Distraction (Underground Kings 3)

“Thanks,” I choke out, feeling that pressure in my chest press in on my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“It will be okay,” he says, leaning in, pressing his lips to my forehead, and letting them linger there until the feel of them is imprinted on my skin. Then, he pulls back enough to catch my eye. “Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight?” he asks softly, searching my face.

“I think I’m just going to go home and get to bed early,” I tell him, taking a step back before I can say something stupid, like ‘yes.’ I like Sven way too much, and the more time I spend with him, the more I like him.

“Sure.” He nods. “Get some rest.” Seeing the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes right before he turns his back on me makes me waiver in my decision to keep my distance, but then I remember what has happened every time I let someone in.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I murmur as I step out of his office, taking the stairs down to the main floor. I walk through the empty club, waving at Eva, who’s on the phone behind the bar, as I pass her on the way to the door.

“You heading home already?” Teo asks when I step outside.

“Yep, Sven had me up early to run errands, so I’m off now.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” He stands from the small metal stool he was sitting on and tosses a half smoked cigarette into the street.

“You don’t have to do that,” I assure him, motioning for him to sit back down.

“Sorry, I mean I am walking you to your car.” He grins, wrapping his giant hand around my bicep.

“Fine,” I sigh, knowing there is no point in arguing with him. Since I started working here, there has never been a time I have gone to my car alone. Even in the middle of the day, someone is with me.

“You know Sven doesn’t like you leaving the club alone,” he says, leading me around the side of the building to the parking lot. Ignoring his comment and the way it makes me feel, I try to keep up with his long stride in my heels as we walk past Sven’s giant SUV to my car that is about ten times smaller in size.

“Sven doesn’t like much of anything,” I say under my breath, hearing him chuckle.

“One day, this shit’s gonna go nuclear.”

“What?” I ask, tilting my head back to peer up at him as we stop at the back of my car.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head as a small smile forms on his lips.

“If you say so.” I frown as his eyes study me, running over my hair and face then down over my body before stopping on my shoes, moving back up to meet my eyes once more.

“Fucking nuclear.” He shakes his head, and his smile broadens, confusing me even more.

“Um…”

“Get home safe,” he rumbles, opening the door to my car.

Giving up on understanding him, I lean up on my heels to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

Nodding, he steps back, allowing me to slide behind the wheel. Starting my hybrid, I check the battery and make sure I have enough of a charge to make it home before backing up and waving at Teo as I pass him.

Getting home, I head up the stairs that lead to my apartment and unlock the door, silently praying that Morgan will be inside, but she’s not. The place is quiet and is exactly the same as I left it this morning before I went to run errands for Sven.

Heading to my room, I slip off my heels and toss them onto the pile of shoes in the bottom of my closet. My bedroom is my favorite room. After my first modeling job, I splurged and bought a bedroom suite that was made for a princess. The white, four-poster canopy bed with sheer curtains that hang down around the sides remind me of a bed from Sleeping Beauty. The white matching dressers, one tall, the other long, have etched glass mirrors on the front of each drawer, with shiny silver handles. The side tables match the dressers, and each has a blown glass lamp on top; the Tiffany blue color matches the duvet on my bed.

Walking to my long dresser, the one covered in frames of different sizes, I pick up a picture of Morgan and me. I must have been about six at the time, and Morgan was around four. We were sitting outside my parents’ house on the wooden steps that lead to their front door. My arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and we were naked, wearing nothing but rain boots and covered in mud. We were happy. She was happy. Picking up another picture of us from around four years ago, I run my finger over her face, wondering where her light went. There was a time her smile lit up the room; people would gravitate toward her without even knowing they were doing it. I don’t know what happened to take away her light.

“What happened to you?” I whisper, gaining no answer. I set down the picture and put my hands behind me to unzip my skirt then slip out of my blouse, tossing both items toward the bathroom, where the washer and dryer is located. Then, I slip off my bra and go to the laundry basket next to my bed that is full of clothes I need to put away. I find a pair of sweats and a shirt and put both on and then head down the short hallway, past the guest bath and Morgan’s room, which used to be my office. Stopping in the living room, I turn on the stereo, allowing Adele to fill the silence, and then toss the remote on the sectional across from the television.

Heading toward the kitchen, a letter sitting on top of the stack of mail I brought inside yesterday catches my eye when I see my mom’s swirly handwriting. Sliding my finger under the edge of the envelope, I pull out the folded up letter and read it quickly. My parents don’t have phones or internet, so my mom keeps in contact with letters, and this one is just like the rest: a short update about her and my dad and an invite to come visit when I can.

Sitting down in one of my dining chairs, I write a quick note telling her that Morgan has once again disappeared and that I probably won’t be able to visit for awhile, but will send a letter when I can. I know my mom will be concerned about Morgan, but she will say what she always says: This is your life, so you have to make your own decisions. Shoving the letter into an envelope, I place it in my purse so I can mail it tomorrow. I get up and go to the kitchen, pulling out a pot to boil water.

I was raised in a small community outside of Phoenix, where they didn’t believe in the government or in most modern amenities. When I was ten, my parents offered me the opportunity to join public school and I accepted. That was when I figured out how different we were from everyone, and how much my parents had prevented me from learning. My first year of public school was really difficult, and I ended up being held back a year so that I could catch up with everyone else. After that first year, I excelled, and by graduation, I was top of my class.

I don’t regret how I grew up, but I still resent my parents for not being parents. Most of my major life decisions were ones I made for myself, even before I should have been allowed to, and if there was ever a problem, I knew I would have to find a solution on my own without the help of the two people who should have been there to guide me.

Shaking the depressing thoughts about my parents out of my head, I toss some angel hair pasta in the boiling water and pull down a bowl from my cabinet then go to the fridge to grab the butter and a bottle of orange juice. Once the pasta is soft, I strain it and put it in the bowl along with some butter, salt, and pepper then pour myself a cup of orange juice, taking both to the living room.

*

Looking from the door to the clock on the cable box, the bright red numbers read 11:36. Looking at the door again, I feel my eyebrows pull tight as the door handle jiggles like it did moments ago. Getting off the couch, where I planted myself a few hours ago to watch TV, I walk slowly to the door, feeling something strange slide down my spine as I get up on my tiptoes and press my hand to the wood to look through the peephole. The porch light is off, but the light from the streetlamp near my building has cast a glow around two men on the other side of the door.

Backing away slowly, my heart pounds so hard in my chest that the sound of my blood pumping fills my ears. Moving as quickly and as silently as I can down the hall to my bedroom, I shut my door, whimpering when I realize the

re is no lock. Scurrying around the bed, I grab my phone off the charger then run to the bathroom in the hall, knowing there’s a lock on that door and if someone breaks in, he will have to break down that door, which will give me a few more seconds. Getting into the tub and pulling the curtain around me, I fumble with the phone as I dial and place it to my ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher answers as I hear footsteps sound somewhere in the apartment.

“I’m at 267 Hemming Way, apartment 17. Someone is in my apartment,” I whisper then scream as the bathroom door crashes open and the shower curtain is shoved aside.

“Help!” I shout as hands grab me by my hair, pulling me up from the tub. Dropping the phone, I fight back, elbowing the guy in the stomach, then turn and bring my hand down hard on his shoulder, which causes him to drop to the ground instantly.

Click, click.

My body freezes and fear rushes over me as I look up, coming face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. Raising my hands in front of me, I’m not prepared for the blow to my stomach that has me doubling over, gasping for air.

“You fucking cunt,” the guy I took down moments ago says, backhanding me so hard I hit the wall. Wrapping his hands around my hair, he drags me stumbling out of the bathroom, down the hall behind him to the living room, where he shoves me to my knees.

“Where is your sister?” the man holding the gun roars, smacking me with the butt of his weapon across my face so hard that my head flies to the side and I taste blood in my mouth.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, lifting my eyes and trying to focus on his face.

“Don’t lie, bitch,” he says, pressing the gun into my forehead.

“I don’t know,” I whimper in fear as the guy behind me uses my ponytail to pull me up off the floor.

“Your cunt sister stole ten grand from me,” the one holding the gun says as his face comes close to mine…so close I can smell the scent of mint on his breath.

“I can give you the money,” I sob as I feel my hair being ripped out of my scalp when I’m jerked back and forth.

“Do you really think it’s that fucking simple?” he asks, wrapping his hand around my throat. “No one fucking takes from me. No one!” he snarls, squeezing my throat tighter as stars blur my vision.

“Cops,” the guy behind me says as the sound of sirens off in the distance gets louder.

“Tell your sister I’m coming for her.”