by Zoey Parker
The trunk open, they’re standing awfully still, and my ears are straining to catch whatever they might be saying. My feet begin aching in my heels, and my side strains from twisting and leaning in, a crick starting in my neck. If I keep this up, I’ll be stuck like this.
So when one of the suspicious-looking men finally moves, I’m relieved.
Expecting they’ll be on their way soon enough, I continue watching, on the lookout for when I can safely head to my car. One of the men lifts their arm. I switch position, turning so my belly is facing the cold, hard brick, my hand curling over the corner, head peeking around.
Then there’s a crack through the air, much like a whip, only louder. Another whooshing bang has me moving.
I startle from the wall from the sound of gunfire, my purse slipping down my arm and right into the glass door. The dull thud freaks me out a second time. My hands clap over each other on my mouth, squeezing and silencing the scream crawling out.
The men turn sharply as one, like they rehearsed their reactions. Only one of them is raising his hand though, stepping closer with his gun.
Even if the distance is far enough for me to scurry away, I can’t risk it. Running in heels for help—I don’t see that ending well.
I’m also the kid who didn’t jaywalk in school, not when all the cool kids were doing it. And I never forged a sick note to play hooky in my life. I didn’t cut corners and I didn’t butt ahead in line, and I kept my nose clean and my head down, especially to some of the goings-on at Hanley Auto.
A few of our wealthier clients have graced both local and national newspapers and not for being meritorious citizens. I haven’t admitted to myself, for reasons that would primarily have me wondering where my loyalty lies really, but the Hanleys are involved in criminal activity of some kind.
It’s a hush-hush topic, but Kerry told me when I was interviewing for this office administrator position that the Hanleys are running a double business.
The whispered word around Potentia is they’re loan sharks, and premium ones at that, and Luke is rich. Though business is good, I doubt that all his money is coming solely from the dealership. But my life hasn’t crossed his in that way, not until tonight. Not until now.
I start backing away.
The man holding the gun stares at me through the glass door. He lets the gun’s safety click off, the sound resonating louder than it should, like he’s standing right in front of me ready to spray me in the chest.
Chapter 2
Lily
My ears are picking up all the sounds, the fear sharpening my world in a way I can’t explain and, if I survive this, I’ll never explain. I’d take it to my grave...hopefully not right then.
The other man, slightly shorter, falls in line with his accomplice. “Put that down, fool, before you hurt someone.”
“That’s the point,” the one holding the gun snaps. Both are wearing hoods, and once they’re a little closer to one of two lamp posts in the back lot, the orange light reveals black scarves over their mouths.
No wonder they sound a little funny, their voices are muffled by the scarves.
“Put it down,” the shorter one repeats. Then he pulls out his own gun, safety clicking off. It happens too fast. Like it poofs into his hand. This guy is either a magician on the side, or he’s a professional.
Professional hitman. My mind coughs the answer up, finishing the thought I started.
“Slowly.” The short one says, drawing the barrel of his gun from his partner’s temple once the other lowers the gun that was pointing to me. Before I get the chance to run, to seize my opportunity, the short one shouts at me through the glass. “You move and I swear to God I’ll hunt and kill you myself.”
He doesn’t point his gun at me though. He’s tucking it away, like his taller friend. More like making it disappear. It’s there one second, menacingly warning me of the level of danger I’ve stumbled into, and the next it’s gone again.
Crooking a finger at me, he beckons me over.
Grabbing my purse and pushing open the door, I shuffle forward, coming to a halt far enough out of his immediate reach. But he keeps crooking that finger until I’m standing in front of him.
His dark, wide eyes study me from under the hood. There’s something familiar about them, but I can’t imagine I’ve met this man before.
“You’re their office girl, aren’t you?”
I blink, bobbing my head a little belatedly. My stare darts to the other man. He’s folding his bulky arms over his barrel of a chest. The short one isn’t bad in the muscle department either. This one’s leaner though, I think, in case I have to give descriptions to the police, or Luke himself.
Unless he sent these thugs, and doesn’t that thought freeze my blood nice and winter-like?
“Swell.” The short one whistles then, nudging his head at his accomplice. “You take this car then. We’ll take the other.” Clapping him on the arm, he adds, “Clean up good here. Don’t mess up my ride.”
The other one grunts, but he robotically does as he’s told, starting with shutting the trunk. But not before I catch sight of something in there…
Is it a body?
I gasp, staggering away from the car, from the body, and from these dangerous men.
“This way,” the short one bruises my arm with his tight grip, and he’s dragging me along, not caring if my arm socket dislocates with his rough tugging.
He opens the back door to the other vehicle, a black older model Acura. It’s in decent shape and the cushions I’m shoved onto don’t have any curious stains or scents. I would have expected a thug’s car to have both.
Interrupting my mental musings with his country radio, the thug drives us sharply out of the parking lot and far from Hanley Auto.
Having watched my fair share of action thrillers, I’m silent through the ride. Kidnappers don’t seem to like being questioned and this guy has a gun on him—a gun he had no trouble handling.
“Awfully quiet back there,” he says at one point. He obeys traffic laws, pausing at stop signs in the quiet, quaint neighborhood he’s turned us into, taking the scenic route to my final resting place.
Rolling down his window, he lingers at one stop sign, lighting a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?”
It comes off as a question, but he’s smoking already.
I’m a little shocked when he rolls down my back window. The fresh air is appreciated. Shifting closer, I suck it in greedily, replacing the acrid, bitter smell of his cigarette fumes.
“Almost there,” he says, lowering his radio volume.
It’s a weekday still, and many of the homes we pass are dark and silent; the families asleep and preparing for another busy work and school day tomorrow. A tomorrow I might not have...
I have no clue where he’s taking me, and as much as I resign myself to my death, I cling onto my share of hope and lots of crippling fear. Begging comes to mind, though that could only piss him off and hasten my death. I consider screaming. Or opening the car door and ducking and rolling out, running to one of these houses and yelling for refuge.
But I can’t do it.
I’m stuck in my seat, with breathing proving to be difficult.
The thug is turning into a driveway of a gated, pricey-looking community—the condos stacked two over each other, the mahogany siding, large picture windows, eggshell-colored stucco, and glass balconies visually pleasing.
It’s not what I’m prepared for, but then I start thinking he means to torture me in his home. He doesn’t look like he could afford a place here, yes, but he didn’t look like much of a killer until he pulled his gun out.
Parking the car and silencing the engine, he pushes out of his seat, slamming the driver’s door before opening the back and waving for me to get out. He forces me ahead, probably to prevent my running. But the cold metal of a gun doesn’t kiss my back as it might have in a movie.
We climb stone steps to an intermediate landing where I pause and look back. He�
�s right there, in my face, eyes narrowing. “Keep moving.”
I scramble up the last steps, desperate to put as much distance between us without alarming him to pulling and using his gun.
He pushes us past the front door, leading me around a floating wraparound porch. It’s modern and funky, but I’m not appreciating the architecture. I’m calculating the distance of jumping down onto what I see is the garage below.
“Move,” he says, annoyance pushing into his tone. I scamper from the steel and glass railing, coming to the end of the porch and staring in through a glass sliding side door.
He knocks lightly on the glass, varying the knock. Morse code, maybe? And why would he be knocking or taking the side entrance to his own home?
A shadow breaks up the warm lighting behind the sheer curtains and I understand now. This isn’t his home at all.
The choking fear of being enclosed in a space with another thug has me backing away.
He catches my arm and squeezes, still not drawing his firearm. Apparently I’m not worth a bullet. At this rate, with his propensity towards grabbing, he’ll probably strangle me or snap my neck.
The curtain is pulled aside sharply, and I nearly cry from relief at the sight of Luke’s frowning face.
We’re at Luke’s house. Of course.
Snapping the lock, Luke slides the door open and looks from me to the thug and back to me.
The thug bows his head. “Sorry to bother you, boss.”
Boss?
I feel the blood draining from my head, the truth slapping me hard in the face.
This guy works for Luke Hanley.
Oh, God. My boss is going to kill me.
Chapter 3
Luke
“Sorry to bother you, boss.”
Russ should be sorry. If we’d been alone, I would offer a demonstration of just how sorry he should be feeling, but we have a guest and I like to think my father and late mother raised me right.
I pry my lips apart, my smile tight and fake as fuck.
“Company. Wonderful.” I push the sliding door further, stepping to the side and holding the curtain back. “Come in. It’s cold out there.” I don’t snap about how they’re letting out the warmth and annoying me at this late hour.
At least Russ brought a woman with him.
And a pretty one.
In the lighting, I get a better look at her, and I frown. It’s Lily Erickson, Hanley Auto’s office administrator. How could I miss that? She looks different with her sunny brown hair down, some tendrils caught up in the back with a clip.
Her pale face holds a pinched expression, eyes zipping between Russ and me. Usually new guests take in their surroundings.
My home is, like most everything I own, my pride and joy and I’ve made it my space, added my personal touches to the otherwise utilitarian interior design.
The only people who might not blink are the rich, prissy women I bring home and some of my wealthier male associates. Shitting money, those kind of people don’t care how I dress or where I live, so long as I have whatever they come crawling around for, be it sex or a new lucrative business deal. I’m good either way.
But Lily isn’t rich.
I know it by a glance.
That wool coat of hers is threadbare, and I bet it does nothing to keep the chill of the night off her tiny, curvy body. What the fuck am I paying this girl that she can’t even afford a new coat? I make a mental note to look into that.
Her little black heels are scuffed, her knock-off tote is wearing away along the lining, and she wears no jewelry of any kind, ostentatious or otherwise.
She’s a plain little mouse in a den of lions—that’s the image she’s exuding—cowering from Russ and me.
Afraid she’s going to run, and figuring she’s the reason Russ is on my doorstep and risking my ire, I nod at Lily, reserving an especially charming smile for her. Disarming her as I hope, I get a tiny smile back, but it’s cautious.
Cautious is smart around me.
My lips pull genuinely at that. It’s good to know that working for the Hanleys has taught Lily some life lessons for as long as she plans to keep her job and live a peaceful, unencumbered life in Potentia.
Crossing me is the first ticket out of this town.
The Hanleys have always been law, and respect is about as much greasing of palms as the citizens need to do here. And Lily is going to have to do some greasing tonight.
She has to learn her problems can’t cause the kind of panic that brought one of my men to ignore his order about my place being out of bounds after 9:00 p.m.
“Sit, please.” I lead Lily to the couch, heading into the kitchen to grab a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge. She looks ready to pass out and that’s something I can’t have.
At least not yet.
I don’t care what she does after I learn what Russ has come to tell me.
She doesn’t reach for the drink I hold out, so I settle it on the coffee table, within reach in case she changes her mind. I’m a generous host, even if her lack of response is irking me into grabbing her and shaking answers out.
No, I'll save that rough handling for Russ.
“We’ll be back. Enjoy the drink for now.” I jerk my clenched jaw at Russ.
He falls into step behind me. Once I get him alone, past the mudroom, to the garage, I spin around, grab him by the throat and slam him against the closed door. The beveled glass is too murky for anyone to make us out, but still, I’m careful. I don’t cave his skull in.
Releasing Russ, I smooth the cuffs of my button-down, reaching up to rest my hands on my hips. “Talk fast.”
Russ coughs, catching his breath, staring wildly at me. Drawing off his hood, he runs a hand through his messy black hair, olive complexion ruddier around his cheeks, his expression nervous.
“She might have seen us knock off Derrick.”
“Fuck. Is it Christmas already?” I laugh abruptly, holding out my hands. “Santa? You brought me a toy to play with just because she might have seen something she shouldn’t have?”
Russ tightens his mouth, his gaze leveling down to my shoes.
Dropping my hands, I snap a finger to get his attention. “Don’t mope. Give me solutions, Russ. I want fucking answers to my problems, not your excuses.”
“Keith was going to kill her.” Russ pauses, adding, with more trepidation, “I stopped him. I recognized her as an employee. I figured you’d want to handle it personally.”
I’m silent in wondering what might have happened if Russ hadn’t stopped his man. Keith is newer blood, and I haven’t gotten a tap on him yet. I can’t monitor all the men, though I like to think I’m more hands-on than my father when it comes to the family business.
I try to imagine Lily’s lifeless body in the parking lot, clips drowning in her pool of blood, the mess I’d have to clean up. I get to thinking what I know about her, and I draw a blank.
She’s pretty, plump, and short. She handles our dealers’ sales papers, signing off on deliveries, sorting junk mail, and seeing that the kitchen is stocked.
She’s worked with us for two, maybe three, years, and her signature scent is a floral-y blend that drifts around her desk on my passing through to my office in the mornings and on my way out in the late afternoons.
I think I’ve spoken to her on a handful of occasions, always professional, never alone.
I haven’t flagged her performance reviews, so I must be satisfied with her work, and it’s hard to find an administrator who’s willing to work surrounded by men.
Regardless of the century we’ve progressed to, so few men have applied for the job and those that do hardly qualify, and Hanley Auto doesn’t settle. Not for their cars or their employees.
But with Russ’ report, and Lily’s obvious fear, I’m going to have to consider settling for what has to be the first time in my life.
Russ interprets my silence as an order.
“I’ll finish it off then—” he starts, halting a
t my raised hand.
“See yourself out.” I drop my hand, and make to exit the garage and get back to my other guest. Over my shoulder, I say, “Night’s not over though. Stick close. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Russ doesn’t follow me. He knows how to let himself out, and it’s through the garage. Frankly, I can’t stand to look at him, not with the crap he’s dumped on me. Unbuttoning my cuffs, I roll up my sleeves, trailing back to the den.