A growl of his own rips from his throat, but he doesn’t push the matter here, in front of my people. “Once your shift ends, we’re having a different conversation.”
The rumble beneath his words sends a streak of heat straight to my hips. “Looking forward to it, rich boy.”
“You get eight hours,” he says. “Not a minute more.”
As he turns to leave, his shoulders set with tension, I wonder if I’ve won this round or only postponed inevitable defeat.
Either way, I have eight hours to figure out why Tony wants me alive, when dead would be so much simpler.
13
The metal door of Foundation clangs shut behind me, cutting off the throbbing bass that’s pounded through my body for the last eight hours.
Gabriel had held to his agreement to stay away, and I hadn’t realized how much I had come to expect his presence to break up my nights.
No one had tried to approach me during work, either, even when I made sure to create opportunities where I was alone. Not that I thought someone would try to take me inside the crowded club. Too many variables. Not if they want me alive.
Shadows fill the alley, my motorcycle a dark silhouette where there had been a spill of lamplight when I parked at the start of my shift.
I take two steps forward, keys jingling in my palm, when the hair at my nape rises.
My muscles tense, a reflex born from years of looking over my shoulder. The cold night air prickles my skin, carrying the stench of garbage and old grease from the kitchen vents. High walls rise on either side, narrowing toward the street and muffling the noise of the city.
I continue walking, keeping my pace even while my senses strain for any disruption in the stillness. A bottle crunches beneath my boot, the sound too loud in the confined space. I slide my keys between my fingers, the metal cool and reassuring.
The footsteps come, too quick to be another employee leaving, too confident to be a drunk who wandered in.
I spin as a figure lunges from the darkness, a flash of metal in his hand catching the dim security light. I sidestep, grab his wrist, and use his momentum to slam him face-first into the brick wall. His cheek scrapes against the rough surface with a wet sound, and the object he held clatters to the ground near our feet.
Too easy.
“Who sent you?” I growl into his ear, twisting his arm up between his shoulder blades until he gasps.
The man tries to kick backward, aiming for my knee. I shift to the side, avoiding the blow, and drive his face harder into the bricks, smearing blood across the red surface.
My boot bumps a fallen taser. So, he did plan to take me alive.
I twist his arm, bone cracking with a wet crunch, and he howls, the sound echoing in the narrow passage.
I release his broken arm to grab his throat, spinning him around and lifting until the tips of his shoes scrape the ground. Blood drips from his nose and forehead, and his eyes bulge as my fingers squeeze.
“Why me?” I demand, easing the pressure enough for him to speak.
He coughs, spittle flecking his chin. “Request… for you…”
My blood freezes in my veins. Request. Not hit. Not contract.Request.Like I’m merchandise to be collected. Property to be acquired. The same way the guard spoke about me in juvie, picking me out of a lineup of kids no one would miss.
A switch flips inside me, rage going cold, and my grip changes, fingers seeking the precise points alonghis neck. With one sharp twist, it’s over. His body goes limp, head lolling at an unnatural angle.
I lower him to the ground, the movement as gentle as tucking a child into bed.
Silence follows. The man stares up at the narrow strip of night sky between the buildings, eyes already clouding over. I check his pockets, finding no wallet, no phone, no identification. Professional.
“You were supposed to keep him alive,” Orien says as he joins me in the alley. “Now, how are we supposed to bleed him for information?”
“If you wanted him alive, you should have stepped him before he got to me,” I snap. “I thought you were supposed to be here for my protection.”
“I would have protected you if he’d gotten you with the taser.” Orientsksas he stares at the blood on the wall. “Did you have to break his nose? Brick is a bitch to clean.”
