Page 19 of The Wicked

“What’s the hurry, little lady?”

Oh, crap, it wasn’t a wall. It was a person. A man, to be precise, wearing a dress shirt and a sports jacket as he hung out in the smoking area at the side of the main hotel building. His hair was greying at the temples, and his slightly imperious tone said that he belonged at the Peninsula while I didn’t.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He blew out a lungful of smoke. “You should slow down if you don’t want to trip.”

“I will, I—”

I glanced at the man standing next to him and found myself looking into the eyes of a monster.

No, notamonster.

Themonster.

I’d never forget those eyes. They were burned into my psyche like craters from a nuclear bomb. Hooded ice-blue eyes that narrowed as he studied me, assessing. Was he trying to work out where he’d seen me before? Or did he already know? Had he followed me here tonight? Did he suspect I wasn’t holding up my end of the bargain? All those years ago, he’d promised someone would always be watching.

Instinct took over, the inbuilt fight-or-flight response ingrained into my DNA, and I ran. I was no fighter. I ran, praying I didn’t fall because death was a very real possibility. I ran, my only goal to get as far from the monster as possible. I ran, and when the heel of my left shoe caught in a drain grate, I abandoned it, pulled off the other, and carried on barefoot.

Where was I going? Away. I had no idea beyond that. I just had to get away.

“Hey!”

The shout barely registered.

“Sara?”

This time, I slowed a fraction.

“Sara, wait!”

I turned to see Brooke jogging toward me, her car abandoned in the driveway with the door open.Get to the car.If I could reach the car, I’d be safe.

You weren’t the last time.

Then Brooke grabbed my wrist and I nearly shook her off but then she was pulling me toward the car and I was crying and my thoughts were tumbling over and over and over.

“What happened? Where’s your other shoe?”

When I didn’t answer, she pushed me into the passenger seat and crouched alongside. The remaining shoe dropped out of my hand and into the footwell.

“Sara, what happened? You’re scaring me?”

“He shot her.”

The words slipped out in a raspy whisper, and fear sent the contents of my stomach slithering up my throat. Brooke jumped out of the way as I heaved.

“Who shot who? I’m calling Luca.”

“No! Don’t call anyone.”

“But you said someone got shot?”

“Please, just drive.”

Brooke looked around, probably for the gunman I’d been foolish enough to mention, and I desperately tried to undo the damage I’d done.

“Hadley’s friend decided we should play one of those murder mystery games and…and… I got carried away.” Would that work? “The drinks were free, and I wish I hadn’t touched the liquor because it went straight to my head, and I feel so, so sick. Can we just go? Please?”

---