Page 51 of A New Days Don

“There,” I point, pulling from his grasp and running to the other end of the street. Massimo follows closely behind, muttering profanities as I round the corner. Her box dyed red hair is easy to spot as she weaves through the crowd gathered outside the food bank.

“Excuse me,” I squish past them, my steps slowing as some of the people curse and push me out of their way.

“Mila!” Massimo growls but follows me anyway.

I stumble, but right myself as I pass through them, but when I look up, I can’t see her familiar hair or figure anywhere. The wind whips my hair as I turn around, looking up and down the block for any glimpse of her. Everything goes silent around us. Then suddenly, a screech rings out, echoing from down the street.

I don’t hesitate as I take off in the direction, Massimo’s voice trying to call me back, but I don’t stop. Each alleyway that we pass is empty, but when I round the corner, my footsteps come to an abrupt halt when I come face to face with the red-haired female. Her eyes are blazing with anger, making me flinch and step back from her.

“You need to get out of here.” She whispers urgently as the shadows of the side street swallow us. I can hear Massimo’s footsteps as he storms towards us.

“I need answers,” I tell her, and she shakes her head.

“You survived, okay. Quit looking any further.” She snaps. Massimo takes a step forward, almost protectively. His daunting presence suffocates the small sidewalk, making her stumble back.

“Wait!” I call after the red-haired woman, and she freezes, her whole body stiffening. A few cars drive past, and she just stares at us.

“Listen, you aren’t used to the rules of the streets, but I really can’t talk.” She keeps walking, but I don’t let her get away. I follow her as she makes her way down the silent street and away from the bright party lights.

“Please,” I beg her, “I need to ask you a few questions. The media may not be sharing the stories, but the women on these streets are in danger. The kind of danger that puts them six feet under.”

She spins, a fiery glare in her eye as she snaps, “You don’t think I know that!”

I feel Massimo shift, the warmth of his body pressing closer to me.

The woman doesn’t seem to care about him because her gaze stays directed at me, “Women are dying every night. Every night I have to warn whoever I can to be more vigilant, but the ones so addicted to the high of whatever drug they are shooting up or snorting can’t say no when a man offers them the money this guy does.”

“Which guy?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to check the street, it's empty, save for the three of us. She looks over her shoulder once more, eying the shadows as if someone is watching us from afar.

“I dunno.” She whispers even quieter before leaning in conspiratorially, “He’s gonna kill us all, though.”

I stiffen as she reaches out and grabs my bicep. Massimo steps forward, but I hold my hand up, successfully stopping him in his tracks. Her less than perfectly manicured nails pinch into my skin, but I don’t let her see the pain, “Then do every one of the girls on these streets a favour and tell me what you know.”

She looks around once more, “The tunnels.”

“The what?” I’m almost certain I hear her wrong until she’s tugging me down the street. Massimo doesn’t let her get very far before he’s gripping her frail hand and squeezing it hard enough to make her wince.

“Hands. Off.” He snarls through gritted teeth, and she nods, her curly red hair frantically.

“This way,” she murmurs, and we both follow her into the night. Her body floats almost like a wraith’s as she sweeps through the darkness.

Chapter 20

Massimo

I know the tunnels the flaming red head has taken us into.

I grew up using these tunnels when they were used to traffic women, children, and drugs, but that was before my father cleaned up the streets and killed the Colombians who frequented the underground networks. He made sure that anyone coming into the city, above or below, would have to go through him first.

The last thing I ever wanted to do was to return to these haunted grounds. The history screams around us like a silent ghost whispers of pain and torture. The scent of feces and decay still plagues the air within the tight cement walls. But I will sooner be damned before I let Mila come down here alone.

My eyes are glued to Mila as she stumbles through the murky water of the sewer we had to crawl into. When she hisses, I rush to her side, looking down her leg to the wound that I had cleaned and stitched only two weeks ago. It's healing, but I will definitely have to clean it once we are out of here to avoid any infection.

“I’m fine. I think I stepped on something.” One of the lamest excuses comes tumbling from her lips. She sounds close to vomiting, but she swallows whatever was threatening to rise up her throat. Her pupils are pinpricks despite the dimly lit tunnel. The female ahead stops, waiting for us impatiently.

“It gets better once we are out of the sewer, but this is the most direct entrance.” She explains as if I didn’t already know. I pay her no mind.

“You’re okay,” I tell her while rubbing a slow circle on her back in an attempt to soothe her. I would tell her to take a deep breath, but I think that would only make it worse.