“Outside of the city. Pretty hidden.” There’s a gleam in my eyes, one that craves blood.
“You don’t think they’re keeping Luka there?”
The thought has crossed my mind more times than I can count. “No. I still want the best guys inside, in full tactical gear.” Dom is ex-military, and when we do raids like this, we use professionals, mostly his ex-colleagues. They’re precise, skillful, and if something goes wrong, it hurts a whole lot less than losing another family member.
“I’ll round up a team.”
It’s time to make those motherfuckers pay.
CHAPTER 25
Alex
I’m being followed.
It’s been twelve hours since I realized it, but my heart beats as fast as the second I noticed movement in the parked dark gray SUV in front of my building. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but my gut feeling screams at me to get out. The last time I didn’t listen to it, I almost wound up dead.
I barricaded the door with a chair, and I’m clutching my gun, but I still haven’t slept a wink. Avoiding all windows on the off chance of getting shot down, I spend my time packing my essentials into a small backpack. Unlike last time, I know just what to pack now. Practice makes perfect, I guess. The clock ticks two am, and I move the living room window curtain ever so slightly, daring to peek outside. I do the same thing every hour, but this time, my eyes widen.
It’s gone. The car’s gone.
My breath races, my heart thudding in my ears as I rush to the hallway to throw on a dark hoodie and grab the backpack I’ve prepared. I pull the hood over my head, carefully hiding my hair. I slip a pair of gray sneakers on my feet and check the peephole. My stomach rolls as I unlock the door as quietly as I can, gripping my gun with my other hand.
Thankfully, the hallway is empty.
The lock clicks behind me, and I say a silent goodbye to the place that has become a home for the last few months. Keeping the noise to a minimum, I make my way downstairs, to the fire exit in the alley behind the building. I’m practically shaking as I step outside, but the alley is empty. I slip the gun into the waistband of my jeans, not wanting to draw attention. The dumpster is overflowing with trash, and I experience a mini heart attack when a stray cat jumps out of it, completely unaware that she almost made me shit my pants.
“Fuck,” I whisper, placing a hand on my chest. Looking both ways, I cross the street and make a turn right past a Vietnamese restaurant, trying to walk as fast as possible.
I walk four blocks before calling a ride to take me to a different neighborhood. The driver drops me off in front of a random building, but I walk three more blocks to a sketchy-looking motel. I unzip the hoodie, pulling it off my head, hoping to look more like an adventurous backpacker than a girl on the run.
“Hi, I need a room for the night. My flight got delayed, and I lost the accommodation I booked.” The fake backstory is probably unnecessary judging from the looks of the place, but it still brings me comfort to do it.
The man at the front desk gives me a thorough once-over. His hoodie matches mine if we ignore the mustard stains covering his left side. He purses his lips before saying. “Your ID, please.”
I let out an awkward chuckle. “That’s the thing. I can’t seem to find it. First the flight, then the hotel, and now this.” I flutter my eyelashes like I’m on the verge of crying. “When it rains, it pours, I guess.”
The man crosses his arms in front of his chest, covering those disgusting stains. “I can’t let you in without an ID.”
“It’s just for one night. I have cash. Plenty of it.” Out of my backpack, I extract a wad of cash that could get me a night in the most expensive hotel in the city.
The man’s eyes widen, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. I count ten hundred-dollar bills and place them in front of him. “I still need your name,” he grumbles, taking the money, and a smile overtakes my face.
“Of course. Jody. Jody Mills.”
He shoots me a questioning look before pulling his gaze down. “Give me a moment.” He clicks and clacks on the keyboard of his banged-up computer, while I zip the bag back up. Most of it is cash, and I’ve raised enough attention for one night.
Finally, the man places a key in front of me. “Here.”
“Thank you,” I respond, relief washing over me. I look back to where the rooms are and let out a huff. This shady motel is hardly a prize, but hopefully the privacy will be worth it.
The courtyard is dark; the streetlamp being the only thing casting a soft hue of light. My heart beats out of my chest as I pass the unlit rooms before I reach mine. The lock of room number twelve turns and I enter.
Home, sweet home.
The room is a pleasant surprise. Or my standards are just so low. But the smell isn’t unpleasant, and there are no cobwebs in the corners, indicating someone actually cleans it. It’s far from the worst room I’ve ever stayed in.
Exhaustion hits me as soon as I close the door, pulling the curtains over the windows. I opt out of unpacking and change into thin sweatpants that will have to double as pajamas. A protein bar drops out of my backpack while I dig through it, but my stomach is still too unsettled to eat. I get under the covers, and face the door. Placing the gun on the nightstand, I shut the lights off, wrapping the room in darkness.
