Page 43 of Girl, Bound

With any luck, theycould have this solved before the sun came up.

Time to show this townwhat happens when they cross bitches with badges.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Christian saunteredthrough the streets of Millhaven, his pockets emptier than a mime’s wallet. Thenight clung to him like a cheap suit, the stench of stale cigarettes hanging inthe air. He'd just finished a gig at some seedy dive bar, working the room withhis sleight of hand tricks and quick wit. But the crowd was tougher than atwo-dollar steak, their faces etched with the hard lines of life in thisgodforsaken town.

He'd managed to scrapetogether a measly one-fifty, barely enough to keep the wolves from his door. Itwas a far cry from the bright lights and big paydays he'd once chased, backwhen he still believed in the magic of his own bullshit.

But that was alifetime ago, before the debts started piling up and the luck ran out. Now, hewas just another hustler on the make, scrabbling for every dime like a rat in amaze.

Christian shoved hishands in his pockets, his fingers brushing against the smooth plastic of astolen credit card. A smile twisted his lips, sharp as a razor. He'd lifted itoff some sucker during his act, a little misdirection while he pretended to pulla card from the mark's wallet. The guy never even felt a thing, too busylaughing at Christian's jokes and marveling at his quick fingers.

It was a small score,but it would do for now. He'd buy something expensive on the card, flip it forcash, then toss the plastic before anyone got wise. It was a dance he'd done athousand times before, a con as old as time itself.

But it was the onlyway to keep the ship afloat, to pay back the mountain of debt that loomed overhim like a black cloud. Christian had always been a gambler at heart, willingto risk it all on the turn of a card or the roll of the dice. But this time, he'dplayed the wrong hand, bet on the wrong horse. And now, he was in deep with thewrong people, sharks who'd just as soon gut him as look at him.

He'd borrowed moneyfrom some shady characters, guys with names like Knuckles and The Hammer. He'dpromised them the moon, spun tales of big scores and easy money. But when thechips were down and the bills came due, he'd come up short. And in this world,there were no second chances, no mulligans for a two-bit hustler like him.

So he'd turned to thegrift, using his skills as a magician to fleece the unwary and line his pocketswith ill-gotten gains. It was a dangerous game, one that could land him in ashallow grave or a prison cell. But he didn't have a choice. It was either thisor face the consequences of his own hubris.

He told himself it wasall just temporary, a means to an end. He was a magician at heart, a master ofillusion and deception. This seedy world of cons and scams was beneath him, anecessary evil until he could get back on his feet.

But deep down, he knewthe truth. This life had a way of sucking you in, of blurring the lines betweenthe trick and the trickster. He'd seen it happen to better men than him,watched them fall down the rabbit hole and never find their way back out.

Christian shook hishead, trying to dislodge the maudlin thoughts. He had to stay focused, keep hiseye on the prize. He had a big score lined up, a mark that could set him up forlife. All he had to do was play his cards right, keep up the charade a littlewhile longer.

He'd make amends withhis investors, pay off his debts and walk away clean. Then he could go back tobeing Christian the Magician, the master of misdirection and sleight of hand.He'd leave this seedy underworld behind, just a bad memory fading in the rearviewmirror.

But first, he had tosurvive the night. And in a town like Millhaven, that was easier said thandone. Especially when there was a guy half a mile away missing a credit card.Christian could only hope he didn’t clock that it was him who snatched it.

Christian quickenedhis pace, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He knew these streets likethe back of his hand, had walked them a thousand times before. But tonight,something felt different. The air was charged with a strange energy, a crackleof danger that set his nerves on edge.

He turned a corner,his footsteps echoing off the crumbling brick walls. The street was deserted,the only sound the distant wail of a siren and the skittering of rats in thealleyways. Christian felt a prickle of unease run down his spine, a sense of beingwatched by unseen eyes.

He glanced over hisshoulder, but the street behind him was empty. Just the usual detritus of urbandecay - overflowing garbage cans, rusted fire escapes, the occasional junkienodding off in a doorway. But still, the feeling persisted.

He turned anothercorner, but as he did, he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of hiseye. A shadow detaching itself from the wall, a figure lurking in the gloom.

Christian's heartkicked into overdrive, adrenaline surging like wildfire. He picked up the pace,his feet pounding against the pavement. But the figure kept pace with him,staying just out of sight, always hovering on the edge of his peripheralvision.

He tried to tellhimself it was just paranoia, the product of too many late nights and too muchcheap booze. But the prickling sensation on the back of his neck told adifferent story. He was being followed.

A jilted lover, a markhe'd fleeced, a bookie he'd stiffed? The list of people who might want to dohim harm was longer than a shopping list on Christmas Eve.

But somehow, he didn'tthink this was about any of that. There was something different about thispursuer, something cold and calculating. Like a hunter who'd caught the scentof wounded prey.

Christian’s lungsburned like he’d swallowed a lit match. He had to find someplace to hide,someplace to catch his breath and figure out his next move. He scanned thestreet ahead, looking for an alleyway or a doorway he could duck into.

There. Up ahead, anarrow gap between two crumbling tenements.

Christian veeredtowards it, his feet skidding. He dove into the shadows, pressing himselfagainst the wall like a lover clinging to a one-night stand.

He waited. Secondsticked by. Christian strained his ears, listening for the sound of footsteps,the rasp of breath. But there was nothing. Just the distant hum of the city andthe pounding of his own pulse in his ears.

Maybe he'd lost them.Maybe it was just a figment of his imagination. A boogeyman conjured up by hisown guilty conscience.

Christian allowedhimself a shaky laugh. He was jumping at shadows, seeing ghosts where therewere none.

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