Page 64 of Empire

Most days, they’re everywhere, but nearing 10 p.m. on a Wednesday night . . . I might be shit outta luck.

People come and go, getting home from their nights out while others are only just leaving campus after spending the night buried deep in textbooks. A black car pulls up, and a couple barrels out of the backseat, and the second I spy the Uber sticker in the back window, I make my move.

I wave him down, probably looking like a moron, and watch as the driver puts his window down, probably not used to this level of desperation. “You okay, Miss?” the driver questions, glancing around behind me, probably checking to make sure I’m not being followed.

“Please, I need a ride,” I rush out. “It’s not far.”

He looks hesitant, glancing at me and then back at his app, probably scanning it to see if any better offers pop up. “This isn’t how this usually works.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, remembering my tips that are still buried in the apron I’ve forgotten to take off. “I can pay you in cash.”

He mutters something I can’t make out, clearly not happy about this, before finally letting out a sigh. “Alright, get in,” he tells me, watching as I scramble into the back seat. “Where to?”

“I—” I cut myself off, not sure how to describe where I need him to take me. It’s not like I can say,You know that secret door hidden deep in the old train tunnel where a super-secret organization likes to party, fuck, and murder? Yeah, take me there.“I’m not sure of the name of the road, but I can direct you. It’s only about ten minutes from here.”

He nods, finally pulling away from the curb, and I use this moment to try and calm my racing heart. Taking slow, deep breaths, I give him directions until we’re pulling to a stop in the abandoned parking lot by the old train tunnel.

The driver glances back at me, concern etched on his face. “Miss, are you sure you wouldn’t like me to drop you off somewhere a little . . . safer?”

Letting out a shaky breath, I shove my hand into my apron pocket and grab a bunch of cash, handing it over. It’s probably way too much, but I’m grateful for his help. “I wish I could ask you to drop me off anywhere but here, but unfortunately, this is what my night is going to look like.”

His brows furrow, clearly not sure what to make of that, but he takes my cash anyway and gives me a hesitant nod. I quickly thank him, and before I convince myself to back out, I push the door open and clamber out onto the street. The driver watches me a moment longer, and I give him a tight smile to reassure him that everything is alright until he finally pulls away.

I can practically feel his eyes on me through his rearview mirror as he drives away, but I don’t have the time to waste waiting for him to disappear. Turning on my heel, I make my way toward the old tunnel, glancing back over my shoulder to watch as the Uber’s brake lights come on.

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach, and I silently will him to just forget about me. A second later, he comes off the brakes and hits the gas, deciding I’m no longer his problem. Letting out a relief-filled breath, I quicken my pace, moving closer toward the tunnel until I’m stepping through the darkened entrance. The same chill I felt last time sweeps over me.

Somehow it feels colder in here tonight. I hate that I’m about to do this, but I’m not getting any answers from the boys. It’s time I seek them out myself, regardless of the dangers in doing so.

Despite knowing trains no longer use these old tunnels, I stick to the side, my fingers brushing along the cement wall as though it can somehow keep me safe. My eyes are wide, and I search through the darkness for the old maintenance door. It was about a ten minute walk last time. By now, the boys would have already realized that I’m gone, so I need to make this quick.

Picking up my pace, I hurry through the tunnel until I come across the familiar door, almost striding right past it as it blends in with the concrete. My breath comes in hard, fast pants, and I can’t tell if it’s from nerves or if I’m just really out of shape, but I don’t have the time to find out. Remembering just how heavy this door is, I push against it, putting my whole body into it. Only, the fucker doesn’t budge. “What the hell?” I mutter, trying again only to get the same result.

Frustration burns through me, and a thorough scan over the door reveals a small keyhole I didn’t notice before. I mentally curse myself for not thinking this through. Last time the door opened for me because the boys left it unlocked, and I’m only now realizing they must have done that on purpose. Of course the door isn’t going to magically open for me. It’s a secret society, for fuck’s sake.

Groaning loud, I slam my fists against the door, trying to release just a bit of the frustration building inside me. I clench my jaw and glance back up the long, dark tunnel, feeling deflated. I’m not ready to give up yet, but what choice do I have? I’m not getting in there without that key. Not to mention the two other security measures on the other side of this door.

FUCK!

Shaking my head, I feel my shoulders droop. As I go to take my first step, I hear a soft click coming from the other side of the door. My heart kicks into gear as nervousness flutters through me. It could be anyone on the opposite side of the door. Hell, it could be the asshole responsible for the attacks on my life.

I try to figure out what the hell I’m going to say. Do I tell them my name and request a meeting with the dude in charge, or do I lie and tell them I’ve been hired for a few happy endings?

Time runs out as the door swings open before me, and a tall older man steps out. He’s handsome, in a suit that has me almost ready to call him Daddy, and familiar green eyes, but there’s something in them that has me shrinking away. He stares down at me, clearly knowing I’m not supposed to be here. “Can I help you?”

I nod. “My name is—”

“I am well aware of who you are, Miss Quinn,” he says, watching me through a narrowed gaze, his stare knowing and dark. “What I want to know is what you’re doing here?”

Trying to display a show of confidence, I raise my chin and look him dead in the eye. “I’ve come to get answers.”

“Answers,” he repeats.

“Yes,” I state. “If you are well aware of who I am, then I’m sure you’re also aware that over the past two weeks there have been multiple attempts on my life by the people of this organization. The guys who claim to want to protect me aren’t giving me the answers I’m looking for, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

“I see,” he says. “And these guys who are protecting you. Are they aware you’re here?”

My stomach clenches, torn over how to respond to this. If I say no, he becomes painfully aware of just how alone and vulnerable I am. But if I say yes, he might be reluctant to tell me anything in fear of this information getting back to them.

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