Page 40
Story: The Outlaw's Savage Revenge
Is that where Clemenza and Hector were planning to ship me?
Somehow, having a destination makes the whole thing more real.
Shaking off the gloom, I’m about to return to the hallway but find myself hesitating. Cade took the stairs for a reason.
With a frustrated sigh, I force myself to wait, peering through the small square window in the stairwell door. I wait until my breathfogs the glass, but the hallway remains empty. Minutes tick by, each one making me feel more foolish.
Just as I’m about to give up my pathetic attempt at espionage, the elevator chimes. The doors slide open, and what I see turns my blood into ice.
There, stepping out with purposeful strides, is the man Cade was talking to last night. Hector. His hair is tousled now, unlike the slicked-back look from the club, and he’s traded his crisp suit for casual attire. But it’s unmistakably him.
He’s not alone. Four other men flank him, their ill-fitting jackets doing little to hide the bulges of concealed weapons. A woman in staff uniform trails behind them, pushing a room service cart.
I shrink back into the shadows and press myself against the wall. My heart hammers so loudly that I’m afraid they’ll hear it. I watch as they approach Cade’s suite. Hector’s companions take up positions on either side of the door, hands hovering near their jackets. The woman steps forward and reaches for the doorbell.
“Room Service,” she calls, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
I’ve seen enough. More than enough. Terror claws at my throat as I spin toward the stairs.
“I hope to God you learned to do this as a child. Or at least you can watch me and learn fast.”
Well, here goes nothing.
I grab the wide banister, feeling its smooth surface beneath my sweating palms. For a split second, I hesitate. Twenty-three floors is a long way down. But the alternative . . . I shake my head, banishing the thought.
Cursing my tight skirt, I slip the strap of my purse over my head, letting it dangle around my neck like a noose. Then I hoist myselfonto the railing. The drop below makes my stomach lurch.
What if I lose my grip? What if I fly off at the wrong angle?
There’s no time for second thoughts. How long will it take for those goons to see that the suite is empty?
Either I do this, or I get caught. With that thought, I shut my eyes and push off. Suddenly, I’m flying.
“Oof!” Misjudging the first landing, I slam painfully into the opposite wall. The impact sends shockwaves through my shoulder, but adrenaline dulls the pain.
Gritting my teeth, I push through the burning in my palms and keep going. With each floor, I get better at timing my dismounts, but fatigue sets in quickly. The banister starts to feel like it’s made of sandpaper against my hands.
A few floors down, I’m wheezing and my arms are shaking. I consider running the rest of the way, but I know sliding is faster. Then I hear it—the echo of a slamming door and footsteps above.
Shit! They’re coming.
A fresh wave of panic claws at me as I hop back on the banister. This time I don’t stop. The rest of the floors fly past in a dizzying whirl as I ride on too much adrenaline to worry about breaking my neck.
The final dismount comes as a surprise. I hit the ground floor harder than I anticipated, but it’s the vertigo that buckles my knees. For a moment, I just lie there, the world spinning around me like a demented carousel as I gulp air into my burning lungs. Then reality crashes back.
I’m not safe yet.
The footsteps are getting closer.
Pulling myself to my knees, I stand just as a shadow looms from the stairwell. Terror fists my heart and my voice comes out in a pathetic squeak. “Don’t hurt me, please!”
“Miss? Miss, are you okay?”
I crack open an eye to see it’s just a young guy in uniform, concern etched on his face. He’s holding a garbage sack—the same one Cade was packing. He looks about as threatening as a puppy. But after what I’ve just seen upstairs, I’m not taking any chances.
I bolt past him, stumbling into the underground parking lot. The crisp air does little to calm my frayed nerves as my eyes dart toward the taxi rank to find it empty.
Where the hell are those cabs when you need them?
Somehow, having a destination makes the whole thing more real.
Shaking off the gloom, I’m about to return to the hallway but find myself hesitating. Cade took the stairs for a reason.
With a frustrated sigh, I force myself to wait, peering through the small square window in the stairwell door. I wait until my breathfogs the glass, but the hallway remains empty. Minutes tick by, each one making me feel more foolish.
Just as I’m about to give up my pathetic attempt at espionage, the elevator chimes. The doors slide open, and what I see turns my blood into ice.
There, stepping out with purposeful strides, is the man Cade was talking to last night. Hector. His hair is tousled now, unlike the slicked-back look from the club, and he’s traded his crisp suit for casual attire. But it’s unmistakably him.
He’s not alone. Four other men flank him, their ill-fitting jackets doing little to hide the bulges of concealed weapons. A woman in staff uniform trails behind them, pushing a room service cart.
I shrink back into the shadows and press myself against the wall. My heart hammers so loudly that I’m afraid they’ll hear it. I watch as they approach Cade’s suite. Hector’s companions take up positions on either side of the door, hands hovering near their jackets. The woman steps forward and reaches for the doorbell.
“Room Service,” she calls, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
I’ve seen enough. More than enough. Terror claws at my throat as I spin toward the stairs.
“I hope to God you learned to do this as a child. Or at least you can watch me and learn fast.”
Well, here goes nothing.
I grab the wide banister, feeling its smooth surface beneath my sweating palms. For a split second, I hesitate. Twenty-three floors is a long way down. But the alternative . . . I shake my head, banishing the thought.
Cursing my tight skirt, I slip the strap of my purse over my head, letting it dangle around my neck like a noose. Then I hoist myselfonto the railing. The drop below makes my stomach lurch.
What if I lose my grip? What if I fly off at the wrong angle?
There’s no time for second thoughts. How long will it take for those goons to see that the suite is empty?
Either I do this, or I get caught. With that thought, I shut my eyes and push off. Suddenly, I’m flying.
“Oof!” Misjudging the first landing, I slam painfully into the opposite wall. The impact sends shockwaves through my shoulder, but adrenaline dulls the pain.
Gritting my teeth, I push through the burning in my palms and keep going. With each floor, I get better at timing my dismounts, but fatigue sets in quickly. The banister starts to feel like it’s made of sandpaper against my hands.
A few floors down, I’m wheezing and my arms are shaking. I consider running the rest of the way, but I know sliding is faster. Then I hear it—the echo of a slamming door and footsteps above.
Shit! They’re coming.
A fresh wave of panic claws at me as I hop back on the banister. This time I don’t stop. The rest of the floors fly past in a dizzying whirl as I ride on too much adrenaline to worry about breaking my neck.
The final dismount comes as a surprise. I hit the ground floor harder than I anticipated, but it’s the vertigo that buckles my knees. For a moment, I just lie there, the world spinning around me like a demented carousel as I gulp air into my burning lungs. Then reality crashes back.
I’m not safe yet.
The footsteps are getting closer.
Pulling myself to my knees, I stand just as a shadow looms from the stairwell. Terror fists my heart and my voice comes out in a pathetic squeak. “Don’t hurt me, please!”
“Miss? Miss, are you okay?”
I crack open an eye to see it’s just a young guy in uniform, concern etched on his face. He’s holding a garbage sack—the same one Cade was packing. He looks about as threatening as a puppy. But after what I’ve just seen upstairs, I’m not taking any chances.
I bolt past him, stumbling into the underground parking lot. The crisp air does little to calm my frayed nerves as my eyes dart toward the taxi rank to find it empty.
Where the hell are those cabs when you need them?
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