welcoming. Unlike the third and fifth floor. I’m not about to get sucked into the falsehood I’m safe here. A discrete bar toward the back glitters with an array of what seems like top-shelf liquor. A drink would be good right about now.
I catch sight of a waiter coming out of a swinging door and head in that direction.
Kitchen, then back alley and then a taxi to a bus stop. Final destination unknown as long as it is not here.
It’s as solid of a plan as I have. When I was pulled out of the Society, I made a promise to myself I would never fall prey to another man’s evil intentions against me. I am lucky to be alive and I will not tempt fate twice.
No one notices me on my way out the back entrance. I snag someone’s puffy jacket before I open the back door. One foot out and a wash of urine and rotting vegetables suffocate the air from my lungs. Snow covers a few cars and a nearby dumpster with more flurries swirling to snag in my hair. It’s only getting started. In another hour—two tops—it will be impossible to move around easily in the streets. I need to hurry.
