Page 5 of Bloody Kingdom

Trying my best to stay calm and push down the fear bubbling in my stomach, I quicken my pace until I’m jogging. The sound of my heels clicking against the cobblestones echoes off the walls of the alley.

My hand digs ungracefully through my purse, looking for the Taser or my cell phone. Everything my fingertips brush against isn’t what I’m looking for. I scold myself for filling the bag with such useless items. Just because I have a large bag doesn’t mean I need to stick everything I own in it. Not the lesson I should be learning right now, but it’s the lesson I’m fixating on.Did you really need to put the worn paperback in here, Quincey? Not like there is downtime at the bar for you to read, dumbass.

Looking behind me once more, I find that my follower has also picked up their pace. If I have any hope of outrunning them, I need to lose the heels. The streets and sidewalks of New Orleans are notoriously filthy. The idea of running barefoot through these alleyways is wildly unappealing, but getting away from the person behind me is my main priority.

Slowing down just long enough to bounce on one foot at a time, I pull the pumps from my feet, tossing them to the side for someone to find later on. Without the shoes hindering me, I take off at a dead run, ignoring the sharp bite of gravel and debris digging into my soles. I try my best to not be disgusted by the warm, dirty puddles I step into, the liquid splashing up the back of my exposed calves.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about dying, mainly because I knew I’d never be able to pay off Barrett in time, not without selling a kidney or robbing a bank. I thought there was a bullet out there with my name on it. Not once did I think I was going to be ambushed in an alley and attacked, but the stomping footsteps gaining on me make me think this might be my untimely end.

My legs burn and my heart slams against my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’m so focused on keeping up my pace and finding my phone in my bag, that I’m not watching for the obstacles in front of me. I don’t see the rusty piece of metal leaning against a trash can before my ankle catches on it, catapulting me forward. Pain radiates from my hands and knees when I land, skidding across the pavement. My ankle burns and aches, I don’t know if the liquid I feel dripping down my skin is from the puddles I’ve splashed in or my own blood, but I don’t have time to check. My bag, holding all my belongings, is splayed across the ground, the contents all over the place.

My fingers reach to collect my things on instinct, but the approaching footfalls behind me spur me back into action. Cursing from the pain in my extremities, I clamber back to my feet and continue my escape. I’m moving slower than before, the damage to my ankle making me limp.

In horror movies, you always question the girl who trips and falls, screaming at the television for her to get her shit together, and run. I know I’ve done that before, even going as far as to laugh when they tripped. Now that I’m in this position, I’m not laughing.

It’s not so funny whenyou’rethe dumb blonde in the slasher flick.

Hobbling toward the end of the dark alleyway, I feel a sliver of relief. I’m just feet away from a relatively busy street. Someone will be out here who can help me.

I just barely round the corner of the brick building, stepping only one foot on the main street, when fingers tangle in my long hair and I’m ripped backward with so much force, my neck cracks.

My world spins and I desperately try to keep up with the sudden and fast pace at which I’m hurled backward. The scream I’ve been fighting since I saw the hooded figure coming after me, crests from between my lips, but only the softest squeak escapes me before a big hand slams painfully down on my mouth, silencing me.

“You’re fast, I’ll give you that.” His voice is deep and his breath reeks of cigarettes. Dark beady eyes scan over me as I struggle beneath his hold. Spinning me, the man presses his entire body to my front, effectively pinning my back to the building. “Yeah, baby, keep fighting me. I like it when I get to collect the feisty ones.”

An angry sound comes from the back of my throat before I sink my blunt teeth into the fleshy part of his hand.

“Fuck! You bitch,” he hollers as he pulls his hand from my face. He glances at his hand once, checking for damage, before his fist connects with my cheek with such force I taste blood and see spots.

I’ve never been hit before. My parents were a lot of things, but never abusive. My eyes burn, tears threatening, but I force them to stay put. Instead, I spit the blood in my mouth at his face and tilt my chin up defiantly. I can fake a brave face better than anyone; I’ve been doing it most of my life.

His hand clasps around my chin and jaw, fingers digging punishingly into my face. “I was told to bring you in alive, but he said nothing about bringing you in without bruises,” my attacker seethes. “He won’t be happy about it, though. He likes a pretty face. You’re useless to us if you’re damaged.”

My head attempts to jerk to the side in hopes of loosening his hold on me, but this only makes his fingers tighten on my face. Marks will, without a doubt, form from his rough treatment. “I haven’t done anything to you!” I cry. “Let me go!”

He chuckles. “You’re right, you haven’t done anything tome, but you owe my boss a shit ton of money.”

Money?

The debt. Fuck.

“I have five more days!” I try to bargain. “The monthly payment isn’t due today—I still have time to get it to Gallo.” There’s no way I’ll be able to earn or find four thousand dollars in five days, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Mr. Gallo isn’t a patient man. He’s decided he’s no longer interested in your little payment plan.” He moves in closer to my face, so close his hot breath whispers across my throbbing cheek. “You’ll repay your debt a different way.”

For a split second I’m confused, but when the realization of what he’s saying hits me, dread like I’ve never felt bubbles in my stomach. The fear turns my veins to ice and my throat constricts to fight back the nausea rising.

“No.” My voice is just barely a whisper. “Please, no.”

He skims a dirty finger down my face. “You’re going to make him so much money. You’ve got that innocent, doe-eyed look about you. Men eat that shit up like it’s candy.” His tongue swipes out, licking along the side of my face. “Sweet like candy too.”

I push and shove against him, but still, he barely moves. I hate feeling weak and defenseless. I’ve never been one to rely on others to save me. The best thing that came out of my mom and dad’s horrible parenting is that I became independent—self-sufficient—at a young age. I can take care of myself, but I can’t save myself right now. He’s bigger and he’s stronger. The alleyway is dark, devoid of light, making it so no one can see us back here.

As a last-ditch effort, I fill my lungs with air, preparing to let the biggest scream of my life loose, but the air deflates from my chest quickly when the blinding headlights of a large vehicle illuminate us. It takes me only a second to realize it’s the same black SUV as the other night.

The sound of a door opening fills the space, and a dark shadowy figure emerges from the car. Dread joins the overwhelming emotions swirling through my body. The man joining must be another one of Gallo’s henchmen, here to aid in collecting me. Or so I briefly think, but the look of confusion and then worry in my attacker’s eyes tells me differently.

The new arrival’s face is hidden by the brightness of the headlights. I can’t make out any of his features other than his large silhouette.

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