1
Alina Kent
I’m a hot mess.
Loose strands of my dark hair have fallen from my bun and are plastered to my temple and the back of my neck as I step out of the quiet Manhattan boutique hotel and into the humid summer night.
While I may be sweaty and exhausted, at least I’m finally free.
After twelve straight hours of guest emergencies, broken AC units, and an entitled banker having a meltdown over his minibar charges, I’m ready to shed my wrinkled hotel uniform and stand under ice-cold water until my soul resets.
Thanks to all the caffeine I’ve ingested, though, I still feel wired. That’s why I do my sisterly duty, checking in on my older brother to see if he wants to grab a late dinner with me.
Archer hasn’t answered my texts in days, hasn’t laughed at the memes I sent him, hasn’t even asked for money, which is how I know something’s wrong.
While I believe in putting in a hard day’s work to earn a living, my older brother is always searching for a shortcut. I don’t usually approve of his methods, but I refuse to berate him too much about his risky life choices. How can I when some of his schemes are what kept us together and kept me out of foster care when our mother died?
While I know exactly how selfish my brother can sometimes be, I still love him.
Plucking my cell phone from the canvas tote on my shoulder, I power on the ancient device to call Archer. If he won’t answer my texts, hopefully he’ll answer my call. While I wait for the screen to light up on my walk to the subway station, I can’t help but notice the vehicle in my peripheral vision. A dark SUV that’s creeping way too slowly down the mostly empty city streets.
A cold chill runs under my skin; the same one I used to feel when my mom’s boyfriends got too close.
I try to ignore the feeling, but when it comes rolling up right next to me on the sidewalk, I decide to walk a little faster. I tell my racing heart that I’m being ridiculous, and there’s probably nothing to worry about.
There’s a squeak as the window rolls down, then I hear it.
My name.
It’s a masculine voice, much deeper than my brother’s with a rough edge to it.
Don’t turn around. Don’t look back. You’re just imagining shit because you’re tired.
None of those reassurances helps appease my anxiety, especially not when car doors open and close nearby. Instead, I hear my brother’s voice when I was twelve, telling me not to trust anyone with our secrets.
The subway entrance is just up ahead, no more than twenty feet away. I have twenty feet to decide whether or not to takethose stairs down. Do I really want to trap myself underground with a man stalking me? Absolutely not.
“Alina?” the voice calls out again, making my name sound like a question when he obviously knows who I am. This time I notice a harsh accent I can’t place. He’s also louder, closer to me than he was before. I’m being followed.
How does he know who I am? And was he lurking in the street, waiting for me to leave work? If he knew where I worked, why not just come inside to talk to me?
Unless he doesn’t have any interest in talking…
I stupidly glance over my shoulder before I decide if I should keep ignoring them or start running.
Fuck.
It’s not just one man who got out of the SUV; it’s two!
Two large men jump out of the SUV and are striding toward me with purpose. That’s when I decide that I should definitely run.
I take off in a sprint with no intended destination, my boots pounding on the pavement, my fingers clutching my purse straps in one hand and my phone in the other.
Rapid footsteps warn me that the men are now actively chasing me. One calls out, “Stop!” as if he thinks I’m a fool.
My legs pump even faster. I need to call 9-1-1 or Archer, but I can’t chance slowing down to punch a single button! I glance around, hoping to find someone who looks like they might help me. It’s not easy to do when I can’t afford to slow down or to choose wrong.
I don’t even make it far enough for my lungs to burn before a large hand clamps down on my arm, jerking me to an abrupt stop.
