Page 121 of Point of No Return

His nod is feeble, weak as if he hadn’t considered that fact. His wave is even weaker. “Be careful out there.”

I’m out the door and pacing through the fog before I can talk myself out of it. I need to get out of town tonight. I can’t stay here any longer.

The city is quiet in the dark. Towering buildings loom like giants in the fog, but I take the memorized path down the cobblestone bridge that leads to the hotel I’m staying at. My bag is already packed, and I waste no time grabbing it and wordlessly dropping the key by the front desk.

Boats leave on an early schedule from the docks nearby, and if I hurry, I might catch one. A couple of early morning joggers pass around a corner, and when they’re out of sight, I dart down a hill past the bridge that leads to the loading barge.

The river is probably no deeper than ten feet through the canal, but the ships have less than five feet of space in between them. I can pass from one to the other easily enough if I’m careful.

The only problem will be hiding out on them. Most of the crates will be jammed full of product and covered with tarps and cables. But finding space to stow away is doable.

Another barge inches by, and I duck behind a few crates as men bark orders across the canal. A thick wave of fog swallows another passing barge, and just as I cut across the walkway, a gunshot rings out.

The bullet whizzes by my head, and through the haze, I see the silhouette of someone on the other side of the bridge. Another shot sounds, and I slide across the stone and dive onto the boat. My pistol is in my hand, and I hide behind some cargo as the barge coasts across the water.

“Someone’s shooting from the bridge!” someone yells just as a bullet lodges in the crate beside my head.

I slam onto my knees, pistol aimed in the direction of the shot. Movement above me signals that someone else is shooting from a different location, and I curse as I silently climb across to the opposite side of the boat. I’m just out of sight of both shooters.

The faint outline of the bridge is disappearing behind us, and as I peek over my cover just to get a glimpse of where the shooters moved to, another shot sounds.

Pain explodes across my side, and I have to bite down on a scream to keep from crying out as I hit the ground. A shooter stands on the walkway ahead of the boat, gun still raised from the shot they fired off.

They’re just standing there, watching as I scramble backwards just to get out of sight. Horror claws at me when they lower the gun. They watch me for all of a moment before they step back, disappearing into the fog.

I bite my tongue to stay quiet as I plug the wound with my hands, blood coating my palms. The bullet missed my stomach by a mere centimeter, grazing just below my ribs. My attacker meant to hit me… and something in me burns as I realize they chose not to kill me.

I’m in too much pain to consider why, and as I sit up and another dizzying wave hits me, I force myself into action. I tear a long piece of cloth from my shirt and after tying it off at my waist, I reach into my bag for a medical kit.

Possibly bleeding out is only one of my problems. I have no idea where this boat is headed, and if my attackers follow, they’ll find me again before we’ve even docked. That’sifthe crew doesn’t find me first.

“Shit,” I whimper as the throbbing in my side drags into a dull, gnawing pain. “Don’t faint,” I mutter under my breath in an attempt to keep myself awake. “Don’t faint,” I urge again. My fingers find something hard in my bag, and I pull the kit out, dropping it into my lap.

Maybe it’s because I know my mother is a fan of the theatrical, but I check the rest of my bag, not surprised when I find a phone at the bottom. A new message flashes across the screen. There’s only one contact saved, and I know before I even open the message that it’s from my mother. I read it anyways:

Sad we missed each other again, Lottie. Let’s meet soon.

The bullet was a warning. I was wrong to think I could ever get away from her.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Skar

It’s one thing to hate someone. Hating is easy. I’ve seen the darker side of most. I know most people don’t give freely. I know most people have a motive. In this world, it’s either kill or be killed. That fact alone changes people.

Yes, hating is one thing. Loving someone is something else entirely. And I was stupid to think I could protect Charlotte from it.

That was the reason she left, wasn’t it?

I’d been so sure I could protect her, so foolishly hopeful I could change her mind and make her stay. All that hope had gotten me was a knife to the gut and a hole in my chest. Four months can’t fill the void she left. There isn’t enough time or money in the world to fix what she left behind.

There’s a knock at the door to the office. When it opens, I’m tugging on the rest of my shirt, buttoning the last few holes when Crew steps inside. The sounds of the club filters in as he closes the door. He does a quick assessment, and I’m sure he doesn’t miss the fact that the sofa is pulled out. Or that I’m wearing last night’s clothes.

I’ve taken to sleeping in here lately since I’m lucky to get more than a few hours of sleep anyways. Crew doesn’t say anything, but he dips his chin.

“You might want to get out of here to beat the rush and be back in time for dinner.”

I know Crew better than he gives me credit for. Just from the way he’s looking at me, face neutral, arms crossed, and legs shoulder-width apart, I know he’s here to check on me. Not to tell me about rush hour.

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