Page 13 of No Promises, No Lies

Panicking, I scramble away from the edge as I crawl backwards on my stomach so I’m hidden from view once again.

I’m increasingly aware of the stinging pain on my left cheek. Bringing my fingers to it, I wince at the sharp pain when I graze the wound. My fingertips come away red. I must have gotten cut when the window shattered. A couple of my fingers are bleeding too, and probably my knees, now that I think about it, from crawling across the broken glass.

Knowing I can’t just sit here, I look around. I need to move, hide,something....

In the near silence below comes the sounds of boots crunching on glass and the heavy groaning of the door leading upstairs as it’s dragged open. The bouncer is likely amongst the bloody bodies below.

My eyes fly to the office door. Closed—but not locked.

Crawling as fast as I dare to the door, I reach up, pushing in the little pin to lock it before resting my back against it. My breaths are coming fast and shallow.

It’s too late to run.

The Mafia couldn’t care less about fire codes and so the stairwell is the only way down. Only a small push-button lock stands between me and the big, bad men with guns.

A choked laugh escapes my lips and I look around the office again for something I can use—a weapon, maybe?

Anything.

For the office of a mob boss, it’s shockingly lacking. To keep out of sight of anyone still below, I stay on my knees and crawl around to the other side of the desk, hoping to find a gun stashed inside.

I try the drawers and feel tears well up when I find each and every one of them locked. A quick perusal of the neat desk doesn’t reveal a key readily accessible.Not even a letter opener I could use as a make-shift knife.

Voices carry in from the hall and I think I stop breathing, shaking violently as I turn back to face the door.

They’re speaking English, but through the door they’re still too far away to make out any words. What I hear is not Russian accents, nor Italian....

They’reIrish.

8

WE HAVE A PROBLEM

RORY

The voices growing closer spurs my panic. I have to hide. Hide and hope for the best.

For an office of a nightclub, it’s pretty small. There are limited options: I could duck under the desk, but seeing as how anyone who breaks in would likely go right for it. It’s probably not the smartest choice.

That leaves either directly behind the door, or tucked behind the large metal filing cabinet. Neither are great options and all of them leave me exposed from one angle or another.

The door knob to the office jiggles, and my entire body seizes up. It’s followed by a heavy pounding, the door shaking violently on its hinges. I trip over myself as I run for the filing cabinet, pressing myself into the small corner of space.

The loud popping sounds start again, this time, louder and closer than they were before.

Gunfire.

The office door crashes open, slamming hard into the wall behind it. I’m instantly grateful I didn’t choose to hide there.

I suck in a breath, conscious of the fact that I’m no longer alone in the office.

Whoever enters the doorway does so with caution.

The filing cabinet blocks me completely from the view of anyone standing by the door. If he comes around the desk, I’ll be completely exposed.

I press my back harder against the wall, hoping I could just melt into it. Maybe they’ll see the office is empty and move on. Maybe they won’t come all the way in. If I could stop breathing, I would, because I feel as though he can hear me.

Boots crunch on broken glass. He’s coming closer.Just as I’d feared, he’s making his way toward the desk.

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