Page 79 of Underground Prince

I paused at that unexpected thought.

“¡Hostia!”

A box that had seen particular wear and tear during its trip burst from the bottom as soon as it was raised, the silver glinting against the truck’s overhead light as cans escaped and scattered onto the pavement. The ground was potholed, uneven and plastered over with pieces of hastily constructed tar, but that didn’t stop one can from making a break for it, rattling down the uneven slopes of the asphalt and curving straight for us.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, my foot flying out—as if the physics from kicking air could blow the wind in just the right way to get it away from us.

Lila squeaked beside me, but her attention was riveted on the can as well, and we watched, fearful, as the can spun, popped up in the air over a sharp curve, and clattered, rolled and lost its momentum mere feet away from our own.

Oh, shit.

There it was. Lila’s fallen cigarette, smoldering away beside the can and giving away our cover more than any of my air-kicks ever could.

Maybe if we moved. Slid to the left, against the wall, where no lights were on us. There was a sole dumpster separating us and them, ten feet away. Trace could spot us from his higher vantage point, but only if he zeroed in and studied our specific hideaway with particular care. If we could flip around the corner, hugging the brick, we could possibly—

“Get it.”

Trace’s voice, a whiplash demand, had me cementing in place.

One of the men ran over, bending to pick up what Trace wanted and never once glancing to the left and spotting us. If he’d made two more steps, he would’ve hit my foot. Thank God for peripheral blind spots.

Lila was nothing but a brick statue beside me, not breathing, not blinking, both her hands digging into my arm as she huddled beside me.

When the guy spun on his heel and jogged back, I breathed, my chest sinking with the exhale. I was relieved enough to break my steadfast fear, and made my greatest mistake.

I glanced up.

Trace was still in the truck, observing, his head twisted toward us. He stayed that way, and I gasped my last breath, the lightest scrape of sound escaping as I cut off my inhale.

Trace opened his mouth, said to me, “If this isn’t done in the next ten minutes, you’re all fired.”

He jumped down and headed back into the loading dock without another pause.

“Leave. Let’s do it now,” Lila said, a prattle of whispers as she pulled at me.

I gave in to her tugs, and we disappeared around the corner, leaving Trace and his espresso behind.

Speechless, I let Lila take the lead this time, directing us over misplaced piles of trash and sending the midnight scavengers into the deeper creases of darkness as we passed. Once we reached the main road, we both gaped, at each other, at the cars, at the stragglers bearing down against the wind as they tried to light their own cigarettes.

“What the hell was that?” Lila threw her hands up. “I’m quitting. Was I almost shot? Did my nicotine addiction almost get me shot?”

She kept talking as we bypassed the other (smarter) smokers. I listened to Lila, our friends in for a hell of a story that she would be more than eager to share. But I paused on the threshold, looking back, even though it was impossible to see the loading dock. It wasn’t Lila’s voice playing in my ears as she vied for my attention, telling me to come inside. The sound around me funneled and disappeared, and Kai’s words floated around me.

His family is rough, dangerous… This is serious shit, Scarlet. He’s not playing around.

Yes, I knew what that was, back in the alley, behind this bar and away from the innocence of light. My hand clenched in my pocket, gripping my phone’s hardcase.

It was simply a matter of what I was going to do about it.

18

DREAM RECOVERY

“Scarlet!”

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

“Scarlet!”

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