Page 29 of Mess With Me

He curses. “If you’re out of sight, stay perfectly still. Don’t move.”

It’s probably just Mrs. Bishop. It has to be her—she was just outside with Percy, her happy poodle. But I can’t help but look. I need to know if I’m safe. I inch my face out past the edge of the wall.

When I see who’s there, standing in front of my apartment, my stomach turns to stone. “Griffin,” I whisper, pulling myself back into the indent. I’m barely breathing. “It’s Vincent’s guy.”

My throat constricts with panic. There was no mistaking him. Same hulking shape. Same thick, dark jacket, even though it’s only early September.

Vincent’s words echo in my brain.You owe me, Sasha Macklin.

A cold shimmy of panic threatens to overtake me, but I clench my jaw, refusing to let it. I breathe hard.Okay. I’m okay.

“Yes, Sasha, you’re going to be okay. But you need to listen very carefully. I need you to stay very, very still. Do not move.”

I didn’t realize I said that out loud.

But there’s a click from down the hall, and I know I need to look.

I’ve never been great at following instructions.

I sneak my head out again, knowing I’m probably risking my life, only to see my door closing behind him.

I don’t need Griffin to tell me what to do next.

I run.

I close the stairwell door behind me as softly as I can, telling Griffin what I’m doing. My shoes are off, and I’m skidding down the stairs, taking three at a time.

“Maybe I should go to John’s apartment; he’s on the fifth floor. I—”

“No. Keep going. Faster than you think you can, but don’t let go of that handrail unless you hear the door open overhead. If you do, I want you to press yourself up against the wall, you understand? Out of sight if someone looks down.” The engine revs again. “I’m ten minutes away. Once you get outside, you need to get around the corner, out of sight, and if you see a cab, you jump in it, okay? Tell them to take you to…Union Square. Say you’re late.”

I’m breathing hard, taking in everything he’s saying but also leaping down the stairs in threes, adrenaline carrying me faster than I think I’ve ever gone before. My purse slaps against my hip, impossibly loud.

“What if there’s no cab?” I ask. I’m on the fifth floor now—John’s apartment is right there. I could hide. The guy would never know—

A door opens overhead.

“Shit!” I land with a slap of feet on the third-floor landing and scramble backward against the wall. For a moment, there’s no sound. I imagine the guy leaning out over the railing, looking down. I shift.

Then there’s a loud clink as my keys fall out of my sweaty hand. I hadn’t realized I was still holding them.

The door up top bangs against the wall.

A shuffle of feet.

“Oh fuck!” I whisper. I yank on the handle of the third-floor door before remembering it’s passcode controlled. I scoop up my keys, the sound of them scraping on concrete impossibly loud.

I wave the fob in front of the mag lock, my hand shaking. The door clicks open, and I sprint down the carpeted stairwell.

“Where are you?” Griff practically growls.

“Stairs,” I pant. “To the parkade. Third floor. I’m running down—can’t talk.” I’m running too hard to breathe, let alone narrate where I’m going. I lower my arms, using them to propel my body forward.

I jump in front of the stairwell door, swinging my keys once more. The light stays red for a sickening second. I do it again.

It flashes green.

I rip the door open. I take the stairs a half flight at a time, swinging on the railings. I hit the bottom with a crash. I race for the far door that leads up a flight of exterior stairs.

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