Chapter 6

Lori

My breaths comeout in short, sharp bursts, fogging the air as I dart through the darkened labyrinth of New Yorks streets. Its late, way too late for a girl like me to be out running, but fear doesnt care about time. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat a drumroll that echoes the panic zipping through my veins.

I slip into an alley, the kind you pass without a second glance during the day, but now it looms like the gaping jaws of some concrete beast. The dim light from a flickering street lamp casts long, treacherous shadows across the cracked asphalt, painting pictures of menace and pursuit on the walls. Its a scene straight out of a thriller, minus the comfort of knowing its all just make-believe.

The alley reeks of garbage and something else... desperation maybe, which is fitting because thats exactly whats seeping out of every pore in my body right now. Theres a dumpster to my right, overflowing with trash bags and broken dreams, and it feels oddly symbolic. Discarded, forgotten, hidden away where no one can see—yeah, thats the vibe.

With the citys incessant hum reduced to a mere whisper here, isolation wraps around me like a thick scarf, heavy and suffocating. My own footsteps sound louder than they should, a rat-a-tat-tat that seems to scream Here she is! to anyone who might be listening. I press myself against the cool brick wall, trying to blend in with the grime and the graffiti, willing my pulse to quiet down before it gives me away.

Im used to tough situations. Hell, theyve been the bread and butter of my nineteen years. But this? This is a whole new level of screwed up.

I whip my head around, convinced I hear footsteps ghosting mine. My chest heaves, breaths tearing from my lungs in ragged gasps that taste like fear and cold air. The shadows cling to me, as if theyre alive, whispering secrets of escape I cant seem to grasp. My eyes dart frantically, searching for a glimpse of anything in the darkness, even as I pray for invisibility.

Nothing there, I tell myself, trying to sound convincing, tough. But the lie falls flat, dead before it hits the ground. Its a joke, right? Because here I am, Lori White, the chick who doesnt flinch at the hard knocks, scrambling like a scared rabbit in this godforsaken alley.

Dammit, I hiss when my shoe catches on something unseen, a curse to the night or maybe to myself. My hearts doing this insane drum solo, one thats way offbeat, pounding against my ribs as if begging for a break.

And then there’s someone I hoped never to see again. Just steps away, materializing like some kind of dark angel—if angels are over six feet tall with shoulders that block out what little light dares to trickle into this place. Mikey. Fucking Mikey.

Evening, Lori, he drawls, voice smooth like whiskey but with the same potential to burn. His eyes catch a glint of something wicked, a sick sort of spark that tells me hes enjoying this far too much. The familiarity in his stance, the tilt of his head—it all screams danger.

Okay, so maybe when I was a misguided pre-teen I might have gotten involved with the wrong crowd. I’ve done good about flying under his radar—until now apparently.

Mikey. His name is a bullet, shot through clenched teeth. My skin prickles with awareness, body tensed for flight or fight, mind racing to keep up. I know that look in his eyes; Ive seen it before. Its the thrill of the chase, the game he plays where Im the mouse and hes the cat, all claws and malice.

Miss me? His smirk slices through the gloom, a crack in my resolve. Its not a question, really. Its a reminder that he owns these streets.

Like a hole in the head, I retort, even as my stomach knots tighter. Theres no escaping the fact that Mikey has just turned my shitty night into a full-blown nightmare. But Ill be damned if I let him see me squirm.

Mikey takes a step, and the alley shrinks. The world narrows down to just him and me, his power pulsing like a live wire in the charged air. Another step, and I can almost feel the heat radiating off him, the alleyway his arena where hes always held the upper hand.

Still running from shadows, Lori? His voice is deep, mocking, each word measured to remind me just who’s in charge.

Only the ones with your ugly mug in them, I snap back, though my pulse thunders a frantic beat against my throat. Our past clings to his words, a shared history thats anything but sweet. He knows it. I know it. And it scares me shitless.

Always such a spitfire. Mikey laughs, a low rumble that echoes off the grimy walls, wrapping around us like a sinister caress. Remember that time at Coney Island? You screamed so loud on the Cyclone, I thought youd shatter glass.

Remember when I told you to fuck off? I retort, but its hollow, weak against the memory of his fingers once entwined with mine, the ghosts of old thrills haunting me still.

Yeah, I once looked up to the prick and wanted to be his girlfriend. Thank god that never happened.

Ah, but you never really meant it, did you, doll? His steps are slow, deliberate, closing the gap between us like destiny coming to collect its due.

Just leave me alone, Mikey. I walked away and didn’t give you any trouble. My voice cracks, betraying the bravado Im desperate to cling to.

Come on, Lori. You know no one walks away from me. Hes close enough now that I can see the darkness of his eyes, the predatory gleam.

Mikey, dont— My protest dies as he fills the space, his presence eclipsing everything else. Fear coils in my gut, tight and suffocating, because I know that look. Its the one that comes before the storm, before the world tips on its axis and Im left grappling for purchase.

I pivot on the balls of my feet, every muscle coiled tight. Fight or flight? The old question, as ancient as the stars above this godforsaken alley. Mikeys a wild card—always has been—and Im not about to let him deal me a losing hand without flipping the table first.

He catches me easily by wrapped a strong arm around my waist. His touch makes me nauseaous. You gonna run? Youve got those gazelle legs, but baby, Ive always been the lion.

My brain screams at me to knee him where it counts, make a break for it. But my gut? It trembles like a damn leaf, because underneath the bravado, it knows just how dangerous Mikey is.

When I was younger I didn’t realize just how dangerous he was. Once I did, I ran.

I jerk against his hold. But hes solid as granite, unmovable, and with each futile twist, I feel the scale tipping.

Easy, easy, Mikey murmurs, as if hes calming a spooked horse. Youre not going anywhere.

And shit, hes right. Because for all my scrapper instincts, Mikeys got the upper hand, and I know it. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm, and Im caught, like a rabbit in a snare, too scared to bite but too proud to go quietly.

Mikey, please, I say, and I loathe the plea in my voice, the way it scrapes raw against my pride. But he hears it too, the crack in my armor, and his grip loosens just a fraction. Enough to give me hope? Or enough to mock me?

Good girl, he says, and I bristle at the patronizing tone. He leans in close, his breath hot on my cheek. Now, were gonna walk outta here, and youre gonna smile pretty for me, got it?

Fuck.