Page 12 of Wicked Mafia Beast
"Blocked number." She picks up the phone, her manicured nail swiping across the screen. I watch her read the message, watch the color drain from her face the same way I felt it drain from mine thirty seconds ago.
"Sloane." I reach across the table and grab her wrist, my fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. "What does it say?"
She turns the screen toward me, her hand trembling just enough to make the words swim before my eyes.
Have you seen Onyx Malone tonight?
The room tilts on its axis, the red lighting suddenly too bright, the music too loud, every face in the crowd a potential threat.
My uncle's reach is longer than I thought, faster and more ruthless than I gave him credit for even after everything I've witnessed over the years. He's already traced my friendships. Miguel isn't even cold yet and Seamus is already closing in.
The five days I thought I had just evaporated like smoke.
"We need to go." I grab my laptop bag with one hand and Sloane's arm with the other, hauling us both out of the booth. "Like right the fuck now."
"Onyx, what the hell?—"
"That text is from my uncle's people. They know we're friends. How? I don’t know." I'm already moving toward the nearest exit, dragging her with me. "If they trace you to this club, if they find out you helped me, you'll end up just like Miguel."
"Who's Miguel?"
"The groundskeeper. The body in the news alert." My voice breaks on the words. "He saw me leave tonight. Now he's dead. That's how my uncle operates, Sloane. We don’t need to see it happen again to know the new pattern is clear. Anyone who helps me ends up dead. "
Her face goes pale, but she doesn't freeze. Instead, she kicks off her heels, scoops them up, and matches my pace in bare feet.
"Back entrance. The staff uses it." She takes the lead, weaving through the crowd. "Less visible, no cameras on the door."
We push through a door marked STAFF ONLY and into a narrow corridor lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The sudden quiet after the assault of the club is disorienting, and my ears ring in the silence.
Five days. I thought I had five fucking days.
I don't even have five hours.
The back door looms ahead, a rectangle of shadow promising escape.
For some reason my brain jumps to my wish waiting for someone to read it.
I just hope I live long enough for that to matter.
Three
Onyx
The back door of Scarlet Thorn opens into an alley that smells like garbage and piss and the particular kind of despair that accumulates in places rich people never have to see.
The cold hits me first, biting through my thin shirt after the warmth of the club, raising goosebumps along my arms and making the scratches sting fresh. My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness after all that red lighting, and for a few terrifying seconds I'm essentially blind, blinking into shadows that could hide anything.
The door clicks shut behind us with a heavy finality that makes my stomach clench.
“Maybe this is a bad idea.” I grab for a handle, but there’s nothing on this side of the door. No going back.
Five minutes ago I was sitting in a velvet booth surrounded by champagne and chandeliers. Now I'm standing ankle-deep in darkness that will swallow our screams.
Sloane's bare feet slap against wet concrete as she leads the way, her heels dangling from one hand, her phone clutched in the other. The flickering light above the door casts shadows that jump and twist with every movement we make.
"My car's in the garage two blocks over." She's already pulling up her rideshare app. "Or I can call an Uber. What do you think?"
"No apps. Nothing traceable." I scan the alley, my heart still hammering from the text on her phone. The shadows feel thicker out here, more dangerous. "We walk to your car. Keep our heads down. Move fast."
