Page 16 of Cruel Lies

"What the fuck are you thinking, girl?" I muttered to myself, eyes pinned on the figure of her as she disappeared further into her room, doing whatever it was women did to prep for the night. "You should be running, not taking a shower and prepping for a good night’s sleep."

Her shadow darted around the room, and while I couldn’t make out much from the floor below her, Icouldkeep an eye onher. Harper or not, she was still our target, I told myself. She was a job, nothing more.

Nothing more.

SEVEN

HARPER

He fucking found me.

I ran all the way home, only stopping to pick up the abandoned messengerbag before I darted down new pathways. I took a route I’d never taken before, trying to make sure I wasn’t making an easy target of myself. Hell, I’d taken classes on this shit, for fuck’s sake.

And here I was, playing amateur hour.

Seven years. I’d been in hiding forseven fucking years.And in the span of one day, it was all down the drain. I forced myself to take a shower once I’d cleared my apartment, room by room, like the star of some cop drama. Had to make sure some part of my routine was stable, or I’d crumble and fall apart.

After the shower, I opened my window and let in some cool night air to soothe my frayed nerves as I paced across my room and made a game plan.

The go bag I’d packed years ago sat on the floor of my closet, long ago abandoned when the security of my new life had set in, and I’d thought myself safe.

It was time to break her out again.

I’d tapped into the spare cash once or twice, but I’d also added to the bag—a burner phone, some spare clothes, three fresh stacks of twenty dollar bills, a fake ID, some colored contacts, and a wig. All of it would come in handy escaping this fucking place.

After the near-death experience, I let my hair color grow back in, hoping that nobody would recognize me. I’d always been a dyed blonde, but it felt refreshing not to have to spend a bunch of money on the upkeep. Plus, I didn’t have access to my money anymore.

Tapping my mama’s money would have been a red flag parade.

My life had changed so drastically after the new beginning. I’d had to learn to do so many things for myself that others had always handled. I felt like a fucking baby deer, stumblingabout on legs too long for my tiny body. But eventually, through online instructional videos and some trial and error, I learned how to fly solo. I learned things ordinary people learned as kids.

I was a new woman. A poor, working-class woman.

At first, I hated it. The novelty had worn off now that I was living this life out of necessity. After a while, I took some classes and, by sheer chance, discovered that I was good at mechanic work. For the last four years, I worked in Big John’s third bay, my hands deep in grease and oil as Hannah Flagg, the quiet, antisocial chick with no friends. I dated around until I realized there was no point.

The Blackwood boys had ruined me all those years ago. And now, three guys with skeleton face paint were hunting me down behind my workplace, talking about a hit.

And they recognized me.

Back in Khula City, I’d been well known. My face couldn’t go a week without being featured in some newspaper somewhere, or one of those fucking rags that the corner zine hawkers peddled. But with my hair back to its natural black and my eyes a different color, it should have been nearly impossible to recognize me.

And their voices sounded familiar, like I’d heard them before.

But where?

As I stormed through my room, searching for essential things to take with me on the run, I wracked my brain trying to piece it together. I knew one of them had mentioned another’s name, but my mind hadn’t been focused on their small talk. I was more focused on escaping.

Why had they let me go?

I could have been dead. They had me exactly where they wanted me. I couldn’t have escaped them had I wanted to. I was two steps away from being raped and killed and who knew what else. The killers around here weren’t known for their mercy kills, that was for damn sure.

Frustration built until I was pacing back and forth in front of my mirror. Angry, tired, and on edge, I punched the fucking wall beside it, leaving a fair-sized dent that would no doubt cost me a pretty penny in my deposit. I yanked the towel from the edge of my chair and marched to the window, trying desperately to focus on anything else. The sky at night. The cool wind that signaled an incoming spring storm. The cars in the parking lot?—

Fuck.

Fuck.

Sitting in the spot that was reserved for my neighbor’s apartment was that fucking Vanta Black Torino. Exhaust fumes trickled from the rear, curling in the night air, the low rumble a telltale sign the engine was running. He’d turned off his lights, but I could see the moving figure of one man in the front. I’d like to say there weren’t more with him, but I couldn’t be sure. They could be in the backseat, hiding to lull me into a false sense of security. Or they could be on their way up the stairs now, their knives at the ready.

---