Page 43 of Cyn
That was the plan anyway.
She should have known better than to make a plan.
Thanks to rising heat and rooftop heating elements, the buildings didn’t have much snow on them—enough to leave footprints but not enough to slow either her or Waters down. What she hadn’t counted on, though, was a rogue patch of ice.
Taking another running leap to cross the second to last gap, Cyn’s back foot slid out from under her as she hit the ice patch. Momentum carried her forward, but not far enough to get all the way across and she hit the wall with her hands and arms as she pitched forward. On instinct, she curled her fingers around the ledge and caught herself. Hanging, she glanced down, her feet dangling in the air as her body rocked and swayed against the side of the brick building.
Knowing her time—and options—were limited, Cyn started to swing her body from right to left even as Waters’ footsteps came closer and closer. After what felt like a year, but was probably no more than five seconds, she was swinging enough that she got one foot and a calf up and over the ledge.
“I don’t think so, bitch,” came Waters’ voice. She’d thought him further back than he’d been, and the proximity of his voice startled her enough that she almost looked back. Stopping herself from revealing her identity to the young man, she heaved her body up and over the ledge. She was nearly all the way over the side, and to safety, when something hot and sharp pierced her bicep.
Shock lanced through her body at the sudden pain. Looking down, she nearly lost her balance at the sight of the knife sticking out of her arm. A searing agony shot up her shoulder as blood started soaking through her clothing and dripping down her arm. Fighting the urge to tell the kid to fuck off, Cyn sucked in a deep breath and called on all the adrenaline in her system to roll her body the rest of the way over the ledge and to safety. She might have scored an eight on evasion techniques, but she definitely scored a one on her dismount, and she landed in an ungraceful heap on the muddy roof.
Ignoring her now wet pants, she huddled behind the raised ledge that kept Waters from seeing her and yanked the knife out. She wanted to examine it but now was not the time or place, so she slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. Taking in her situation, she plotted out the best path to the other side of the building. Thankfully, the roof had several structures that would give her cover and she darted between them as she made her way across. Once there, she cradled her injured arm against her body and eyed the distance to the roof below. Then levering herself up and over the ledge, she dropped down to the sports bar, and unable to balance herself with only one working arm, she once again landed in a heap.
Ignoring the indignity of it all, she hopped up and made her way to the rooftop exit that she knew from experience was always kept unlocked. A few minutes later, she was in the bathroom, stuffing paper towels under the sleeve of her shirt in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
Once her sleeve was packed to capacity, she proceeded to brush off the mud and gravel from her jacket and jeans. If Waters came walking down the street, he’d probably recognize her by the dirt alone, but at least her hat and jacket were reversible, so when she walked out of the bathroom, instead of a low riding black knit cap and black jacket, she wore a cotton candy pink beanie that barely covered her ears and a beige jacket.
Leaving the restroom, she walked down the stairs to the main part of the bar, waving to the manager, a friend of hers, as she passed through the dining room. Angelica took one look at her and made a beeline across the room, hooking an arm through Cyn’s good one—thank god—and spinning her around toward the back of the building to where the offices were.
“What the hell happened to you?” Angelica asked once the door to her office was closed. “You’re covered in mud, you’re cradling your arm, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s blood on the sleeve of your jacket. You also came in from upstairs rather than the front door.”
Cyn grinned. Well, as much as she could grin. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and her arm was throbbing. “A little incident. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
Angelica eyed her. Cyn had known the young woman for seven years, ever since she and Six had taken exception to Angelica’s pimp beating the shit out of her in an alleyway in Boston. Cyn and Six had zero illusions about the statistical probability of a woman escaping the life Angelica had been born into, but neither had been willing to walk away without at least offering her a chance.
A chance Angelica had grabbed and held on to for dear life. She was now one semester away from a college degree in accounting, had her own apartment, and was a well-respected restaurant manager. She might not know what Cyn and Six did as their side work, but she was smart enough to know they didsomethingthat had given them the skills to disarm and disable her pimp—a man twice their size—in less than twenty seconds.
“Yeah, well, if you don’t want anyone to know about your ‘little incident,’ I suggest you change before heading out,” Angelica answered, reaching into a drawer of her desk. “My pants won’t fit you, but my workout capris probably will,” she said, tossing over a pair of gray spandex pants. “I also have an extra coat. It’s a glittery red puffy jacket, so not your style, but it will definitely change your look.”
Cyn murmured a thank you and toed off her boots then stripped out of her jeans. Angelica held her hand out, and Cyn handed them over before pulling on the capris. As anticipated, Angelica’s capris hit Cyn’s anklebones, and when she pulled her boots back on, they looked like a regular pair of leggings.
“You don’t want to lend me your coat,” Cyn said.
Angelica’s eyes narrowed. “Why not.”
“It might have been a bit more than a little incident.”
Her eyes were slits. “How much more? Like you need a hospital more, or like you just need a nap more? I know blood is involved.” She pointed to a thin line on the sleeve of Cyn’s jacket that she’d missed when she’d reversed it.
Cyn tipped her head. “Maybe somewhere in between?”
Angelic pointed at her and made a little circle motion with her finger. “Take it all off.”
Knowing it was best not to argue, Cyn gently pulled her arms from her jacket then started to pull her long sleeve shirt over her head only to stop halfway when pain shot up into her shoulder.
Angelica sighed. “Turn around.”
Cyn complied, and her friend grabbed a pair of scissors from her desk. Without comment, Angelica cut up the back of Cyn’s shirt from hem to neck. When the shirt fell forward, all the napkins Cyn had shoved into the sleeve spilled out and landed on the floor. Angelica let out a huge sigh but said nothing as she gently pulled the shirt off Cyn’s body, collected the napkins, then gestured for her to have a seat.
“I don’t know if that will need stitches, but at least I can clean it up and get a butterfly bandage on it. Do I want to know?” Angelica asked.
Cyn shook her head. “You don’t. And thank you.”
Angelica gave a little nod, then pulled a first-aid kit from her closet. Before she got started, though, she tapped out a couple of ibuprofen from a bottle sitting on her desk and handed them to Cyn along with a bottle of water she’d retrieved from the mini fridge. Once Cyn had gagged down the pills, Angelica asked her if she’d eaten. When Cyn shook her head, Angelica reached for the phone and placed a to-go order with the kitchen before getting to work cleaning up the wound.
“How bad is it?” Cyn asked.
