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I wave at him as he speeds down the street and out of sight, then turn to unlock the front door.
A door which I find to be ajar already. Unusual, but I haven’t lived here long enough to know how forgetful the neighbours can be. Nevertheless, I walk up the stairs as quietly as possible, keeping close to the wall in case anyone is watching the handrail. Paranoia? Maybe. But I’ve been on the run for far too long to just take the open door at face value.
Paranoia is a funny thing. It can be crippling, making you unable to ever truly taste life. Or it could save it.
When I hear hushed tones coming from the top floor where Mel’s apartment is, I know my paranoia may have just saved me. There’s no missing the tattooed fingers wrapped around a handrail above me. With a bated breath, slowly and as quietly as I can, I retract my steps down the stairs. Iknow in my gut these are not Dante’s men. Luca would have known they were here. He would have told me.
Shit. Luca. He wanted to come up with me. Suddenly, I’m glad I told him to go take care of business. Whoever these guys are could have killed him. I have this sick feeling they’re not waiting in our apartment just to borrow a cup of sugar. I honestly don’t know what it is about people in Blackwood having it in for me, and I’m not in a mood to find out.
I’m almost at the bottom of the stairs, my ears straining to make sure the hushed conversation upstairs is still ongoing when the front door swings open. With heart in my throat, I watch the light spill into the corridor as one of the neighbours walks inside, confusion etched on his face as he looks between the door and the key in his hand.
“Hey, did you forget to lock the door?” he asks before I even have a chance to lift a finger to my lips.
Shit. The loud thumping in my chest is deafening. I shake my head and try to calm my suddenly shallow breaths.
“Never mind,” the guy smiles. Oh god, someone please tell him to shut the fuck up. “I’m Josh, by the way. I live just below you.”
When I take a step toward him, or toward the door rather, his smile stretches wider.
“You just moved in with Mel, right?”
I close my eyes for a split second, contemplating punching him square in the face, but a split second is all I have before I hear a thunder of footsteps down the stairs and decide punching Josh in the face will have to wait. I need to make sure he lives first.
I push past him, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the still open door.
“Someone broke in,” I say as I run towards the cafedown the street, dragging my confused neighbour behind me. Saving him might cost me my life but I can’t havehison my conscience.
“Go hide in the cafe and call the police.”
“What about you?” Josh asks. Ah, sweet, sweet Josh, trying to appear chivalrous but endangering us both.
“I am the police, numbnuts,” I hiss. Surely, he won’t argue with that.
To his credit, he doesn’t. As soon as Josh is inside the cafe, I duck into a side street, praying we were quick enough the intruders didn’t see us. I’ve done everything I could have for Josh.
Now it’s time to do what I do best.
Run.
17
ALESSA
I’m a fast runner when properly incentivised. Not Usain Bolt fast, but still pretty damn fast. So, I’m not surprised by how quickly I make it back to the Black Royale. The streets are dark by now and the smell of ozone permeates the air, threatening thunder and rain.
Not caring for the rules, I bolt through the main entrance and speed walk toward the bar, where I can see Benji chatting with Mel. As soon as I get to them, I dive behind the counter. No, no. I don’t jog, walk or run. I vault. Full on nosedive with a belly slide at the end.
Mel tries to stifle a laugh.
“Did anyone follow me in?” I manage to ask through lungfuls of air. I was running so fast I didn’t even bother to check if I was being followed all the way here. They could have lost my trail back at the apartment. But it’s better to be safe than sorry. And I speak from experience. The night my foster brother, Casper, walked into my room was the night I learned to always lock your door no matter how tired you are.
“I don’t think so.” Mel’s eyebrows draw together as worryreplaces her ever-present smile. “Why would anyone follow you?”
“Just keep watching the door and pretend like I’m not here until I tell you to.”
She nods.
Huh. Who knew hiding from one’s pursuers is much easier when there’s someone willing to cooperate with you instead of flagging said pursuers down to give away your location? Benji tries to ignore me, too, but he’s extremely bad at it, shooting me looks every few beats. When ten minutes pass and both my coworkers confirm no one suspicious looking has walked through the door, I finally exhale in relief.
