Page 56 of Deadly Sins

No one knew about my identity except Roman. Had I made a fatal error?

Well, my dumb ass had shown Joaquín my bracelet at the jail yesterday, but only Joaquín would know what that bracelet meant. Maybe Joaquín had sent someone to check me out? Weren’t jails run like some sort of underground Mafia? Like maybe he could’ve bribed a guard?

A sudden coldness hit my core. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Joaquín’s day-to-day life was like in jail. He’d gone from being hailed as a hero to being caged like an animal.

I closed my eyes and tried to push the image of my brother, pounding license plates, and eating a sandwich made of stale bread and slimy bologna, out of my mind.

I focused on Kyle, who was cleaning glasses by the bar.

“Who that man is I serve?”

Kyle scanned the bar and gazed out the door. “The guy who just bolted? Never seen him. I doubt he’s a former Team guy—I’ve met most of them in these parts. Why? He hassle you?”

I shook my head. I had to keep this under wraps. “No. He look familiar to me. Maybe I see him at club.”

My stomach churned, and beads of sweat dripped down my forehead. If someone was on to me, I would be discovered. A ticking time bomb rang loudly in my ears. If I was smart, I would drive to Grant’s house, confess my sins, and beg for mercy.

But I had lost any sense of reason. Without Joaquín, without Grant, without my baby, without my parents, I had no ties to anyone. I yearned to feel something, to connect, to be reminded my own life had a purpose independent of saving Joaquín. That someone, somewhere, loved me. But for now, the most important task was to protect my identity.

At the end of my shift, I had made a little over two hundred dollars in tips. Nothing like what I made a night stripping, but definitely a decent sum, nonetheless. Maybe I should’ve worked here when I was Mia, to pay my way through college. Not that Grant, nor Joaquín for that matter, would have been thrilled with the idea of me serving a bunch of Team guys.

I said goodbye to Kyle and walked out the door, preparing to drive home to try to shake the earlier unsettling experience. Candy-colored clouds loomed in the sunset. A gust of wind blew into my face.

A heavy feeling arose in my gut.

Something wasn’t right.

That man. Where was he? Was he following me? What did he think he knew?

Maybe I should’ve asked Kyle to drive me home. Or I could’ve called Grant. Hell, maybe I should’ve called Mitch.

No. I could handle this. That man, whoever he was, couldn’t possibly know my real identity. I’d crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s. Even Grant didn’t suspect who I was.

I ignored my paranoia and hurried into my car. As I drove down the freeway, my hands shook on the steering wheel. My fingers pressed on the radio volume, and I tried to drown my anxiety in a sea of heavy metal music. The blaring instruments pulsed through my body. The bass anchored my soul. I took a deep breath, hoping to calm my nerves.

After a few miles, I noticed a blue late-model Cadillac a few cars behind me. At first, I hoped it was only heading the same direction as me. So, I slowed my car, and it slowed behind me. I changed lanes, it changed lanes also.

Dread filled my body.

Hell no. Was I being paranoid?

I sped up; the car sped up too.

Fuck. I was being followed.

I would lose the car.

I swerved around another car and then pressed on the gas. My eyes kept glancing at the rearview mirror. The car was still on my tail. Dammit.

The freeway twisted up ahead. I refused to exit, not wanting to isolate myself. But the traffic was thin, and the moon was dim. I raced along the highway, hugging the curves. Another glance in the mirror, and I knew I was screwed.

A loud boom that sounded like a gunshot rang out behind me, followed by the crinkling of metal and the popping of an airbag. Before I knew what was happening, my car barreled down an embankment, and a sharp pain blasted through my body. The honking of horns and whizzing of cars added to my confusion as my face was scrunched up against the airbag, stifling my screams. There was a gash on my forehead, and blood trickled down my face, pooling in my seat, making me wet and sticky.

I arched my back, attempting to turn my throbbing neck to see what had happened, when glass flew by my face, followed by an angry man’s voice.

“Get the fuck out of the car.”