Page 3 of Little Bird
I grin back at her, despite myself.
“Does it really qualify as a rebellion if we’re not doing any work?” I ask.
She shrugs and makes a face. “Who says I didn’t put in any work? The guy was terrible in bed. Besides, all that matters is that my father knows he got ripped off, and that I was in on it. I don’t give a fuck how it happens. I only care that it does.”
I shake my head, wishing for a moment that I had even half her confidence. Or her direction. I’ve never met anyone more sure of themselves than Stella, and for a moment—just a moment—I wish I felt that dedicated to anything.
I wish I had that bone-deep conviction that I was doing the right thing.
Before I can follow that any further, though, or decide not to look at it too closely, everything shifts.
The lights in the place grow somehow dimmer, and the space around us thickens with tension I don’t understand. It feels like the air is suddenly saturated with evil, and I swear something tastes different. When I take a breath, I can hardly hold it, and the skin on the back of my neck is prickling, some long-forgotten instinct warning me that something is very, very wrong.
I’ve never been in a horror movie, but if we were, the danger! music would be playing right now.
I look up and meet Stella’s eyes, register the same awareness, and turn my gaze to Arden to see that she’s gone chalky white, her hazel eyes far too big for her face.
“What’s going on?” she mouths, her eyes on mine and her hands reaching for me.
I grab her hand and shake my head, just as lost as she is, but when I turn my eyes to the door I start to figure it out. Three men have entered the place, and it’s easy to see that they mean trouble. They’re not the sort of people who come to this sort of place. We’re right down the street from NYU so this diner generally holds students and professors. TAs who are on their break and come here to grade papers. The street artists who like to hang out in front of campus picking students’ brains for new ideas.
Mothers and their kids getting lunch in the middle of their shopping day.
Harmless citizens who would never hurt a fly.
The men who’ve just walked in look like they’re ready to do a lot more than hurt a fly. They’re in black trench coats and fedoras and look like they’ve just stepped out of a fucking forties-era noir film. Their eyes are dark and darting, their hands sporting leather gloves. One of the guys isn’t even bothering to hide the fact that he’s holding a gun in his pocket. They’re looking for something or someone, and the shadows follow them like a fucking cloak.
I’ve only been attached to the underworld for four years, and even I can see that those are the bad guys everyone talks about.
“Trouble,” I breathe.
They spot us before I can finish the word, though, and I have one of those moments where everything around you slows to a crawl but your brain keeps working at full speed, so you’re thinking in double time as the events around you nearly freeze.
Which means I know they’re here for us before I can get my body to start moving.
I don’t know why or how or what they might possibly want—the three of us aren’t valuable enough to be normal targets—but when the main guy’s eyes land on me and sharpen, I know I’m right.
Whoever those guys are, they definitely came here with specific targets in mind.
And those targets are us.
“Run,” I snap.
Arden’s hand jerks in mine. “What?” she gasps.
“Run!” I shout, jumping up from my chair and pulling her with me. I don’t think or pause but let my instincts guide me as my brain tears through our options. There’s a back door through the kitchen, and I know that because we’ve used it before when a guy Stella didn’t like got in here with us. If we get past the main counter and into the kitchen itself, it’s a straight shot to that door.
That’s where we need to go.
I’m running before I think any further, my feet flying over the black checkered floor and toward the kitchen, Arden racing after me. I didn’t grab Stella but she’s smart enough to follow, and she’s faster than both Arden and me. We hit the gap in the counter and I burst through it, tugging my friend after me. Only a few steps and we’re in the kitchen, skidding on the scraps of vegetables the cooks have left on the floor as we race for the exit. Behind us, I can hear shouting, demands shouted in Italian, and the sound of heavy feet coming after us. People screaming.
Gunfire.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I breathe, trying to get my mind to work. What could those guys possibly be after? What would they want us? And which one of us did they come in here for?
I have a really bad feeling that it’s me. I’m the least valuable of the three of us—Arden and Stell are both directly related to families, whereas I’m just adopted—but I know something no one else knows.
And if those guys somehow found out about it...
