Page 11 of Devil's Tulip

I stare at him in utter disbelief. Is this asshole for real? As I’m gearing up to tell Vince to go fuck himself with a rusty chainsaw, a deep voice speaks up right behind me, “Is there a problem?”

It’s the stranger.

“None of your business, fucker. I’m having a private conversation with my employee. Get lost,” Vince snaps.

The stranger takes a threatening step forward, and I can practically taste the testosterone saturating the air. But I don’t have time for this alpha male bullshit.

The time is literally ticking down on how much longer I have in this city. And I swear I can almost feel the hot breath of Uncle Aldo’s man, the one who’s been chasing me all over the country, on the back of my neck.

So, I just roll my eyes and leave the two of them alone. Let them have their little pissing contest without me.

I book it to the changing room and frantically shimmy out of my skimpy uniform and back into my street clothes. Then I exit the bar for the last time. Good fucking riddance.

My ankles are killing me as I hobble down the sidewalk, so to celebrate my last night in Seattle and another two weeks undetected, I splurge on a taxi to take me home. I sigh as I get in, leaning back into my seat as I watch the city whizz by me.

Where do I go next? California? Arizona? New Jersey?

A streak of lightning splits the sky, followed by a deep rumbling thunder. I smile just a little and roll down my window, inhaling the sharp, crisp air. I sure as shit won’t miss this constant rain.

New Jersey.The thought crystallizes suddenly. It’s so close to NYC, Uncle Aldo and his men would never even think to look there. Hiding in plain sight—sometimes the best camouflage is no camouflage at all.

When the cab is a few blocks away from my apartment, I lean forward and tap the driver’s shoulder. “You can drop me here.”

He tosses me a concerned frown in the rearview. “In the middle of nowhere? You sure, miss? It ain’t exactly safe for a young thing like you to be wandering around alone at this time of night.”

I flash him a smile. “It’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can protect myself.” I lived with my uncle for ten years, didn’t I? And nothing can be more dangerous than the mafia.

He still looks uncertain but pulls to the curb. I shove some bills at him and hop out before he can argue.

I wait for him to drive off, watching until his car disappears from sight before continuing home. If, like I suspect, Uncle Aldo’s man has found me and links me to that cab driver, he won’t get much out of him. All the driver can do is bring him here, and that will buy me thirty minutes, maybe an hour to get away.

I jog down the dark, lonely road to my apartment, my nerves buzzing. Once inside, I take my money out of its hiding spot and drop it into my backpack. After zipping it up, I sling the bag over my shoulder, mentally tallying the total. Getting to New Jersey, finding a place to stay, feeding myself—it will burn through most of my meager savings.

“Damn you, Vince.” My tips would have helped me a bit.

Now that I’ve decided on my next move, I start feeling antsy, restless. I pace the cramped studio apartment—once, twice, a dozen times—until the steps blur together. My mind’s racing just as fast, too loud and chaotic to find any sense of calm.

I’m still exhausted, and I can feel a migraine creeping in, so I should probably take a nap, but I don’t feel sleepy at all—I’m too keyed up. The first bus to Newark leaves at 7:45 AM. I can nap at the station while I wait… or during the long ride.

I check the alarm clock obsessively as I pace, willing time to go faster.

How long can I keep doing this? Running every two weeks, barely making enough money to scrape by before packing up and fleeing again?

As long as you want to stay alive.

Because one thing is for sure: Uncle Aldo is never going to stop sending his men after me until he finds me. And with what I did to Dario’s car—andrunning away—I know there’s a heavy punishment, if not outright death, waiting for me back in New York.

Another glance at the clock. 4:30 AM. Time to go.

I drop the apartment key on the table for the manager and slip out like a ghost. Taking a bracing breath, I walk down the stairs as quietly as possible. The silence is so heavy, I’m afraid even the smallest noise will draw attention.

But finally, I make it outside, leaving the crumbling building behind me, its decaying walls no longer a part of my world. I don’t dare look back, focusing instead on the road ahead.

I’m about fifteen minutes from the bus station when I hear it. Footsteps.

I hold my breath, walking on my tiptoes to confirm if the footsteps are mine.They’re not. My stomach drops, twisting itself into knots, and I chance a glance over my shoulder.

A tall figure in a hoodie stalks several feet behind me.

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