Page 5

And fuck the guy who told me to run.

I turned down Jackson Avenue, which ran between some of the high rises and was more like an oversized alleyway than an avenue. It connected the main road to the tube station and the underground car parks that serviced the flats and offices here. It was usually busy when I walked down here but, in the middle of the afternoon, it was pretty deserted. And dark. Unnaturally so.

Maybe it was that lingering edginess from earlier, but my steps slowed down. Something felt wrong. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Fuck. I was going to end up like the hapless jock who died in the horror movie.

“Hello?” I whispered shakily.

A loud crack assaulted my ears, reverberating down the alley with the power to stop me in my tracks. There was only one thing that sounded like that.

A gunshot.

Followed by a cry of pain.

Someone was getting attacked.

I dropped my box and ran towards the sound, hoping it wasn’t too late.

Two figures appeared in front of me, grappling against the side of the building.

“Hey! Stop that!” I shouted as I got closer.

Both the men turned towards me, but it wasn’t bright enough to see what they looked like. The one pinned against the wall used my distraction to knee the other guy in the groin and shake off his attacker. He turned and fled down the street, but the other guy strode purposefully towards me, one hand pressed against his side.

“A-are you hurt?” I asked, eyeing the growing blood stain on his crisp white shirt.

“Oh, little bird, you should have run.”

Run. My muscles quivered with the need to flee.

The guy from earlier stalked towards me, his eyes bright in the low light, looking for all the world like a lethal predator.

Come on. Run, dammit. I needed to run.

I took a step back, and the guy grinned. “It’s too late for that now.”

He lunged towards me and my body seemed to snap out of the paralysis, holding it still. I spun around and raced towards the end of the alley. If I could just reach the main street, I could—

Something smacked into my back, pitching me forwards.

Nope. Fuck this.

I wasn’t dying in this alley.

I rolled over and got an up-close look at the guy. Hair as black as pitch and he had cold, dead eyes the colour of ice. His face was all sharp lines, with dark, angry brows low over a straight nose and a harsh mouth. There was no doubt that I was looking at a man who probably killed people for a living.

Rage built in my chest, overtaking the terror that had made me flee. I had to fight. Had to survive. I bucked and lashed, threw my hands out to scratch at his face. He laughed as he blocked my pathetic attempts to break free.

“Enough,” he snarled. His hands pinned my throat, and his knees clamped around my chest like a vice.

“Byron, don’t kill him,” someone drawled from nearby. “You know the boss doesn’t want us killing innocents.”

The guy choking me, Byron, rolled his eyes. “Fine, but you need to do the memory thing.”

A shadow fell across my vision, but I was struggling to see anything with the world turning hazy around me. My brain was being starved of oxygen, and it wouldn’t be long before I died. Less than five minutes, probably.