Page 45 of Under Fire

Dean cut her off. “I’m not an idiot, Alisa. You’re different.”

“I just— I have my final exams next month. I’m stressed,” Alisa sputtered.

“Our deal had pretty explicit terms.” Dean talked over her. “And I don’t think you’ve been honest with me.”

“No, please—”

“Don’t lie. I have eyes everywhere.”

Alisa opened her mouth to argue but nothing came out. Nothing ever came out. That’s always how it went with Dean. She bit her lip, shaking her head. He was going to fucking kill her.

His tone grew more aggressive, more accusatory. “Something is up. You better hope it’s not what I think it is.”

“Dean,please.”

“You know what happens next, Alisa. Play stupid games—win stupid prizes.”

And with those parting words, he ended the call. Alisa was left gawking at her phone, trembling and tormented. Her thoughts spiraling, a creeping sensation crawled up the back of her neck as she heard a loud noise. Gazing up, a blacked-out custom motorcycle rolled down the street in front of her, the loud boom of the muffler drowning out anything else.

A male driver with a fully black helmet and a neck tattoo cocked his head to obviously stare her down. She just couldn’t deny that he looked like the type of guy the Dean would hang out with, like he was someone in the club.

“You’re imagining things,” Alisa whispered, but the bike slowed down in front of her for no apparent reason.

She freaked out, jammed her car into drive and sped out of the parking lot in the opposite direction.

Under stress, under threat, she felt panic erupting up her throat. Peeling down the boulevard, tears rolling down her cheeks, she didn’t know who to be more angry with—Dean, Warren or herself. The only thing that she really knew was that her house of cards was crumbling. She wasn’t safe. She needed help.

She had to find Warren.

Chapter Sixteen

Alisa

Four years before

Flipping over the envelope in her fingers, Alisa melted into the back stoop of the tiny home she shared with her mother to a symphony of ambient noise from her LA neighborhood. Ambient noise that she usually found soothing had grown to be nothing more than an annoyance. Then again, by that point, almost everything irritated her. Blame the sleep deprivation, the endless nights holding her mother’s hand in the hospital or the stress— Whichever way, she was on a hair trigger.

She stilled, only moving to slide her finger over the corners, trying to feel where they grew sharp. Maybe she needed it to hurt. Maybe she needed to not feel numb.

Alone, her preferred state, she sat on the small stoop that led out onto a cracked, fenced-in concrete pad where her mother’s car was parked—like anyone would steal that beat-up car, anyway.

The crisp edge of the white envelope nearly sliced her finger as she grazed it, an omen for what she knew was inside. There was no mystery. The resulting drop in her stomach was the only thing she’d allowed herself to feel all day. Emotions had grown dangerous since the morning she’d woken up completely orphaned. It had only been a few days, but she suspected she’d never get used to the new reality.

Sucking in a reluctant breath, she slowly tore at the envelope opening, knowing there was no point of waiting any longer. It wasn’t like avoiding it would make it go away. Her naked toes digging into the sagging wood step, she pulled out the paper housed inside, feeling the dry air of LA burn a little in her throat. The cheery bright colors on the letter did nothing to quell her unease. The bill, like many others, was well past due.

“I’ve been doing everything I can,” Alisa said to herself, taking in the large sum at the bottom.

Just one other thing she couldn’t pay.

“Everything?” A masculine voice appeared from the alley beside the red brick house her mother rented.

Her head cranked to see…Dean Teller, the dark-haired boy who lived down the street and grew up with her. She hadn’t seen much of him lately. It had been a while.

“Dean—” she gasped, like she was seeing a ghost.

He swished toward her in a black leather jacket, peeling off his too-cool shades. He shot her a look that was purposeful and tough. A scar running down his jaw was fresh, a reminder of where he’d been.

She continued, surprised, “You’re back…already?”

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