Page 20 of Coach (Shady Valley Henchmen #8)

Este

I thought the high would wear off by the time I got back to my house, got Trix all settled, and got myself ready for work.

Apparently, Saul’s personal brand of mindfulness was more effective than any meditation practice I’d ever heard of.

I wasn’t some starry-eyed virgin (though maybe a case could be made for re-virginization, considering how long it had been), but everything with Saul felt new. Like being touched for the first time, like I was just learning about all the wonderful things my body could feel.

There was just something about Saul and how clocked in he was, how he checked in frequently without making it awkward, how he seemed to sense exactly what I needed even before I did, but still sometimes delayed giving it to me, knowing that if he dragged it out, he would make it even more intense.

I almost felt emotional each time my mind drifted back to that bed with him, the way he quieted the world at the same time he made my body sing.

I didn’t care if it was stupid, if it was a bad idea to hook up with anyone, let alone someone in such a small town; I planned to take full advantage of Saul’s offer to come to him anytime I needed a little mindfulness practice.

Because after about a decade of having nothing but swirling anxiety and debilitating fear that was—on rare occasions—interrupted by brief moments of hope that were quickly dashed, I was going to let myself have that release, that relief, that weight off my shoulders.

If it led to something terrible, well, so what? What in my life didn’t?

I always knew that each home was likely temporary, that I was probably never going to know the peace that came from a ‘forever’ house. So if my time here was temporary (as much as it killed me to even think that), then at least I was going to let myself enjoy the hell out of it.

“Hopefully this will help,” I told Trix, turning on a white noise machine and cranking it up a bit. “I will be back later. And if it’s really bad, maybe we will go visit Saul again. Be a good girl.”

With that, I walked to work still feeling like I was floating. And I was determined not to let my concerns about my bosses dampen my good mood.

It was easier than I anticipated, thanks to a busy crowd and a lot of general cleaning that needed to be done.

Did that crowd also mean I needed to hang out after closing to re-mop the floors? Sure. But I wasn’t even grumbling about grown men’s inability to keep their drinks in their cups as I did so. I was too busy wondering what I owned that was kind of sexy without looking like I was trying too hard.

“Shit,” I grumbled as I was about to go out the back door and remembered I’d left my phone sitting on one of the pool tables.

“Ugh,” I grumbled when I realized the floor was still wet. If it were my house, I’d have just rushed out there and grabbed it. But this wasn’t my house. And my manager was a stickler for details. Less than pristine floors would warrant a steely-toned lecture.

Deciding to wait it out, I slipped into the walk-in fridge to peruse the obnoxiously varied number of drinks the pool hall offered: everything from normal name-brand soda to imported ones whose labels I couldn’t read, juices, three types of flavored milk, kombucha, and no fewer than six different types of water.

I reached for one of the sports drinks, smiling to myself at the idea of being so turned on by Saul that I was going to get dehydrated quickly.

I’d just started to push open the door when I heard voices inside the building.

My heart froze.

Then it started to hammer so hard that I was sure it was attempting to punch out of my ribcage.

Because the last time I’d overheard something inside this building, it sent me into a spiral.

I wasn’t sure I could take learning any more ugly things about my bosses and continue working for them.

“Hurry up,” a female voice barked, making my spine stiffen.

“It’s gonna be a minute,” a man answered.

I initially took a small bit of comfort in the knowledge that it wasn’t Konstantin or Mikhail’s voice—until I remembered that no one else was supposed to be inside the building. That it was locked. That I was inside it .

Sure, my bosses were scary.

But I would venture a guess that a strange man who caught me hearing him breaking into a building he wasn’t supposed to be in was arguably worse.

“I have to get the ladder,” he added.

I shrank back away from the door as his voice came closer. There was no time to slide it closed, so I just had to pray that no one saw it slightly ajar and came to investigate.

“You should have brought one,” the female voice said again, making me freeze in my attempt to hide behind a pallet of drinks.

Because I knew that voice.

It was the one that condescended to me about everything from the shine on the floor to how hard the doors closed. All the while looking down her nose at me like I was beneath her.

Fine, I was. In rank. But not as a human being. I hated people who treated others as less than just because of their jobs.

“Right. Because that wouldn’t have looked suspicious,” the man said, making a beeline to the closet where the ladder was kept.

That was… suspicious, right?

How did he know right where to look? I hadn’t heard Irina tell him. But maybe she just gestured.

“A small one,” Irina insisted.

“Yeah. Because they make ones small enough to fit in your pocket.”

“Shut up,” Irina snapped, the tip of her heel tapping the ground. I could just picture her standing there in one of her skintight dresses, her arms crossed, her long red nails tapping on her arm in her impatience.

“You’re the one who said it,” the man said as the ladder knocked into something in the closet. “Who the fuck put this in here like this?”

“Your replacement,” Irina said, making my brows shoot up. “Why did you put it up in the vent anyway?”

“Because those fucking idiots came back early, and I had it in my backpack. What if they got suspicious? I had to hide it.”

“Yes. Hide it. Under a cabinet. In a closet. In the damn walk-in,” Irina said. “Not in a vent.”

“You know they sweep the place. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

Oh, God.

Okay.

Well, that explained one thing.

Why the hell there was cash in a vent.

“Yeah, well, some heads-up would have been good. It was pure luck that idiot cleaner girl didn’t see it.”

It was not the time to get my hackles up, but that didn’t stop my eyes from narrowing as I stared at the door.

Well, I did see it, Irina.

“She wouldn’t have found it if you had gotten me back in here sooner.”

Their voices started to get too far away to make out their individual words any longer.

Out to the vent, obviously.

Out to the vent… just a few feet away from my phone.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

What if Irina found it and came looking for me? I had to go.

I had to go right then .

I sucked in a breath, made my way to the door, and pushed it open. Thank God for big, heavy doors that moved damn near silently.

Outside of the walk-in, I could hear Irina keeping up a critical diatribe in the pool room.

I ran across the back room, grabbed the back door, and yanked it open safely, knowing I’d just oiled it two days before, so it wouldn’t squeak.

My stomach flipped as I flew out into the back alley. I wanted to slam the door so I could turn and run, but I forced myself to slowly pull it closed so it didn’t click.

It felt like it took ten minutes but was likely only five seconds.

The floodlights flashed on, illuminating the whole alley, putting a spotlight on me.

I had to go .

My footsteps skittered too loud against the cracked pavement, betraying me no matter how I tried to soften them.

Every scrape of gravel, each drip of water from a rusted gutter seemed amplified, suspicious—like someone was following.

My chest felt constricted, like everything I’d overheard was lodged there, threatening to choke me.

I wished I’d worked faster, had gotten out of there sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t have overheard something else I had no business knowing.

Now every shadow stretched too long, every corner seemed capable of hiding someone who was waiting to pounce.

I quickened my pace through the back alley of the pub, finding it empty for once, and I wasn’t sure if that was a relief or even more ominous.

My pulse whooshed in my ears as I slid down another, narrower alley in the building beside the pub.

It felt like it was trying to squeeze me out, brick walls pressing close, little juts of mortar scratching across my arms as I rushed through.

When I emerged, I was on the main street once again.

I chanced one look back toward the pool hall, but saw nothing. They hadn’t turned on the light. No one wanted to advertise that they were stealing.

There was a shuffling sound behind me, making my heart shoot up into my throat.

I whipped my head back, scratching my cheek on the brick, only to spy a long, scaly tail disappear behind an old discarded shipping box.

Just a rat.

Not someone coming to silence me.

Just a rodent looking for a meal.

Okay.

Alright.

What was my best bet here? To bolt out of the alley and run down the street until I was out of sight? Or should I walk casually, like I’d never seen or heard anything? Like I was just taking a walk at night?

I’d just about decided to book it and was sucking in a breath to do just that.

But just then, the front door of the pool hall pulled open and two darkened figures made their way out.

The smaller form—Irina—turned back to make sure the door was fully closed. Because heaven forbid anyone steal from the hall after she stole from it.

I watched as after the two of them climbed casually into a car and slowly peeled away from the curb.

Like nothing at all had happened.

I watched as the car did a K-turn and then made its way out of town.

My gaze stayed focused on the taillights until I was sure there was no way they could turn back and see me.

Only then did I slide out between the buildings, focusing on my breath as I made my way down the street, keeping myself at a casual pace. Not because I didn’t want to run, but because my legs felt shaky and unsteady as I forced them to keep carrying me.

It was going to be fine.

I just had to get home, get behind a locked door, sit with my thoughts, and try to figure out what my next move was.

Did I tell my bosses?

No.

I mean, no, right?

I couldn’t turn in Irina, knowing full well that they wanted to torture and kill the person who was stealing from them.

But how could I keep going to work, keep taking orders from the person who was stealing from the company?

I’d just walked past the house across the street from mine, too lost in my thoughts to notice the out-of-place car in the driveway until it was too late.

One hand slapped down over my mouth.

Another arm cinched around my waist, pulling tight enough that I couldn’t breathe.

Before I could even think to try to fight, I was off my feet, pedaling at the air.

I saw the open trunk.

I saw it getting closer.

I felt the hard metal of the car against my legs, then the scratchy carpet on my arms and face as I was shoved inside.

I tried to push up, but hit my head.

When I tried again, I only managed to create the space for my attacker to wrap a gag around my mouth.

No.

Not just a gag.

A ball gag.

My mouth was forced open wide enough for my jaw to scream. But the gag prevented me from doing so.

It tightened around my head, catching my hair in the clasps, the strands tugging at my scalp.

That was the least of my worries, though, as I felt something metal clasp around one wrist.

My other arm was yanked behind my back, making pain shoot through my shoulder as I face-planted into the carpet once again.

The metal tightened around that wrist.

The trunk lid slammed.

And I was alone in the dark.