Chapter One
Zoey
There was nothing lonelier in this world than knowing you had no one at your back, no one in your corner.
That was me. The poor little orphan who’d been moved around to so many foster homes before her eighteenth birthday she could have filled up a map with all the places she’d been.
Maybe that was why I considered myself a nomad, never staying in one place for very long. I didn’t have roots anywhere, probably never would. So I bounced around every couple years, working shitty jobs that mainly consisted of bars or nightclubs. That’s all I was qualified for. I didn’t have a college degree, and my high school diploma only got me so far.
And as I stood by the bar waiting for the drink order I placed, waiting to head back and give the fruity, girly mixed drinks to the women celebrating a twenty-first birthday, it was solidified that it was time for me to move on.
I’d worn out my stay in this city. The money I earned over the last two years, and the fact that I was as cheap as they came when it concerned where I lived, what I ate, and how I clothed myself, would allow me to be comfortable until I found something at my next stop.
Normally, I didn’t even give a two-week notice, didn’t let my employers know I was booking it out of town. It wasn’t that I considered myself a shitty person, or that I just didn’t give a damn. The truth of the matter was, I worked at places that were less than legitimate, places with coworkers and employers who didn’t care that sexual harassment was an actual thing, that they couldn’t go around touching and groping their employees.
I worked at sleazy places that were corrupt and dirty, with men who thought women were nothing more than subservient holes to fill. I wish I had more going for me in the employment aspect of it all, but that’s how the cards fell for my life. That’s where the path of life led me.
But I’d given my two-week notice at Hoppers, a bar/nightclub in the heart of the city. It was rundown and dirty, part of an old abandoned building that had been somewhat renovated, so it passed inspection. And I loved working here, enjoyed my coworkers’ company, and freaking loved that a woman was the owner. But still, it was time for me to move on.
I was a wandering soul, and my soul was due time to start over.
Once it was time for me to head out for the night, I was a little surprised I felt a bit of sadness in leaving this behind. I’d been close with the other employees, and I’d never felt attached to one particular place. I didn’t much care for the feelings moving through me, so I pushed them back and headed down the service hallway that lead to the kitchen, the staff breakroom, and the bathroom and made my way toward the back door. It led out to the alley directly behind the bar, where the massive dumpsters were kept and where the smokers took their five minutes.
It probably wasn’t the safest place to leave at night, but I’d always left this way. It was closest to my car, and I just wanted to get out of here.
I pushed the heavy metal open, the cool air wafting over me, the heat lowered now that it was dark, but there were also hints of garbage that clung to the air, enough that it stunk, but not enough it made you gag.
The shadows danced around this part of the alley, and just as I was about to grab my keys from my purse, I heard a man talking followed by another one. I looked to my right and saw three men standing a good ways away. They hadn’t noticed me, clearly hadn’t heard the door closing. I should have left, because it was clear whatever was going on wasn’t anything good. But before I could take my own advice, the next sequence of events played out in slow motion.
The two men who faced me were too far for me to make them out clearly, but it was the man who had his back to me, the one who just produced a gun, who had my heart jumping to my throat.
And then he aimed the gun at one of the other men, pulled the trigger, and all hell broke loose. I heard another shot ring out, my ears buzzing, everything in me screaming to go, to run. I couldn’t go back in the bar, not with the door a one-way-only exit. Two of the men fell to the ground, and I swore I felt the scent of blood fill my nose, making me gag.
I need to run, I thought, yet here I was, cemented to the spot and knowing what a bad idea that was.
Chapter Two
Wilder
I brought the joint to my mouth and took a long inhale. I passed it to Frankie, the smoke still in my lungs as he took it and placed the tip between his lips. The sound of us baking was loud in the alley, the echo of bottles being broken in the distance seeming to bounce off the brick walls.
“Where the fuck is he?” Frankie asked in a muffled voice, holding the smoke in his lungs.
“He’ll be here,” I said, the smoke he exhaled a cloud of haziness around us.
“Well, I have shit to do, man.” He leaned against the building, propped one of his feet on the brick wall, and pulled out his cell. The screen lit up his face as he started messing with it.
“Chill, Frankie,” I said. “He’ll be here.”
He snorted. “This is why we don’t do deals with junkies, man. They are unreliable and unpredictable.” Frankie didn’t look up from his cell as he spoke.
Yeah, we didn’t do deals or set shit up with people known to be junkies, but this situation and opportunity was too good to pass up.
“Well, when a junkie can give us access codes, schedules, and any other detail that can score us a big job—the biggest we’ve ever had—I’ll take my chance and deal with a tweaker.”
“Well, better hope Dom isn’t pissed.”
I clenched my jaw. Yeah, Dom probably would be pissed. “He’ll get over it when he realizes how much money we can score with this. Another five minutes and then we’ll bounce,” I said and leaned back against the bricks. I shoved my hands in the front pockets of my jeans, the baseball cap I wore pulled down low, the brim blocking out the muted yellow glow from the light at the end of the alley.
And then I heard footsteps approaching. My entire body tensed, and I could see Frankie’s did the same. We both pushed off the wall, him shoving his cell phone back in his pocket, his hand going to the small of his back, where I knew his gun was.
I slipped my hand in my jacket, my fingers brushing up against the cold metal of the gun. No way in fuck we went anywhere without a piece, and especially not when we were meeting with a junkie.
The guy was shuffling along, as if he didn’t know how to pick up his feet when he walked. The scrape, scrape, scrape of his shoes along the asphalt filled the small corridor of the alley, echoing off the building walls.
“Can’t this guy fucking walk?” Frankie muttered under his breath. The tension in his voice would’ve matched mine if I said anything in response.
And then the junkie came closer, the light from the streetlamp washing over him in this dirty glow. He looked between both of us, his body twitching, his eyes red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept.
“Two of you?” he said in a slurred voice.
Frankie looked over at me, and I could read his expression. He was pissed, all but shouting at me that he “told me so,” that we shouldn’t fucking deal with tweakers.
“You got the information or not?” I took a step forward, hand still shoved in the pocket of my coat, waiting for him to give us what we needed so we could get the fuck out of here and away from him.