He knows where Alex is. He knows she was downtown tonight. He knows she’s blonde.
Does he know she was the target? Did the man tell him?
“You mentioned her earlier,” Dom says smoothly. “When I brought your food.”
I’m spiraling. Dom knows I’m always with Alex.
“Yes, sir. She texted me throughout the night. I should probably check on her.”
“Of course.” He nods. “I’ll make sure the Uber is female.”
Because he’s thoughtful. Because he remembers details. Because he takes care of his employees.
While cleaning up murders.
“I appreciate that, sir.”
The doors close.
Panic hits.
I’m locked in a metal box with a man who just arranged a murder disposal.
Four feet by four feet of enclosed space. No escape. Just me and Dom and the light buzzing overhead.
“Everything okay, Dylan?” Of course he would notice.
Dominic Draven misses nothing. Ever.
I force myself to turn to him. Make eye contact. Smile like my heart isn’t trying to break through my ribs.
“Of course.” I frown, letting confusion show instead of fear. “Aren’t the clubs closed at this hour? It’s weird, right? Why is she still downtown?”
It works. He grunts, nodding slowly. He believes that’s why I’m freaking out.
It’s not.
But I’m a fucking pro.
The doors open, and I step out. Honestly thankful to be out of the stacks. Away from the scene of my greatest performance.
True to his word, an Uber waits at the curb.
Do I rush? Do I run? No. Because that would give something away.
So I walk. Normal pace. Like everything’s fine. Like I’m just tired and ready to go home.
Even though everything in me is saying run run run.
Dom follows me out, and I climb into that Uber like I deserve it and it’s my chariot to freedom. Which it is.
He talks to the driver, hands her a few hundreds.
“Good night, Dylan. See you at noon on Monday.” He smirks, which is mildly disturbing. “You’ll get a bonus for tonight, of course.”
Blood money.
He’s paying me with money he’s charging that man. Money from body disposal. From covering up murder.
