Page 7

"Shit!" I hiss. Fear thrums through my veins as I wait for a knock to sound on the metal door behind me. Fuck, what if he gets inside?

My feet thump against the floor as I run through the back, swinging open the door to the courtyard and rushing through the empty space into the bar at the front of the building. I make it to the front doors, locking them quickly and flicking the light switch. The front windows are tinted, and I thank God for whichever of my family members made that decision.

"What are you doing?—"

"Get down!" I shout at Joey, who's still prepping for service. One of his thick gray eyebrows tics up at my demand. "Girlie?—"

I don't let him finish before I'm behind the bar, my butt hitting the floor as I tug on the bottom of his shirt to pull him down with me.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asks once he's sitting next to me. "Dragging an old fella to the ground." He shakes his head. "You think these knees are going to be able to get back up?"

"Shh." I interrupt his rambling, and his head rears back like he can't believe I just shushed him. To be fair, I can't believe I just shushed him. "I saw something that I don't think I should have."

Joey eyes me, waiting for me to continue.

"I was taking out the trash and—" I can't even say it. My throat clogs, and I'm worried I'm going to choke on the words before I ever tell Joey what just happened.

"What is it?" he presses, his voice more comforting. He must be able to tell that something bad happened and that's why I'm acting this way.

"I saw a man kill someone!" I whisper-shout.

Joey's eyebrows shoot up, and he puts his hands on my shoulders in a somewhat reassuring gesture. "Olivia, do you know who it was?" He's serious now, no longer whining about the floor or his knees. He's trying to be calm, but I can tell from his furrowed brow that he's worried.

"No." I shake my head.

"Which building were they behind?"

I close my eyes and try to remember what's next to us. "The pizza shop," I recall after a moment.

Joey sucks in a breath.

"Why?" I ask frantically. "What does that mean?"

"Describe the men you saw. How many? What did they look like?"

I inhale deeply and try to remember. "There were two. One was younger and one was older, maybe middle aged." Normally, Joey would make a remark about me calling someone middleaged “older,” but he doesn't say a thing. Just looks at me with big eyes, urging me to continue.

"The younger one was wearing a suit that looked shiny, and he had dark hair. I couldn't really see his face, though. The other one had gray in his hair and he was wearing black pants and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up."

Joey’s eyes narrow. "Who shot who?"

"The younger one shot the older one."

"Okay, Olivia, this is important." He's gripping my shoulders tightly now. "Did anyone see you?"

My heart stutters. "Yes." I blow out an exhale. "The younger one. I dropped the garbage bag I was holding, and he turned around. He saw me run away."

Joey closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

This is bad. This is really bad.

"Did he see what building you went into?"

"I'm not sure."

"Okay." Joey nods. "We need to get you out of here."

"What?" I shake my head. "I can't leave! What about Grandpa?"