Page 14 of A Forbidden Arrangement
The certainty in his voice hits me in the chest. It isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.
I run.
The slap of my shoes against the pavement is deafening. My breath rips in and out, scraping my throat raw. Footsteps follow. Heavy. Fast.
I dodge a pile of broken crates, the sharp wood scraping my shin. A curse slips out before I can stop it.
Behind me, one of them shouts. One man tells the other to go left, the other yelling, “Cut her off!”
The alley spits me onto a side street, where a car idles at the curb, headlights cutting across my path. I don’t stop. The driver yells something, but I’m already past, feet pounding over wet pavement.
Another turn. Another narrow cut between buildings. I duck into it, press myself flat against the wall, chest heaving. My skin is slick with sweat, hair sticking to my face.
The thud of footsteps grows louder, then fades, then grows again. They’re close. Too close.
A shadow sweeps past the opening. One of them. His jacket brushes the brick with a faint scrape. I press my hand over my mouth, forcing my breath to slow.
He keeps going.
I wait a beat. Two. My pulse still hammers, my stomach twisted so tight I could be sick. My hand trembles as I slip my phone from my purse, the screen’s glow too bright in the dark. I duck my head, shielding it, and punch in the emergency number.
A click, then a calm voice. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
My words come out in a rush. “I need an ambulance. There’s a man shot in the alley behind the Granville Hotel.”
“Ma’am, are you safe? What’s your?—”
“Just send someone,” I plead, then hang up before she can ask more, shoving it back into my purse. At any second, they could be back, and if they find me, I’ll be the one on the ground next. The truth hits hard in my chest. I have nowhere to run. No home. No job. No one to call.
I push off the wall and start moving, fast but careful, keeping low. The streets blur together, but I stick to the darker ones, avoiding every pool of light.
For a second, my mind betrays me. I think about the hotel room, the heat of the bed, the way I’d been folded under Xander’s arm. I felt safe with him, and a part of me desperately wants to go back, but going back would be suicide.
Up ahead, a faint glow cuts through the dark. Greyhound. The letters hum faintly, a pale blue against the night. My legs almost buckle at the sight.
I push through the glass doors, the blast of air-conditioning wrapping me in artificial cold. The tiled floor squeaks under my shoes. My chest tightens, like I’ve swallowed the whole run.
A middle-aged woman sits behind the ticket counter. Her gaze flicks up, her eyes narrowing like she can read the trouble on my face.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“Whatever bus leaves next.” The words tumble out too fast.
Her brows pull together as she takes me in. “Are you sure, honey? You know there are people you can call. People who can help you.”
Through the wide front window, movement catches my eye. My stomach drops. Two men from the alley are scanning the street.
“I’m sure,” I say, sharper now.
The woman’s gaze drops to the purse clutched tight against my side, then back to my face. All I’ve got is what I’m wearing and the cash I pulled from the bank earlier. It’s not much, but it’s enough for a ticket.
I slap the bills down, my hands shaking so bad one slips free. She picks the money up and presses it back into my palm, concern etched into her face. “Be careful.”
Tears sting, threatening to fall, but I can’t stay here. I nod, shove the ticket into my pocket, and rush for the boarding area.
My legs feel like they belong to someone else.
The bus smells faintly of diesel and old, stale fabric. It’s empty enough that I get two seats to myself. I sink into the window, the glass cool against my temple. My heart hammers, each beat thudding in my ears.
