Page 15 of Pack of Crooks
With their apartment likely taking up three stories and this building only having one other apartment, I’m only six stories up at max. Even still, as I rush down, I feel like I’m on an endless loop of stairs, descending, running across a platform, descending, on and on it seems to go. Heavy steps pound after me.
Bright lights attached to the side of the building illuminate the alleyway below. Heart hammering against my ribs, I make a split second decision at the next platform. There’s only one flight left, but Bear is practically on top of me. Knowing he won’t anticipate it, I jump over the railing.
Time slows. My heart stops beating. Breath frozen in my lungs. The ground inches closer. A door bangs open. My gaze collides with dark brown irises. Hawk glances around. And then everything speeds up. The concrete races for me. I bend my legs, preparing to brace for impact as my heart races like it’s trying to win the Kentucky Derby.
Hawk’s gaze widens, and I lean into the landing with a grunt, hands slapping against the concrete to keep from face planting, little jagged scrapes flaying my palms. Clenching my jaw, ignoring the pain, I race out of the alley, running like my life depends on it.
In high school, the track coach wanted me to join for the sprints, but I’ve never run for sport. I’ve only ever done it to keep myself out of trouble. All I’ve ever known when it comes to running is the distance between me and those chasing me. Panting, I work my arms, drawing my belly button in, and let my instincts take over.
“Fuck, she’s fast,” I hear one of them pant.
Fear pierces my chest. I don’t bother to look back and see who it is. If I can hear them, they’re too close.
Faster, Hazel, come on, you little shit! The cops are coming and Mommy needs her medicine.
Mom’s voice and the accompanying memory are crystal clear in my head, and my body doesn’t know the difference between then and now. Blood turning to ice, my stomach hollows out.
If you get caught, I’m leaving your ass.
I haven’t been caught before, I won’t be caught now. Heart jack-hammering, I push myself harder, dodging cars as I racefrom one block to another, avoiding pedestrians, drunk people staggering outside of bars, pushing memories down until all that’s left is the pitch of night and the sounds of my pants as I try to regulate my breathing. I glance behind me.
No one is following me.
But my body is still on high alert. I can’t stop. Won’t stop. If I do, they could appear out of anywhere. It’s irrational, probably delusional, but paranoia has saved me more times than I can count. There’s no slowing until I’m home, jogging up the steps to my apartment, racing down the hall with threadbare carpet, slamming the door shut, resting my back against it and sucking in lungfuls of fresh oxygen. The blood rushing through my ears is so loud I don’t hear Milly’s voice until she gently touches my arm.
I choke on a breath, a cry strangled by my tightening throat, but as soon as I see her face, fear races out of me. I’m home. Safe. Lottie is here. We’re okay. I’m okay. It’s okay.
“What happened?” Milly asks, searching my face. “Are those shirts?” She eyes the fabric on my shoulder.
In my race to get home, I managed to keep hold of them. What? I worked hard to steal them. They’re mine now.
“I didn’t get the job,” I tell her on a harsh exhale.
“So you ran home?”
I shake my head. “I stole something. Almost got caught.”
“T-shirts?” she asks, reaching for one.
I bat her hand away and growl. “Mine.”
“Ooookay. What the hell is going on?” Her gaze falls to my hands. “Are you bleeding?”
“Nothing,” I say, and she gives me a look.
You’re a really bad liar, Killian’s voice echoes in my head.
Brushing by her, I move to the sink, wash my injuries, hissing as water cleanses the cuts.
“Are you okay?”
“Just tripped is all. No big deal.”
Milly grabs the wound ointment from the drawer by the sink. “Cut the shit, Hazel. What happened?”
Ugh. She knows me too well. “Okay, fine. So you know the pack that was hiring an omega?”
Milly nods, watching me spread on the ointment.
