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Risborough Heights. It’s the type of neighborhood that sleeps all day and comes alive at night. Crackheads howl under the moon, drug dealers clock in for their shift, and the sound of gunshots, screams, and the crackle of trashcan fires are nothing but white noise.
I pull the collar of my jacket up and keep my head down, staring at the pavement just in front of my sneakers.
I’m walking for less than two minutes when the creep of white light across the cracks of the concrete makes my blood run cold. I twist around to follow the light source, and sure enough, there’s a car at the end of the street. It’s too dark to see the color, but it’s slow and creeping closer towards me, engine silent.
“For fucks sake,” I mutter in the lapel of my collar and pick up the pace. I’m still weak from three days’ worth of beatings, so my legs ache and my chest rattles, but I keep it moving. Somewhere in my brain, a voice is trying to soothe me.It’s not going to be anyone but Lucky’s men, and I’m heading to see him now. The deadline isn’t up yet, so what’s the problem?But every woman knows it’s instinctive to be wary of creeping cars, even if you know the asshole behind the wheel. My mind begins to wander. What if it’s the South Africans? One of the Van der Boors’ acquaintances coming to get me?
Even though I’m alone, I shake my head. I boarded that yacht with a false passport, equipped with a fake name and a made-up backstory. Lies slip off my tongue like second nature, so I’m confident that neither the brothers nor the fellow crew members had any idea I wasn’t really Charlotte Higgins from Fort Lauderdale, looking to make a quick buck over Spring Break.
When the pavement plunges back into darkness, I look behind me to see the car turning off into another street and breathe a small sigh of relief.
Okay, maybe this time, I was just being paranoid. But after everything I’ve been through, who can blame me?
The rest of the journey is cold but uneventful. The butterflies in my stomach only go wild when I turn onto the street that Lucky’s club is on.
Okay, deep breaths. Game face. Get a deal in place before you start taking your clothes off. Better yet, strike a deal that doesn’t require taking clothes off at all.
The black glass door looms in front of me, like a portal to the underworld. I know once I pass through it, it’ll be impossible to crawl back out.
No burly, gum-chewing bouncer outside yet. I wonder if the club is even open—wait, do places like this even shut? God, I don’t even know how I’m going to get in. As I approach, I scan the glass for a door handle, but there’s nothing. Oh, there, a small doorbell on the wall next to it. It’s black, inconspicuous, and has a little speaker attached. With a trembling finger, I reach out to press the button—
Suddenly, a hand shoots out of the shadows and grabs my arm, twisting it behind my back and pulling me away from the door.
“What the—”
My feet. They are no longer on the pavement but I’m moving, away from the club, back the way I came. There’s a strong arm around my waist, carrying me like I weigh nothing. It all happens so fast, that I’m still speechless, even when the arm takes me down a narrow side alley. My sneakers meet the ground again, and my back crashes against the wall.
Dazed, I stumble forward into something hard and warm.
Then a familiar voice slices through the darkness.
One that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Girls like you don’t belong in places like that.”
I look up, and in the sliver of moonlight, I meet the eyes of the man who saved me from the Van der Boors.
Those eyes. They burn into me, blazing with fury.
My mouth opens and closes. Opens again, but nothing but a squeak comes out. I have too many questions and not enough functioning brain cells to ask a single one of them.
Instead, I just watch him. He’s even more handsome than I remember; the light from the moon above combined with the shadows of the alley contour his sharp features. He runs a hand over his shaved head, muttering something to himself in a low growl, a vein beating against his temple.
“You came back for me.”
It’s pathetic but it’s the only thing that slips from my lips.
He glares at me and says, “I was in the neighborhood.”
Before I can poke holes in his story, he grabs my arm and drags me back out into the street, stopping by a parked car. He digs into his jacket, finds his keys, and unlocks it.
“Get in.”
My senses are coming back to me now. Shaking my head, I nod towards Lucky’s club. “I can’t, I have to—”
A low growl erupts from deep within his ribcage, disrupting the silence around us. He stares up at the starless sky and says quietly, “So help me God. I’ll burn this entire city down before I let you walk into Room 101. Now get in the car.”
Stunned into submission, I slide into the passenger seat, immediately engulfed by the warmth of the heater and the same oaky cologne that lingered on the sweater he gave me. As he rounds the car, I take a deep breath and drink it in.
