Page 2 of One Kill

It doesn’t take me long to dry off and braid my wet hair, then I pull out some clean black cargo pants and a black tank top, quickly getting dressed. The sun is beginning to shine through the window of my studio, so I grab my leather jacket and bike keys before heading straight back out. It’ll take me about an hour to get to Newark, and I’d like to be there to get my table before the breakfast rush begins.

I visit once a year. Same date, same diner, no matter whether I’m working a job or not. I always make time for this and the boss is well aware.

The Prudential Center and the Hockey House come into view as I ride down the side street next to the diner. I could use the nearby parking lot but I’d rather keep my baby away from people and their wide-swinging car doors.

Alma’s Diner is like a time warp. Everything inside is the same as it was twenty years ago when I would spend every Saturday morning here with my dad and my best friend, Murphy. A sharp pain tugs at my chest at the thought of Murphy, my dad, my mom, and… nope, I’ll save the emotions for later tonight when I’m holed up in my apartment alone with a bottle of bourbon. Tears aren’t something I generally allow in front of other people. They’re a sign of weakness.

“Hey, stranger!” Alma’s cheery voice is like pure nostalgia as she greets me and the smells of bacon, sausage, and egg fill my nostrils, making my mouth water.

“Hey, coffee and a full breakfast, please.” I’m polite, I smile, nod my head, but I don’t have the capacity for much else as I head over to my favorite booth in the far corner of the wood-paneled space. The seats are covered in a deep-blue faux leather, and the tables are made of the same deep wood as the walls and floor. It’s not your typical diner, but it’s by far the best one in all of New Jersey.

I know Alma isn’t offended by my behavior. She’s known me longer than any other living person, but by the way we interact, nobody would ever realize. She moves a lot slower these days, but she’d never give this place up. It’s her pride and joy, owned and run by Alma and her husband, with local kids waiting tables during the busier periods over the holidays.

Like every year, I concentrate on the task at hand. I sit in this booth, write on this same diner’s napkin, and apologize for my past sins over and over again.

“Here’s your coffee, sweetie. I’ll bring your breakfast out as soon as Hank’s finished frying up your bacon.” Alma winks as she places the huge mug of coffee in front of me before walking away and I inhale the fresh scent.

It’s hot, but not boiling. One of the perks of Alma’s coffee; always at perfect drinking temperature as soon as it’s served. None of this waiting for it to cool down crap.

A shadow that isn’t Alma’s falls over my table and I take a deep, calming breath before folding the napkin, sliding it in my back pocket, then looking up to find a young blonde girl standing there, twiddling her fingers. Confusion and something I can’t figure out crosses her features and she looks like she’s gearing up to say something.

“Spit it out, Kid. I’m trying to enjoy my coffee.Alone.” My voice is firm as I try to hide my annoyance at being interrupted.

“You’re her… Jordyn, yeah?”

Woah, nobody’s called me that since…

“I’m your daughter, Hallie.”

Chapter Two

J

“MynameisHallie.”I’m staring at this girl who is getting more and more impatient with my silence by the second. Her growing annoyance is clear in the way she punches her little fists on her hips and cocks her head to the side, giving me a look that could make grown men wilt.

“I heard you the first time, Kid. Sit down, you’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

“Well, I couldn’t tell since you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you were getting hard of hearing.” I push down my urge to chuckle at her snark. I like it but now is not the time to indulge her.

“How old do you think I am?” My gaze follows her movements as she slides into the old faux-leather seat and crosses her arms over her chest. We’re having a wild west moment as we size each other up.

“Old enough to have abandoned your daughter.” My gaze narrows, eyes turning to slits, as I try to scare her into submission.

“I’m sure you are a lovely kid.”A bit too bold for your age,but I don’t tell herthat. She’s going to need all the bravado and self-confidence for her adult years. “But, I don’t have a kid and I sure as shit didn’t abandon one, and if this hypothetical kid knew anything about me, she wouldn’t dare make that kind of accusation.” Speaking through my teeth, I add a small smile to ease the sour words she now has to digest.

There’s a pause in our conversation, her brows slanting in confusion and the corners of her mouth falling with disappointment. I’m watching every detail on her face, from her hazel eyes that seem to change color with every emotion that crosses her features to her slightly upturned nose and her long, long blonde hair falling almost to her waist in thick strands.

I mean, I get it. She could definitely be my daughter… if I’d had one.

“So, your name isn’t Jordyn? And don’t lie to me. I saw the shock in your eyes when I called you that earlier.” I have to admit, her knowing my real name is a mystery. I haven’t been called that since I left my dead parents in a pool of blood and ran to Marco Mancini for help.

“It is and yes, color me surprised.” I’m trying not to make this a big deal. I don’t want to give this girl false hope.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me how I know your name?” Oh, she’s getting bolder by the second.

“Does it matter?” Fuck, I really do need to know, though.

She just shrugs like she has a secret and knows I want it.

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