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Sybil's infuriated gasp barely covers Percy's choked cough. He excuses himself, but neither of us pays much attention. I'm too busy enjoying how her fury turns her cheeks a delicious hue, and she's too busy snarling.
"You're a real fucking piece of work, you know that? For the last time, I wasn't acting."
I turn away before she can throw more words at me—or before I can do anything stupid. I'm rock hard and filled with anger and something I don't care to identify.
"Nico! Let me go home! Just—"
I slam the door on her shouting and exhale hard. Neither Percy nor Ace will look at me, which indicates they probably want to keep their faces intact. I brush past them.
"Keep her in there. Don't let her do anything I'll have to make her regret."
Chapter 3
Sybil
Pacing doesn’t help. Neither does cursing Nico’s name over and over. For the thousandth time, I wish Pascal and his henchman hadn’t chucked my purse with my phone in it, God knows where, when they were taking me to my death.
I pause at that thought, taking a deep breath before I run a trench in the carpet of this old apartment. I’m alive. That’s something. A couple of hours ago, I was mourning all the things I would never be able to do again, so I should really stop to appreciate the fact that I’m not a corpse in the woods.
Unlike those two mobsters.
I shudder again at the memory and sit on the threadbare couch, hugging myself. I vaguely know where this apartment is. I haven’t always lived in New York City. My parents moved us here when Angela and I were in middle school.
I look around again, the lackluster kitchen, the dreary beige carpet connecting to the dreary beige walls. Our first apartment didn’t look too different from this. It was a constantly crowded place, between us twins and Mark and baby Krista. My dad had just gotten a new job. We had all been so excited about the change—from a small town in Ohio to the Big Apple.
My best memories of NYC were in that apartment because we were all together. Then came high school and Angela’s bad decision train, right after the car accident that took our dad away.
I rub my face and squint at the sore skin on my wrists. I probably look like a wreck. I feel like one, too…likely because Iwasin one. Not that it matters. I shouldn’t care what I look like right now.
Because I don’t care what he thinks of me. Nico’s eyes flash through my mind, primal and hungry as they took in my body and face.
God, it’s hot in here. I decide to snoop around, examining the bedroom first. There’s a bed, empty dressers, and nothing in the tiny closet. The connected bathroom has the bare necessities, too. Ignoring the kitchen, I poke my head out to examine the balcony. It’s three stories up, hanging hardly two feet out from the apartment.
But there is a balcony just below it.
It’s insane, but if I could just climb down from this one and drop onto the one below it, rinse, and repeat…I could get down to the alley that way. Then I could find my way home or ask someone to borrow their phone to call a cab. Simple.
Excited at the prospect, I first listen at the front door. The two mobsters hanging out are talking quietly, low enough that I don’t hear them well. The younger one laughs at something.
Perfect. I tiptoe to the balcony again, peeking over one more time before throwing one leg over. I take a deep breath, about to swing over, when the front door opens.
Shit.
“Aww, don’t do that,” the big one sighs, crossing the apartment in three strides. I squeak as he drags me back into the living room and shuts the sliding door, regarding me darkly. This guy is three times my size, all muscle and tattoos and a big, bushy beard. He heaves another breath. “I have impeccable timing, eh?”
He’s scary but not nearly the caliber of others I’ve met like him. Honestly, there’s something almost…nice about his eyes. I’m not sure he’s sympathetic towards me, but he’s not ready to break my legs like I worried they might.
The other one, Ace, checks the room, a little grin touching his face. He has to be barely out of his teens and is far from bad looking. But several tattoos run up his arms, too, and the scar along his jaw looks suspiciously like the type of injury one would get from a knife, not by accident.
Poor kid. He shouldn’t be in a life like this. It just makes me madder at Nico.
“Was I right, Kid? Was she running?” Ace asks, grinning lopsidedly.
Kid?I glance up at the behemoth. It must be his nickname. He’s anything but childish.
He nods toward the room. “Calm down in there. Don’t make this harder on yourself.”
I lift my chin. “No, thanks. I want to go home.”
