I take out my phone and type a quick text.
Rian: You almost done?
Daley: Getting there. Why, bored?
Rian: Not at all. I love sitting around waiting for your pretty ass to get done.
Daley: Aw, you think I’m pretty?
Rian: I think you’re a fucking pain. Now come downstairs before your brother starts complaining.
Daley: Asshole.
It’s been quiet since I spotted those Turks lurking around the train station two days ago. I haven’t seen anything suspicious in the city, which is good, but I’m not letting my guard down. I have a bad feeling about Daley, especially with two dead thugs in her wake. Even though she’s not the one that murdered them, the Turks will drag her into their insipid fucking revenge scheme.
Fortunately, I don’t have to wait much longer for Daley to come out. She hesitates on the sidewalk until she spots me coming toward her and holds up a tentative hand.
“Sorry to keep you, but I had to work late today,” she says, smiling, and I’m struck by a sudden need to pull her against me and bury her lips beneath mine. She looks tired. Her hair’s curly from the humidity, and her work clothes are about as conservative as it gets, and yet I think she looks fucking beautiful. Like no matter what, she’s gorgeous, pristine, incredible.
“Let’s get you home before Aiden sends in the cavalry.”
She sighs and gets moving toward the subway station.
I shadow her on the walk. My head’s distracted when we reach the stairs and start to descend. The walls are covered in tiles caked with grime, and the ground’s slick with puddles and condensation.
These tunnels are about as far from the station as it gets, and several more lanes branch away from this main section, some of them leading to the regional rail station, and some snaking toward another platform farther north.
When we reach the very bottom, I hear voices from up on the street echo down after us.
Gruff, angry voices.
I grab Daley’s arm and pull her faster. The voices recede, but I recognized one of them, speaking a foreign language.
And I’m pretty sure it was Turkish.
“What’s going on?” Daley says, looking panicked.
“We’re caught out,” I say with a growl. “Stupid fucking mistake.” We should’ve stayed on the street until we were closer, like she did that night when she was being chased. I thought we were safe, and I fucked up big time. At least up top, there are places to run and hide and witnesses to stop the Turks from doing anything too aggressive.
Down here, we’re like caged rats with nobody watching.
The halls are narrow and straight. I yank her right down a side shaft and walk faster. Nobody else is around and the main station is another few minutes ahead. But the voices behind us are getting louder, their footsteps heavy on the tile ground, and my heart is racing.
If they get close, all they’ll need to do is start shooting, and there’s nowhere for us to go. They can mow us down and leave us for dead in this fucking underground tomb, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Up on the left is a maintenance door. I run to it, yank it open, and shove Daley inside. I pull it closed behind us and push her against the wall right next to the door’s only window, pinning her there with my body.
Her heart’s racing against my stomach. “Be quiet,” I whisper, pushing my hand over her mouth. She’s breathing fast and loud, and I’m worried those Turkish fucks will hear. “Don’t move.”
She’s staring at me, eyes wide with fear. We’re in a tiny closet, barely big enough for a few shelving displays. Cleaning materials are piled up here and there, and an old janitorial mop and bucket are leaning against the wall. It smells like mold and mildew.
The voices in the hall get louder. They’re laughing and joking like they’re out hunting for sport. The sick fucks. They reach the part of the hall just outside of the door, and I can see them, four men, big guys, dark beards and dark clothes. They’re all carrying pistols and talking in Turkish, so I can’t understand, and they’re lingering right outside of the window.
I press my hand tighter against Daley’s mouth. She struggles slightly and bites me, but I don’t move away. I growl at her, glaring death. If they hear us, if they look inside this door, we’re fucked. We’re finished. Daley’s body is crushed under mine, her breasts pressed against my chest, her face against my neck. I hold her there and ready myself, because if that door opens, I’ll fight those bastards and hope she can get a chance to escape.
I’ll die, but I’ll go down happy knowing I gave her a chance.
But after another few nerve-racking seconds, they split up and walk off. Two keep going forward and two more double back, probably to check another side tunnel. Daley shoves at me until I drop my hand and she takes big, gasping breaths.