Page 3 of Cruel Hearts

“Yeah.”

“From who?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“You got yourself mixed up in some shit.”

That’s putting it mildly, but that’s what you get for thinking you’re good enough to associate with the rich and famous.

“Yeah.”

“Lock the door.”

“I will.”

Resting his hand on the metal doorknob, he pauses. He pulls the handgun out of the waistband of his jeans. “Take this. You know how to shoot?”

I shake my head, but I reach for the scuffed black gun he holds out to me, butt first. It’s heavier than it looks.

“Aim in the general direction, the closer the better. Shoot first, ask questions later, and pray it’s not a cop. If you need to get rid of it, wipe it clean and throw it in the river. Got it?”

I imagine shooting Ash Black right between the eyes. His mouth falling open in shock I would have the guts to do such a thing.

Oh, I would.

“Yeah.”

He closes the door, and I twist all the deadbolts, snicking them into place. I sink onto the dirty mattress, the tattered comforter a wad on the bed. I didn’t think to ask how long Quinn’s been in New York or why she would leave King’s Crossing if she was so worried about me.

I can only thank God she’s coming back, and I have a weapon. It’s more than I had five minutes ago.

I pull my backpack off and shove it under the bed. I wish there was a place I could hide the flash drive, but I feel better keeping it on my person. If I lose it, I lose everything I worked so hard for these last five years. Every second would be for nothing.

Zane’s hate would be for nothing.

I hide the gun under the flat pillow, my hand wrapped around the grip, and I fall asleep, my finger curled around the trigger.

A pounding on the door wakes me. Adrenaline bursts through my body and I bolt off the creaky bed. I slept harder than I thought I would.

Quinn shouts at me. “Stella! Wake up! Stella!”

I drop the gun onto a small table in the corner of the room and unlock the door, fumbling with every single one in my haste. I don’t have time to get a glimpse of her before I’m in her arms, her hands clutching at me as if I were a lost child suddenly found.

I hug her back, and she rocks me in the basement hallway of the fake purse warehouse. If Ash didn’t want me dead, if I wasn’t so fucking scared, it would have been touching she missed me so much.

Quinn leans away, tears dripping down her face.

Like the city, she looks the same, but different. I try to find comfort in the things that are familiar and strength in the things that have changed. Quinn has never been as soft as me, and I’ll need to learn from her. I have a target on my back, and unlike me, those people know how to shoot.

“Where have you been?” she cries, shaking me. “Five fucking years, Stella.Five. You drop off the face of the earth, and then all of a sudden the rags report you living the life in Italy.”

“What?” I don’t understand. The last thing I’ve been doing is living it up in Italy, and I have no clue where she could have gotten an idea like that.

Quinn waves off the question. “Come on. Luis said you’ve been here since early this morning.”

“What time is it?” God, how much time did I lose sleeping? I must have felt safe. For the first time in five years, I felt safe enough to let down my guard and actually sleep.

She reaches for my hand, but I jerk away and slide my backpack from underneath the bed. I can’t let it out of my sight. “It’s four in the afternoon,” she says, raising her eyebrows, the dark elegant arches matching her hair.

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