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“Which way was she headed?’ I ask as I cross the room.
Raven shifts to one side, making space for me to move past her. “Away from the back of the building, but not by the rear entrance. She was in the alley one street over. If you’re facing the door, it’s just to the right of the club.”
“Thank you,” I say before turning to jog through the bar, not stopping to see if Harold and Bailey Anne are still at their table or have noticed me making a break for the door. My chest constricts as I circle the bar and start up the narrow stairs, taking them two at a time.
Blood pounds in my ears, nearly drowning out Raven’s call that I’ve left my coat.
Fuck my coat.
Maya’s out there in nothing but a light wrap, so desperate to get away from me that she’s fled on foot. I have to find out why, and I have to make this better.
But even as I hit the bottom of the stairs outside and sprint down the street, hoping to cut her off when she emerges from the alley, I know there’s a chance I’ve lost her for good.
chapter 20
MAYA
I’m an idiot.
A naïve, starry-eyed, backwoods idiot who was probably well on my way to getting scammed by a sociopath.
A voice deep in my chest insists—Anthony is not a sociopath! He’s the best man you’ve ever met!—but I ignore it. That voice belongs to the Inner Idiot and the idiot is no longer calling the shots around here.
I have no idea why Anthony lied to me about everything, but I don’t doubt Sydney’s intel for a second. Sydney is very smart and savvy and obviously thinking a hell of a lot more clearly than I am.
I should have googled him on day one! I should have reverse image-searched his face as soon as I had a photo. What on earth was I thinking? Just blindly following and fornicating with this man with zero reservations or suspicions?
Sydney’s voicemail replays over and over again in my head as I hurry through the dark streets, my heels clicking against the pavement. My fake fur wrap does little to ward off the winter chill, but I barely feel the cold.
My shame is keeping me warm.
“The man you’re seeing isn’t who you think he is, Maya,” Sydney had said, her voice vibrating with concern. “Clark isn’t even his last name! He’s lying about who he is and what he does for a living and God only knows what else. Get somewhere safe, where he isn’t listening, and call me, okay? Or, better yet, come to my place. You and Pudge can stay here tonight, and I’ll tell you everything I found out during my Internet deep dive. But don’t worry too much, okay? I don’t think you need to be scared for your safety. He doesn’t seem like a dangerous person, per se, but until we know why he lied about his whole ass life, I want you to be very careful. Very! Okay? Liars aren’t to be trusted. Call me!”
Liar. Anthony is a liar. About everything!
Were Bailey Anne and Harold even his friends? Were any of the stories they told true? They seemed sincere, but so did Anthony when he was watching me across the table, like all he wanted in the whole world was for me to know that he was someone I could trust, and he was lying the entire time!
An outraged sound bursts from my chest, followed by a soft sob. Because I love him. I still love him, even if the man I thought I loved is a lie.
I swipe at the tears on my cheeks, trying to focus on my next steps. I know how to handle myself in a crisis. You just put one foot in front of the other, focusing on the next best step until you’re through the hard parts and have a chance to recoup and take a deep breath.
First, I have to get Pudge and get out of the apartment before Anthony realizes I’ve left the club and comes looking for me. I’ll just grab the cat carrier, enough food to get Pudge through the night, and head right back down to the street. Sydney is several inches taller than I am and at least twenty pounds lighter, but she’ll have some pajamas I can wear.
Even if she doesn’t, I’d rather sleep naked than take the time to pack and risk running into Anthony. I can’t look at him right now. If I do, I have no idea what I’ll say, what I’ll?—
“Hey lady, stop right there. Hands up.” The voice is young, wobbly, and cracks on the word “there,” but the sight of a skinny figure in a black ski mask stepping out of the shadows in front of me is enough to stop me in my tracks.
The kid can't be more than fourteen or fifteen, but he’s holding a gun. Or something that looks like a gun. I’m not an expert in firearms, but my uncles all hunt and?—
“Is that a Super Soaker?” I ask, the words out before I can think better of interrogating the person trying to mug me.
“What? No! It’s a— It’s…” The boy’s voice cracks again as he jabs the orange-tipped “weapon” forward. “Just give me your purse, okay?”
“I don’t have any money or credit cards in my purse. Just my cell phone and it’s almost as old as you are. You won’t get more than twenty bucks for it. Tops,” I say, part of me insisting I’m crazy for haggling with a criminal, but my gut says this kid is more scared than I am. “But if you want to walk me back to my place, I can get you a sandwich or something else to eat. Are you hungry?”
“No. Well, yeah, but it’s not… I mean, that’s cool, but…” He sucks in a breath, hitching his chin up as he puffs up his chest. “Look, just give me your money, okay? I know you have money. You have to. You’re obviously rich as hell, lady. Okay? Just give me whatever you’ve got, and nobody has to get hurt.”
“I’m not worried about getting hurt. At least not by that water gun.”