Chapter 1
Jema
This time I’ve really done it because I’m not sure if I’m going to make it out alive. This is all Joey’s fault. When I find him, I’m going to strangle him. Unless he is already dead, which is highly likely given my current situation. What the hell did Joey get himself into?
How long will it take for anyone to realize I’m gone? The diner will think I quit. No one gives two weeks’ notice there. They simply stop coming back. Yeah, probably not a good idea to ponder those thoughts because they’re depressing and shouldn’t be my final ones.
Currently I’m having a stare-down with Salvador, the deadliest man in the city.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, and his voice booms across the warehouse. It’s deep and slightly rough, which suits him. “Out here now,” he barks, making me jump.
I hurry forward and step out from behind the shadow of the shipping container where I’d been hiding. When I do, I glance toward the man tied to the chair. His head is lolled forward, and I can hear the sound of the blood dripping from his hands. I look away and do my best to keep my attention on Salvador, even though I’m terrified.
He’s taller than I thought he’d be with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Or maybe it’s what has grown in throughout the day. His black button-down shirt is drawn tight against his broad chest.
“Farther,” he says, and I wonder how one word can be so heavy.
I swallow but don't move. My feet are planted, and I'm not sure they will work. They only worked a second ago because he scared me and it was a knee-jerk reaction.
“Why? You’re just going to kill me anyway.” Looks like I can still run my mouth, though. I have the worst self-control. At least there wasn’t a timid hitch in my voice showing how scared I truly am.
My rebellious streak is always getting me in trouble. At least that's what every foster home I’ve been in told me. But why should I do anything he asks? I’ve seen what he’s capable of.
Salvador is quiet for a long moment, and I notice his henchman, Marco, flick a glance toward his boss. I’m pretty sure we’re both wondering what he’s going to do next.
“It could be a quick death or a very slow and painful one,” Salvador says, and I swallow.
“Fine,” I mutter and force myself to take a step forward.
Marco mutters a string of words in Italian that I don’t understand while Salvador’s dark gaze sweeps over me from head to toe. There’s a flare in his eyes as they linger on my chest.
I'm sure it's my sweater. I like to go early to Goodwill so I can go through their bins before they sort them and find the good stuff. This sweater has a pigeonzilla on it. The bird is wreaking havoc throughout the city while standing on a smashed taxi with a giant pretzel in his wing.
“Why are you making this more difficult for yourself, little girl?”
“I’m not little. I’m vertically challenged,” I tell him, and I swear, Salvador almost smiles. There’s a quick twitch of his lips before it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
I might be short, but I’ve got hips for days. I blame it on the diner. If my shift is eight hours, then I get two meals, and I get to pick whatever I want off the menu. Growing up in the system, sometimes there wasn’t enough to go around, so it was whatever was on the table. Now I’m eating enough, but maybe not so healthily.
“Who are you working for?”
“Mick,” I tell him, and Salvador glances over to Marco, who shrugs.
“Who’s Mick?” He looks annoyed, and I don’t know why I like seeing it.
“He’s about five foot ten inches and chain smokes, but he makes a mean Reuben.”
“Reuben?” Salvador asks, but I’m not sure if that’s a real question.
“Just shoot her. I’m hungry, and I still need to clean this mess up.” Marco motions to the man in the chair. Guess that answers my question on if he’s dead or not. It also means that I’m most likely dead too.
“You take orders from him?” I ask Salvador as I nod toward Marco. I’m trying to instigate a fight between the two of them.
“I’m growing tired of your games,” Salvador says, and the edge of his voice has me answering him.
“Fine, a Reuben is a sandwich. It’s what Mick’s Diner is known for.”
Marco rubs his mouth with the palm of his hand, and I know he’s fighting a smile. At least I’m making myself believe that. If they kind of like me, maybe they won’t kill me.
