Page 6 of Bratva Hunter

“Hi.” I just need to make it to the car and leave the garage.

We both smile in silence until she speaks. “I forgot my purse in my car, so I have to trudge all the way down to the garage to get it.”

I offer a soft nod. “I’ve done that.”

Her brow lifts. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so. People have told me I have one of those faces.”

“That must be it.” She motions to my bag on my shoulder. “Going on a trip?”

“Yes. I’m visiting a friend in Florida for the next few weeks.”

She beams. “I love Florida. The warm beaches and beautiful sea. I used to live there when my husband and I were newly married.”

The elevator door dings on my garage floor, and we step out. I turn and wave. “It was nice chatting with you.”

“You too, dear.”

An SUV turns the corner and I stiffen. The woman catches my hesitation and points to the large van to her left. I duck behind the van as the SUV stops at my father’s car. She walks to her small sedan next to the van and grabs her purse as I watch her from my hiding area. This is the second time I’ve had to hide tonight.

Two men get out of the SUV and run for the elevator as the third man drives the vehicle back down the lane. The woman peeks around the van and nods at me. “I left the keys to my car on the seat, along with my tablet. When you’re done with my car, I’ll use my tablet’s GPS to find it. I know what it’s like to be afraid of men.”

I’m overwhelmed by her kindness and sneak around the corner to hug her. “Thank you”

She hugs me back. “You’re welcome. Find a good life.”

I whisper. “I’m trying.”

She gets on the elevator as I take the keys off the seat. I put my stuff into the back seat and glance at myself in the rearview mirror. My mind runs through what I have in my bag to disguise myself. I reach into the exterior pocket to grab a scarf. Wrapping it around my head, I drape the ends to cover the edges of my face. I start her car and think about where I can leave it to get to safety but still be easy for her to find.

The SUV with the guy from the cartel sits at the edge of the garage. The guy’s playing on his phone and barely raises his head to look at me as I hold my breath before proceeding through the garage gate. I make the turn out of the garage and breathe. Okay. Where do I go?

The farther I get from Manhattan, the more paranoid I become. They’ll find me and just kill me if I’m lucky. The bag of phone parts reminds me to throw them away. I spot a fast-food restaurant with a large interior eating spot. I’ll throw away the phone and eat something.

Before I walk into the restaurant, I drop my trash in the tubular canister. I use the restroom after I order a chicken sandwich and a drink.

I don’t remember the last time I ate fast food. The crispy chicken fills my stomach, and the Coke is just enough caffeine to wake me up. Ten minutes later, I drive into the Queens Village Bus Station parking lot. I park the lady’s car and slip the tablet under the seat with the key. Opening my backpack, I select a bundle of money and tuck it under the seat as well. I step out of the driver’s seat and rotate my head in all directions as casually as I can. Reaching into the back seat, I haul my stuff out and take a second glance around the lot. Nothing catches my eye, so I head for the lobby of the building and the ticket counter.

“Next?”

I lug my stuff up to the counter, having pulled out cash to buy a ticket to Oregon. I have no intention of going that far west, but it’ll throw off the cartel if they track me here. There’s a stack of maps for the bus routes across the country, and I grab one. Where can I cross into Mexico to get home?

Few seats remain open on the bus to Corvallis, Oregon. The college girl sitting next to me is rattling on about what it’s like to go to Oregon State. I would have loved to go to college, but that was out of the question. Women don’t get an education. My asshole father mostly ignored me until I turned fourteen and then told my mother I was old enough to sell. My mother went after him with the pan she was loading in the dishwasher.

“I’ve been doing all the talking.” The pretty girl nudges my arm. “What’s your name? And your story?”

“I’m Anne.” I’m not. It’s my favorite book heroine’s name, but it works.

“Hi Anne. I’m Riley.”

“Hi Riley.”

She leans to shake my hand. “Where do you go to school?”

My mind searches for a plausible answer. “U Dub.”

“Oh, that’s cool. We play them in sports, sometimes. Maybe we’ll run into each other at a football game.”

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