Page 40 of Guilty as Sin

“Too bad, so sad. I don’t.”

“He’s dangerous, Cora.”

“So am I.” To prove my point, I throw my empty glass in the sink, then grin triumphantly at the loud crash. My brother shakes his head at me.

“Jesus fucking Christ, go lie down or something.” He pulls out the trash can and lifts it to the sink, carefully disposing of the glass piece by piece. I feel the teensiest bit bad watching him clean up after me. But hey, I cleaned up after his mess, which was considerably bigger.

“Fine,” I tell him. “But only because I told me to.” I shuffle off to my old bedroom and close the door. I have just enough awareness to kick off my shoes before collapsing onto my old bed and falling asleep.

* * *

Its dark when by the time I wake up. My hangover is thankfully mild, nothing a couple of ibuprofens won’t fix. When I step out of my room, all the lights are off. The door to Connor’s room is ajar, and I push it gently open. He’s sleeping in bed with his mouth wide open, the way he has since he was little. I smile to myself and close the door.

When I check my phone, there’s nothing from Brady, so he must not have returned to the empty penthouse yet. He’d be the type to bombard my phone with texts and calls if he found me gone, then probably end up hunting me down here and breaking down the door.

Keeping quiet for Connor’s sake, I eat a granola bar, brush my teeth, and splash cold water on my face. I’d had the forethought to leave some toiletries and clothes behind, unsure what exactly I’d be using this apartment for once I moved into the penthouse. Boozy lunch recoveries, apparently.

Locking the apartment behind me, I pad quickly down the stairs, my balance fully recovered. The night’s chill is a little strong for my cardigan, but it invigorates me. As I round the corner out onto the street, I catch sight of a shadow moving in the alley behind me.

I raise my guard but don’t panic, a city girl through and through. I prioritize staying on the well-lit sidewalks of busy streets.

At a crosswalk, I pull out my phone as I wait for the light to turn. I pretend to use the camera to check my hair, then tilt it to get a glimpse of who’s behind me. Lurking at the back of the small cluster of people is a broad-shouldered man in a dark jacket, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

Fuck.

I zigzag for three blocks, then check again. Still there.

Double fuck.

I consider calling Brady, but the whole point of my outing today was to prove I’m more capable than he is. I’m not a useless weakling that needs protection. I’m a helpful source of intel who can handle her own.

I wait until the traffic light turns red, then dart across the street. Cars honk, but I don’t care, I keep sprinting toward the penthouse. When I’m a few blocks away, I chance it. I slow down to turn around and look.

Gone. The sidewalk behind me is empty, and I regain my breath in relief. I did it.

Shaking my tense arms loose, I return to a brisk walk along the deserted street. As I’m a half block away from the high-rise, I take one last look over my shoulder.

Pain explodes from the side of my head. I stagger, but keep my feet. Righteous anger flares inside me, unleashing my violence. Fists raised, I lower my center of gravity and face my attacker.

He swings his weapon at me again, some blunt object, I can’t tell. When I dodge, it nearly catches me in the nose, and I have to throw myself off-balance to avoid his second swing. I grit my teeth as I fall, catching myself with my hands on the unforgiving sidewalk.

I twist up, and my attacker moves into the streetlight.

He’s wearing a light gray hoodie, no hat on his bald head. Fuck, there must be two of them. Baldie swings back his leg, ready to kick me in the stomach. There’s no time for me to get to my feet, so I push myself to roll out of the way.

My spine erupts with pain. I’ve slammed into a fire hydrant. I’m trapped as Baldie lumbers toward me. I’m in too much pain to move, and all I can do is bare my teeth at him as he leers down at me. He swings back his leg with unsettling glee.

Another man lunges for him, a quick punch to the side of the face. It’s the man in the baseball cap who was following me. Baldie refocuses on the newcomer, and the two exchange blows while I struggle to my feet.

There’s the sickening sound of flesh colliding with flesh, paired with grunts of pain and lots of swearing. Baldie throws a punch that snaps the other man’s face to the side, knocking off his hat.

Finn. Holy shit. It was Brady’s younger brother who followed me from my apartment.

He recovers sloppily from Baldie’s punch, swaying badly.

Baldie’s back is turned to me, but I can sense his leer of victory. He cracks his neck and tosses his weapon aside, eager to finish Finn with his bare hands. As the weapon clatters to the sidewalk, I rush to scoop it up. It’s a shortened nightstick, weighted but easily concealable.

I grip it like a stubby baseball bat and swing for all I’m worth.