Page 5 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

Nikolai looks up just as yellow bathes me from head to toe.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Dark, empty eyes find mine.

Adrenaline jacks through every vessel in my body. Recognition is instantaneous. And in the half second before I move, I watch him decide what that means.

“Bring her to me.”

Shit.

His words chase me down the opposite end of the alley and I put major knees to chest and force all my effort into moving my legs as fast as they can go.

If I only loved cardio more, I would be better at this. I get to the end of the alley, and turn a hard right.

Footfalls coming up fast and hard behind me send my heart into a panicked rhythm. Pain blooms across my chest.

Which basically feels like a heart attack, I realize. Only if I stop moving to clutch at my chest, I’m dead.

My boots hit the pavement, clunky and heavy but I don't slow down. I forget about skipping cardio at the gym and let my legs take over. Funny how the fear of death can make you move like lightning.

Cold air burns my lungs with every ragged inhale I can manage.

I don't look back. I push harder, calves screaming, chest burning.

“Come here, you stupid bitch.”

Snarled curses tangle around me and threaten to trip me up. I make a hard left just as a minivan filled with kids and soccer moms comes to a stop at a red light.

Muffled screams peal out of the closed windows and the two tanks chasing me either have to plow through or stop.

I check which it is as I haul ass down another alley and come out onto a side street that spills onto a main road, but I don't hear footsteps anymore. I head for another alley and then another. Before long the city swallows me. People. Headlights. Traffic. A bus pulling away from a stop, exhaust curling into the cold air. The blessed, beautiful anonymity of a crowd who doesn’t care about the stranger next to them or how close death sits and waits for all of us.

I make a right down another alley. This one is less welcoming than the last with its nonexistent light and stale air.

I duck into the first open door I find. A convenience store. Fluorescent light buzzes overhead. The air smells like floor cleaner and the day-old hot dogs I spot turning on their metal rollers.

I wedge myself behind a shelf, press my back against a cold metal rack used to hold stacks of chips. I stand there shaking so hard my teeth click together.

The shaking starts in my hands. It rolls inward, moving through my arms and into my chest then down through my legs until my whole body vibrates with an energy my nervous system has no idea how to process. My knees feel like they've recently been informed that holding me up is optional, too. Great.

I try to shove away the nerves, but they are not going anywhere.

Sweat cools on the back of my neck and my shirt sticks between my shoulder blades. The adrenaline that saved me converts from fuel to poison in my bloodstream, the rush turning thick and toxic now that there's nowhere left to run.

The metallic bite of the alley clings to the inside of my nostrils, mixing with the convenience stench until my stomach rolls. I have to swallow hard to keep from being sick behind the Doritos.

My hand goes to the locket at my throat. I press it flat against my collarbone hard enough to feel the chain bite into the back of my neck. Raine and I bought matching chains with our first paychecks, and I've been reaching for mine every time my world falls sideways ever since.

I grab at the front pocket of my apron, holding my breath.

“Oh, thank God.”

I drag my phone out with fingers that barely cooperate. It takes three tries to unlock it, my thumb sliding on the glass, smearing sweat across the screen.

I pull up my contacts and tap my sister’s name.

“Come on, pick up.”