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Mila

T he last thing I expected was to get shot at today.

In fact, I’d woken up feeling pretty optimistic. After months of patience, I’d finally had a breakthrough. I’d been allowed into the back room with the power players.

Yes, I was serving drinks and getting leered at, but I’d seen him. The boss. The guy I’d spent a year tracking down.

The plan I’d been carefully constructing for months was coming together. Using the Velcro tape I’d stashed for this occasion, I stuck my phone to the underside of my tray. Then I strolled among the power players, offering drinks while secretly recording as much of the conversation as I could.

There was no way I could have taken photos undetected, so I prayed the microphone I’d bought on Amazon would do the trick and committed all the faces to memory, doing my best to track ages, heights, and identifying marks for those I didn’t know.

Mapping out the organization had taken a lot of time, especially since everyone involved used aliases and code words that had taken me months to decipher. But I had photos and audio of most of them, along with details and dates.

To them, I was a ditzy bartender. Eye candy. A hanger-on.

I smiled and flirted and then conveniently left the tray on the stand near the poker table before I left the room. Being underestimated certainly had its perks.

It was after one a.m. when the game finally broke up. I’d delivered several rounds of drinks by then, but I’d left the tray in place, hoping with all I had that I could pick up all the important details.

I volunteered to clean up, then pretended to be concerned with counting my tips. While I puttered around, I slyly grabbed the phone and shoved it into my bra. I’d upload all these goodies to the cloud later, and then it was lights out for these fuckers.

I was determined to take them down. Every one of them. Because this was personal.

They’d come for my family. So I’d make them pay.

* * *

I was certain I’d gotten away with it until Razor came banging on the door of my trailer this morning. I hadn’t left the bar until almost three, so more than anything, I wanted to pull the covers back over my head. But when he started spewing threats, I bolted up in bed.

Heart pounding, I threw on somewhat clean clothing and a pair of sneakers. Then I peeked out the window.

It appeared that he was alone, thank God, and his bike was parked on the side of the street in front of my patio.

He wore his usual leathers and sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes, but the rage was evident in his voice. Normally an easygoing guy, I could tell he was furious this morning.

“Who are you? Amy? Or is it really Mila? Are you a journalist? What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

My heart lurched. Aw, fuck. How the hell did he know my real name?

Had I gotten sloppy? Had my actions last night been sniffed out? I’d covered my tracks so thoroughly, fake passport and all, so I couldn’t fathom what had tipped them off. I’d been living as Amy for so long I barely remembered my real name.

And Razor, of all people?

Shit . It was time to get out of here. I’d put on a pair of sweats and an old sports bra, but there was no time to change. So I tugged a T-shirt over my head, then shoved my phone, license, and a wad of cash into my bra.

I was contemplating climbing up onto a chair to fetch the go bag I’d stashed above the loose ceiling tiles when the sound of tires on gravel caught my attention.

Heart racing, I peered out the crack between the curtains again.

A blacked-out SUV had joined Razor’s bike. It was parked mere feet from the door of my trailer.

It was official. I was fucked.

So I did what any person would in my situation.

I stole my ex-boyfriend’s motorcycle and took off.

As stealthily as I could, I climbed out the back window and jogged around the other side of the trailer.

Razor was still banging and shouting, unwittingly drowning out any sound I made.

Since he’d so stupidly parked on the street, I snuck around my neighbor’s trailer and crouched low. At the front corner, I peeked out, then pulled back quickly again. A couple of big guys in sunglasses were climbing out of the SUV. The minute the driver slammed the door behind him, I made my move, sprinting toward Razor’s bike as fast as I could. Idiot left the keys in it. So I revved the engine and took off. I wished I could have seen his face, but I was too busy trying to keep the damn thing upright.

The dirt roads helped, and I’d been jogging around here for the last six months, so I was familiar with the trails. Keeping off main roads, I sped toward the bar. I’d talk to Otter. He was the peacekeeper, the mediator of all disputes within the club. And he’d taken me under his wing.

As I crossed the bridge over the river, two more SUVs appeared. And when they started shooting at me, I knew there was no coming back from this.

I guess I hadn’t been as stealthy as I thought. If I had to bet, someone had sold me out. Probably Razor. When I’d broken up with him, he’d taken it hard. I didn’t know why. It had been a casual thing. I was bored and lonely, and he was dumb and hot. But after a few weeks, I couldn’t even pretend to be interested in anything he said, and by then, I’d gained access to the inner circle, so he’d outlived his usefulness.

Pulling back the throttle, I headed for the forest. Dammit. I should have stopped to grab my go bag. I’d made it over the river, navigating toward Lovewell, when I realized I was running on fumes. The cheap fucker hadn’t filled up his tank before coming over to threaten me. Typical.

Continuing on foot was my only option. I’d lie low for a bit and work through my options. Then, when it was safe, I’d go to law enforcement. Thank God I’d slipped into my sneakers on autopilot. And at least I had my phone.

Given that these guys had sent the cavalry, they must have been discussing legitimately incriminating shit last night. While I jogged through the woods, I couldn’t help but grin. These idiots had likely knotted their own noose. With any luck, they’d just made my job easier.

All I had to do was stay alive. Though at the moment, that seemed difficult.

Thankfully, I knew my way around these woods, and I’d kept up with running and martial arts training on my own.

As boring as I’d found rural life, I couldn’t deny that the lack of nights out at clubs and good restaurants had given me ample time for exercise.

I tripped on tree roots and slipped on pine needles that were wet from last night’s rain, but I stayed on my feet. My thigh was bleeding, but I couldn’t stop to assess the injury. When I’d made it to the far side of the state park, I slowed a bit, sucking in lungfuls of air. I was almost certain I was in the clear until the roar of ATV engines bounced off the trees around me.

The sound was commonplace in Maine, but ATVs were banned in this part of the state park.

I stilled, eyes narrowed, trying to pinpoint which direction they were coming from. Fucking Razor knew I loved to jog in this park.

With one more deep inhale, I took off in the opposite direction. The cuts and scrapes I’d amassed during my escape stung in the cold air, but I pushed forward.

Just as I crested a small hill, I caught sight of a figure ahead of me. Before I could change direction, a gunshot rang out, and wood splintered in all directions from the tree behind me.

As panic flooded my system, I pivoted, heading off the trail into the thick forest.

I kept my head down and forced myself forward, but the forest floor was thick with vegetation and rocks. I climbed over a large boulder in an effort to put something solid between me and the men with the guns, but as I reached the top, I slipped.

Losing my footing, I scrambled for the nearest tree limb, worried I was going to crack my skull. As I clutched the branch, my shoulder popped, and agonizing pain shot from my neck to my fingertips.

With a stifled groan, I slid down, hitting my tailbone hard and landing on my knees in the brush. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to get up. I was shaking, maybe from shock, but I kept going, putting one foot in front of the other, struggling not to scream from the pain.

When another shot cracked through the air, I knew I had to get deeper. Crouching, I banked left and ran, putting distance between myself and the place where they’d last spotted me. At a break in the tree line, I got on my hands and knees and crawled to avoid detection. I’d never felt such excruciating pain as I did when I put weight on my left arm.

Twigs and branches scratched my face, but nothing, not even the wound in my thigh, compared to the blinding pain in my arm. Even so, I kept pushing. Though with every step, I got more delirious.

I came across an area where several trees had been downed and dragged myself over, wedging my body between two of them. Both were large brown pines. They were in pretty serious states of decay, but they provided decent cover.

I pulled pine branches, leaves, and dirt over my body and shimmied as low as I could, focusing on breathing.

My body shook—a mixture of cold and shock, I was sure—as I squeezed my eyes shut and willed my being to remain still and silent. Everything hurt and the gash in my thigh was on fire. With the moldy leaves I’d used to hide myself coming into contact with all of my wounds, I’d probably end up with a staph infection.

My shoulder screamed every time I moved even an inch. My fingertips had gone numb, save for small electric shocks of pain shooting down my arm at regular intervals.

I shimmied my right arm out and reached up to my chest to make sure my phone was secure. When I was met with the give of my body rather than the hard surface of the device, my stomach sank.

Biting back a cry of pain, I shifted and forced my hand up to the neckline of my shirt. I pulled out my license and a wad of cash.

But no phone.

I sat up, risking possible discovery, and scanned the ground around me, my pulse thundering in my ears. It had been there. I’d shoved it straight into my bra. Fuck. Where did it go?

Shouts rang out, voices bouncing off the trees. The sound startled me, sending my heart jumping into my throat. With a sharp breath, I pushed myself down, trying not to hyperventilate.

Where was my phone? How could it have fallen out?

It was probably on the ground nearby. Surely, it’d gotten dislodged when I was dragging leaves and debris over myself. I’d wait it out and then find it once I was in the clear.

There was no other option. That phone had all the evidence I’d collected.

Without it, I couldn’t go to the FBI. I couldn’t take them down. And if that happened, then this nightmare would never end.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, and that’s when it hit me: I was utterly and totally alone.

So I lay there, protected by the cold, damp earth, while I formulated a plan.

“I will not die today.” Jaw clenched so I wouldn’t cry out in pain, I repeated the mantra over and over. “I will not die today.” All the while, my limbs shook and my teeth chattered and my muscles screamed in pain.

Hours later—I thought; I had no concept of time with no watch or phone—the forest was silent but for the rustling of leaves and the occasional bird call. No more engines, no more guns.

The sky was darkening when I poked my head out, and the air was colder. I climbed out, wincing as I pushed up on my good arm. Over the last few hours, the cold earth had numbed a lot of the pain. Being immobile helped too. Now, though, I was stiff from lying in one place for so long, making my injuries more acute. I’d need to get it looked at eventually, but for now, I had to push forward.

Using the fading daylight, I scoured the forest floor around my hiding place, looking for my phone. I skimmed my hands over and under every log and root and picked up handfuls of wet leaves and earth.

It was futile.

So I expanded the perimeter of my search, tracing the path I’d taken back here. I’d opted for a plain black case to avoid detection. That was great for evidence-gathering, but a pink and glittery cover would be much easier to find in the fucking forest.

As the sky darkened almost completely, I began shivering uncontrollably. As my adrenaline subsided, the full extent of my injuries made itself known, making it hard to even stand.

Focusing on breathing, I walked slowly, avoiding the trails, heading to the north entrance of the park. All the while, I cringed at the thought of where I had to go now.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t involve him. That I’d let the quiet, sexy musician live his life in peace. He seemed like the kind of guy who wanted to be left alone, and the poor man had already been through hell with his family.

We’d only had one night together, but that was enough to show me that I’d do all I could to protect him. To keep him and his family far away from this.

And I’d done all I could. Involving him was no longer inescapable. The whole group of them had been dropped into the middle of this war. It was virtually impossible not to hear the gossip at the bar, and when news of a fire had broken out, it was clear they were in danger now too.

I crossed Route 16 and walked along the northbound side, just inside the tree line. It was quiet tonight, but when the occasional car approached, I ducked behind a tree.

Every day, tensions here rose, making this idyllic rural area less safe.

And I was the only one who could stop it. Who could keep the people of Lovewell safe.

It had been far more difficult to stay away from him than I’d anticipated, but I’d made a promise to myself. That someday, after I’d dealt with this, after Hugo had recovered, I’d find him again.

But with every passing day, reality had made staying away from him more difficult and had made the future I hoped for more unlikely. Real life wasn’t neat and tidy. It was messy and unpredictable.

So, out of options, I turned onto the secluded mountain road that led to his house.

I had information that could help him.

So it was time to pay a visit to my one-night stand.