Page 35 of Assassin's Obsession

Two hulking forms loom over a kneeling man. The one behind him is holding him in place by his shoulders.

They're close to the wall opposite to the club's back entrance, but not visible to the street because the dumpsters are between them and the mouth of the alley. Where I need to go.

"You owe our boss and he's out of patience." The man in front backhands the kneeling man. "He said to take it out of your hide."

Why do I think he's not talking about giving the deadbeat debtor a beatdown despite the smack?

My instincts are sending up danger flares for real though and I slowly start moving backward, grateful I changed into rubber soled kicks before leaving for the night.

Not that I would walk to the train in my six-inch heels regardless.

"You already beat me up. You can't squeeze blood out of a stone."

The stupidity of this guy stops me in my tracks for a second in sheer amazement. Even I know you don't taunt the big guys you owe money to in a deserted alley. Mostly deserted.

I'm here, but I'm not jumping into whatever this is. If it were a kid, or one of the other girls, or something, I'd take my chances. But I'm not putting my neck on the line for someone delulu enough to think he can renege on a debt to guys like that.

"I guess we'll just have to squeeze the blood directly from the source then," the guy in front says in the same bored tone.

This is going nowhere good. I take another silent step backward.

"No! I can't pay if I'm dead." The kneeling guy sounds smug, like he really thinks this argument is going to save him.

"You were never gonna pay anyway. You've been bragging about taking a beating.Not going to pay until I'm damn good and ready. That sound familiar to you?"

Oh, man, I really don't want to be hearing this. Can you saywitness to a crime?

"We don't need losers like you giving our other customers ideas about paying their debts in broken bones instead of cold cash." This is from the guy behind the kneeling man.

He doesn't sound nearly as bored. He sounds pissed.

"At least dead you're useful as a lesson to others."

Oh, shit!

I spin around and run as fast and quietly as I can toward the backdoor. The sound of my feet landing against the wet pavement are thunderclaps in my ears.

"What the…" The guy behind me isn't making any effort to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

The clack of dress shoes smacking the rain soaked street grows closer and closer.

I reach the backdoor of the club and yank on the handle, but it's locked. My brain knows it automatically locks behind youwhen you go out, unless you prop it open. My terror demands I keep yanking with one hand while pounding on it with another.

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder and yanks me backward. I scream, hoping someone inside the club will hear.

The guy's other hand smacks over my mouth, muffling me. "Be quiet."

The scent of cordite fills my nostrils. How many deadbeat debtors has this guy already shot tonight? Terror courses through me, reinvigorating my limbs. And ignoring his advice, I kick backwards, twisting and trying to get away.

The guy shifts his hold on me so his forearm is a tight bar across my chest. "You're only making things worse for yourself."

I recognize that voice. It's one of the club regulars.

Barely old enough to drink, Freddy's got a thing for Piper. He pays for a trip to the backroom a couple of times a week and his prolific tips are enough to let her know she's got his number.

Not that tipping means a guy's hung up on you.

Gah! Why am I still thinking about Angelo when I'm about to die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

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