Disappointed.
Well, you and me both, I guess.
I keep walking down the sidewalk and I start to get a real uneasy feeling creeping over me. It’s so fucking quiet. There’s no one around. It’s just dead. I’m pretty used to walking everywhere, even late at night, but not on this side of town. I don’t even know what time it is.
I should be home this late at night. I shouldn’t be here. It’s obvious this isn’t the safest part of town. But I just couldn’t go back to the apartment and have nothing to tell Cheryl.
I’m the one who looks out for her. But right now I’ve got nothing for either of us.
I couldn’t tell Cheryl that I didn’t get the job, and that I have no plan for us.
She's freaking out about money. She’s kind of a wild child, and she’s never had a worry in her life. I love her free spirit and all, but that needs to take a back seat when your parents cut you off. She isn’t like me though. She’s never worked a day in her life. Between all my savings and the scholarships, I was able to pay for college on my own. Not Cheryl Fletcher. I don’t think her perfectly manicured hands have ever performed any sort of manual labor. Which is fine if you don’t have to, and it’s not like she’s a spoiled brat who throws it in your face.
But her parents were pissed about the expulsion and completely cut her off. And it's not like she isn't trying--she’s filled out more job applications than I have. Partly because she doesn’t plan on going back to school. She was undeclared anyway since she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life.
But the best plan we have to make rent this month is to start selling our shit. And by our shit, I mean hers. A purse or two from her collection would be enough to do it. I’m not going to ask though. My everyday purse is a clutch I bought on clearance from Target a few semesters ago. Hardly glamorous, and hardly expensive. Nope, not like Cheryl's newest purse, a Michael Kors hobo with buttery soft leather. Still, I’m not going to ask and put her in that position.
It’s the only option I can think of though.
I see a few guys walking two blocks up from me. They’re on the opposite side of the street and heading in my direction. I don’t like it. They’re talking and laughing, and having a good time. They don’t seem threatening. But still, a young girl walking alone and three men… I just don’t like it.
There’s an alleyway on my left that lets out a few blocks down from the main road where our apartment is. As I stand in the opening, I can see it opens up on both walls of the alley halfway through and that there are some cars farther down on the other side. It's empty.
I don’t even hesitate to take the left turn and walk toward more people. Toward safety. I’m pretty sure it’s an even faster route home--I think, anyway.
It’s dark, and things look different when it’s dark.
I pick up my pace with my eyes straight ahead on the light at the opening to the other street.
I’m about halfway through, right near the openings on both sides of the alley when I hear shouting.
My heart jumps in my chest, and my breathing stalls. I instinctively take a step back and nearly fall on my ass with fear.
It’s angry shouting. More than two men arguing in what I think is Russian. Or maybe German. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t understand anything they're saying, and I shouldn’t be here. I look behind me for a moment, but I don’t know where those three men are. Fuck. Fuck.
I don’t know what to do. The yelling gets louder and closer. My heart hammers faster in my chest. I feel lost and trapped as my throat closes with fear.
I could just run as fast as I can through the opening. It’s large enough that a car could get through. But they sound so close. If they saw me, they’d definitely be able to catch me before I made it out the other side.
I take a deep breath and chance a look, just a small glance to see what’s happening.
My breathing slows, and the only thing I can hear is my blood rushing in my ears. My heart thumps, thumps, thumps way too loud. They’re going to hear me; they’re going to see me.
I feel a small sense of relief as I see a row of trashcans blocking the path. I can see past them though. Maybe twenty feet from me, there's a group of men gathered in the parking lot of a warehouse.
I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not good. So far, no one's spotted me since I'm peeking around the corner with just part of my head showing. I could still get down on the ground, try crawling in the dirt and gravel, and hope I get through unnoticed.
Instead I watch, paralyzed with disbelief at what I’m seeing.
A man’s standing apart from the others. It’s not the fact that he’s in a custom-tailored suit when they rest of them are all in wrinkled khakis or worn-out jeans. He’s one of the tallest men, with broad shoulders that stretches the rich fabric tight across his gorgeous frame. But that’s not it either. His very presence is a dominating force. It’s the air around him.
He’s a dangerous man. The other men may be mean, or even pure evil. But this man is ruthless, calculated, and something tells me he can get away with it. He’s a man who isn’t denied, and for good reasons. The shadows on his face only make his high and sharp cheekbones even more severe. A light dusting of rough stubble lines his hard jaw.
He’s handsome in the most sinful ways, but he’d break you without thinking twice. Maybe even intentionally.
He straightens his crisp white shirt from under his dark navy suit with a gun still firmly in his hand, his finger on the trigger. His barely contained anger is evident even at this distance. He’s listening to the man screaming, the one being dragged over on his knees to the center where the other men are circling.
Another man, Ricky, is yelling back. At least I think that's his name, since that's what it sounds like they're calling him. Ricky is obviously in charge of the group of men who are mostly dressed in dark denim jeans, and Henleys or hoodies.
