Page 6

THREE DAYS BEFORE

ROSA

“Hey!”

Why do men think ‘hey’ is an appropriate way to get a woman’s attention? I flick my hand and smile at Marcel, the cook.

“Men are pigs.”

Chuckling, I cock my head. “You’re a man.”

“Eh. I don’t count, chère. I’m Cajun.”

Sure, whatever that means. I guess chère must mean sweetheart or honey. It’s nice, and that’s all that matters. He and my taxi driver’s brother, Jefferson, have been so great for the past few weeks. My uncle’s cartel continues to snoop around my grandparents in Dallas. My mom went back, and I risked a call to her the day before. I really want to go home, but I like it here. It’s a sweet little town. The apartment above the restaurant and bar means I don’t have to go far. I feel safe. Jefferson concocted a story that I was his niece from California. Not that I really engage with anyone to talk about myself, but the regulars noticed there was someone new.

“Hey?”

Turning, I glare at the older bald man with wandering hands. “Hold your horses.”

“Be careful little girl, or you’ll be riding my pony.”

Ew. Seriously. Rolling my eyes, Jefferson moves toward the man. He’s a regular at the restaurant and gets kicked out regularly from the bar next door.

“Ernie. Shut the hell up.”

The old man laughs. “I’m just kidding. I was hoping to make the pretty little one here laugh.”

I step back to the table with a glass of ice water to place before him. “Want me to smile? Treat me with respect and kindness.” I stare down at him with a sour look. “Honey is so much more productive than vinegar.”

I approach the counter and smile at Marcel, who’s chatting with Jefferson. “You’ve decided to stay, no?”

Have I? I’ve been here for more than three weeks, and it’s starting to feel familiar. Safety isn’t something I’ve been used to, but this is heaven. Everyone treats me with respect. Well, except the few assholes that come in.

Jefferson hands me an envelope. I peel back the top to expose cash. Flipping through, I count almost a thousand dollars for the week. He’s paying me under the table, so no one can track it. I work more than the usual forty hours. No one seems to mind, and Jefferson is paying me really well. I work all day and go to bed late, but I’m tired enough that I sleep for the first time since my father took me to New York. Holding up the envelope, I nod at him. “Thanks.”

“No. Thanks to you. You’re great at this. Marcel is right. You should stay.”

“It’s too big a risk that they’ll come for me and hurt you guys.”

Marcel laughs. “We can handle anyone that comes after you. You belong here with us.”

The other server calls to me before I can acknowledge his words. I hope I can stay.

The following evening, A tray of drinks rests on my overturned palm. A voice calls out from the kitchen, which sits between the restaurant and the bar. “Pick up, chère.”

It’s sweet that Marcel calls the women he likes ‘chère.’ I asked him earlier, and he explained it was a familiar nickname his people use.

After I set down the drinks on a table near the pool tables, I head to the kitchen and claim the tray of finger foods. Walking by tables, people motion for my attention. The bar smells like lemon cleaner and beer. Jefferson’s a stickler for a clean bar, and it gives me great satisfaction to clean it every morning before I go upstairs and pour myself into the bed.

Jefferson loves eighties rock. He’s such a fan that there are vinyl records tacked up around the bar. There’s a stage in the corner, but the dust on the outlets tells me it hasn’t been used in a while. The bar is a duplicate in size to the adjacent restaurant, but that’s where the similarity ends. Where the restaurant is bright and homey, the bar is dark and lively. Heavy wood tables take up space in the main room of the bar. Jefferson’s pride and joy is a wall of autographed photos from bands of the eighties. AC/DC, Kiss, Boston, and Chicago, just to name a few of the bands represented on the wall.

Julie, my taxi driver from the first night, is staying over in the upstairs bedroom next to the one I’m using. She stops by every few weeks to spend the weekend with her brother. I distribute the appetizers to the various patrons and smile at the other server when she calls me a natural.

“You just want me to close tonight too.”

She beams at my comment as I move into the kitchen to eat the food Marcel sets aside every night for my dinner. The delicious aroma tickles my nose and makes my mouth water. I’m sure I’ve gained weight working here and eating Marcel’s food. Can’t say I mind that at all. My mind floats back to my one-night stand with Rory. Wish I’d gotten his number. A trip to Europe to stay away from the men chasing me would be the perfect distraction.

“The cops are coming. You need to leave.” Jefferson bellows at the bar as banging and raised voices from the bar get the attention of everyone in the kitchen. I move to the doorway to peek out.

“Where is she?” A dark-haired man in a leather jacket and chains in his pockets screams at everyone. His hand balls up his fist, and he strikes Jefferson in the face. “Where is the little bitch!” Spittle comes out of the man’s mouth as he yells. “Now.”

A hand wraps around my upper arms, maneuvering me back into the kitchen. Marcel whispers. “Get back in here and hide. They’re after you.”

“What? Oh God.” I struggle to pull my arm from his hand. “They’re going to get hurt.”

“Better Jefferson than you.”

“But…” I don’t get to finish my sentence before sirens echo from the parking lot as a bloody Jefferson with a split lip, two black eyes, and various bruises runs into the kitchen. “Amira, get your stuff. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Who’s out there?”

“Three guys from the local biker gang were looking for you. A couple of the regulars zip tied them for the cops, but they have a dozen or more in their gang. My sister will take you somewhere else. Let’s go get your stuff.” He leads me up the back stairs to the second floor where his sister sleeps. He stops to wake her as I go to clean out my room. So much for feeling safe and happy.

Marcel leans against the doorway as I pack up my stuff in my duffel once again. “I’m so sorry they found you.”

Blowing out my breath, I catch the sob with my fist. “I don’t know where to go.”

The other server joins Marcel at my door. She purses her lips as she stares out the small window. “Who do you know that the people chasing you don’t?”

Faces of friends and family pass through my brain like photos on a reel. I reach the end of my list and focus on my friend, Melanie. She’s a fellow model, and I trust her. She lives in Phoenix. I sling my bag over my shoulder with my backpack. “How do I get to Phoenix?”

Julie answers from behind Marcel. “I’ve been thinking about that. We need to get you a few things for your next adventure. When we get in my car, I’ll explain.”

RORIC

Once again, Fingers figured out another SUV for me to appropriate in an airport parking lot. Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport has an incredible number of SUVs in long-term parking to choose from. I’m waiting for Fingers to get back to me with the address of Rosa‘s friend, Melanie, who lives here in Phoenix. My mind races with ideas and schemes, trying to figure out what is the best way to lure her to go with me. Will it be enough for me to just run into her for her to remember our one-night stand together and just think it’s a coincidence? I’m not sure, but I don’t get a lot of time to dwell on it before Fingers gets back to me. My phone rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. I found that Melanie girl’s address. I’m not sure she’s actually in town though. It appears to me that she’s on some modeling assignment and may have just made it possible for Rosa to show up at her apartment. Do you have a plan to take her? Or are you just going to take care of her?”

I’m not killing her. But I know for a fact there is no way I can just walk up and knock on her door. As a businessman, she last saw me in Prague, but she knows I live in New York City. Somebody from New York wouldn’t just walk up to some house or apartment or condo in Phoenix. “Text me the address and any other information you can give me on Melanie.”

“Sure, not a problem, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

‘Boss.’ Now that is something I’ll never be. As the third son to my father, the pakhan to our bratva, I’ll never be the guy in charge. My mind scrambles. If I’m honest with myself, my mind is just so absorbed with seeing her again.

The asphalt crunches under my tires as I drive into the parking lot. This is gonna be way too easy. It’s obvious that lots of these condos are short-term rentals. I pick up my phone and I dial Fingers. “Hey, can you find me a short-term rental in this condo complex?” I can hear him typing on his computer. I’m sure his tongue is hanging out of his mouth, and he’s staring at the screen willing whatever thing I asked for to appear.

He clears his throat. “Yeah. I’ve got one. It’s actually two doors down from Melanie‘s condo.” I smile even though no one is around to notice. “That’s perfect. Can you make it happen in the next half hour?” The pause annoys me. Normally Fingers is immediate to respond.

The pause breaks as he answers. “Yeah, I think I can make that happen. There’s a coffee shop down the block. You should grab a coffee, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve set this up.”

I decide to sit in the SUV, staring at the building that houses Rosa. I don’t wanna leave. What if something happens, and she decides to leave, then I’ll be chasing my tail again to try to find her?

About twenty minutes later, Fingers calls me back. “Hey. I did it. It took me a little bit more money than I would’ve expected, but the owner of the condo bypassed his required background check in order to get you into the condo now.”

“Great. How do I get in?”

“Everything in his condo is electronic. I’m texting you the code and the directions. Do you want back up?”

Asking me if I want back up annoys the fuck out of me. I growl back at Fingers. “Of course not, when have I ever needed back up?”

“Yeah, yeah I get it. I’m sorry. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

I get out of the SUV, grabbing my bag out of the back and glancing at the instructions to get into the condo. My mind is weaving a tale to tell her when her door opens, and she sees me. I drop my bag at the doorstep, hoping she’s close enough to her door that she’ll be curious and open to peek outside. She doesn’t. I open the door. It’s a typical condo for this area in Phoenix. Nice enough. But wouldn’t be glamorous enough for a rich little princess. I wonder if that’s been broken out of her during her runaway stint? I throw my bag on the table and go to the refrigerator to find a bottle of water. Things you can guarantee in a short-term rental: all the hygiene products you might need and water in the fridge. On the fridge is a list of whatever streaming platform is available on the TV and a plethora of takeout or delivery restaurants to keep you fed.

I move the chair and sit closer to the door to hear any activity in the hall. Will she just walk out? Does her friend have enough pantry food items or available delivery services to feed her? Will she need to go out? These are all interesting questions, but ultimately the biggest one that’s hanging over my head is how do I get Snow White to come out and meet her hunter? The analogy causes me to smile, and I continue to sit listening to the hallway.