Chapter 4 Mila Nerves crawled through my stomach, still rising from my rush of panic at coming here. I'd nearly bottled it. Nearly turned around and run the other way. But Mama didn't raise a quitter. I had to see this through, even if it meant being terrified for a few hours until it was all over. From elsewhere in the run-down building, music buzzed, loud enough to pick out the track and concealing the sounds of any other people, though I knew someone had to be here besides the low-level grunt who'd shown me in. This was the time and the place. The organiser would arrive, tell me how this would go down, and I'd play the eager, naïve girl I was supposed to be. After that, when I had what I needed, I'd run like the wind. Perched on the bed, I ran my fingertips over the hem of my hoodie, clamped tight across my thighs. As instructed, I'd brought nothing. No phone, no ID. My only item of any value was a necklace I couldn't bear to be parted with-the initial 'E' in diamonds on gold. A twenty-first birthday present, gifted a few years ago by my grandfather. Considering the reason I was here, it was only right to carry a token of him. I switched from worrying my hem to running the necklace charm back and forth at my throat. There was nothing to do but wait. Minutes passed, but no one came for me. Outside, an engine rumbled, so I peeked from the tall window, but a large air-conditioning unit blocked my view of the street door below. Instead, I took in the close-together buildings and the sparkling city beyond the far end of the dark alley, a rainbow of neon for different night-time offers. Opposite, there was a business of some sort, and though it appeared to be closed, its purple light cast a glow into my room, enough to create a shadow when I turned to pace away. Unable to settle, I examined a broken dresser then the surprisingly clean bedding on the bed. I shuddered to think what secrets that mattress knew. What other poor women had been in my shoes, perhaps unwillingly. Time ticked on. My heart rate didn't slow. I was all but ready to despair when a whine of metal caught my attention. Except it came from outside. I faced the sound and jumped. There was a dark figure outside my window. A man. Perched on the air-conditioning unit, he squinted through the glass then waved to summon me and pointed at the catch. What. The. Hell? Warily, I crossed the room until I could see him better. He was a little older than me, maybe late twenties, with scruffy dark hair and a long-sleeved black t-shirt with no jacket, despite the cool evening. Across his lower face was a black bandanna with the print of the jaw of a skull. For a strange moment, I was transported back to a childhood fantasy of Peter Pan. More specifically, of the lost boys turning up at my window to take me away. I'd found the idea compelling. The lost boy in question ran his gaze over me then tugged down his bandanna to reveal a grin. "Let me in?" "No," I mouthed. I was freaking undercover, in a manner of speaking. Whatever he was up to was not going to help my plan. The metal unit under him crunched, a bracket coming away from the brick, and the stranger jerked, his arms flying out for balance. Involuntarily, I took a step closer. He splayed a hand on the glass. "Seriously, help or I'm going to fall." "Why are you even climbing up here?" I hissed. "Breaking in, obviously. C'mon, open up." "Why should I?" "I'm charming, slightly concussed, and there's a fifty-fifty chance I'll fall off and die. It'll be character-building." His smirk faded. "I promise I won't hurt you, but they'll kill me if they catch me." He braced his other hand to the exterior wall, and it was this change in position that allowed me a better view of him. Around his lower left leg was some kind of medical boot, strapped on, and with his dark jeans torn open to accommodate it. This night was getting weirder and weirder. That was my only explanation for why I muttered a swear word then flipped the window latch. The man half fell into the room, landing lightly on his good leg and slithering down to sit on the bare floorboards with his back to the wall beneath the window. He took a second to listen, presumably for any shouts of someone coming after him, then tilted his head at me. "Hey." I pointed at the door to the hall. "Exit's that way." "Don't need it. I came here to see you." Like hell he had. "You don't know me." "That's up for debate. What's your name? I'm Convict." I blinked, entirely confused. "Is that a name or a job description?" In the faint purple light, amusement flashed in his eyes. "Funny and beautiful. I like you. Let's just say I lost a reality competition in jail and the nickname stuck. Do me a favour and take a good look at me. Recognise my face?" I stilled and did as he asked, not because I was all that obedient, but for another reason. Convict, as he called himself, was very easy to stare at. He was a big guy, over six feet tall, and with obvious muscles under a close-fitting shirt. Not that I was checking him out. I dragged my gaze from a snake tattoo around his wrist to his face, taking in an expressive mouth and regular features. He was pretty. The strangest, most inappropriate bright swell of attraction took over me until heat flushed my cheeks. I forced my expression to neutral. "Never seen you before in my life." "How about my real name, Roscoe Locke. Familiar?" "Nope." His shoulders slumped, and he scrubbed a hand through his messy dark hair. "Damn. I was hoping for different. Never mind." His movements revealed something else unexpected. Two things, in fact. A scar that led back from his hairline, and a flash of white bandage at his wrist. I indicated from there to his leg. "Did you get hurt breaking into somewhere else? Is this a bad habit?" It explained his nickname, which had to be gang related, now I came to think about it. "Wish I could tell you." Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ƒind ηøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "But you won't?" "Can't, beautiful." I could've asked what he meant by that, but this was already an unexpected and unwelcome interruption to my evening. If he was discovered in here with me, I risked being thrown out. There was a very tentative trust with the organisers based on me being a clueless girl, and if they got suspicious, this would all be over. I had to take back control. "Not to be rude, but could you please go? I can't be found talking to a stranger." Convict's focus lingered on me for a moment longer, then he eased up to peer out of the window. No shouts had followed his surprise entry, so I figured he was in the clear for whatever he was doing. The man passed me, heading to the door. After listening, he slowly twisted the handle and scanned the darkened hall outside. But instead of leaving, he closed us in and flipped the lock. Shit. I started forward, a hand out. "Seriously, you can't stay. I don't know what you're running from, but being in here is going to cause me problems." He blocked the door. "What kind of problems?" "None of your business." He exhaled a breath of annoyance. "This is a very bad place owned by very bad people. There's no way someone like you is here of your own accord, unless you're a pretty little gangster. So help me out. Your name." I pressed my lips together, irritated that he thought I was one of them. "Mila, and I'm not in a gang. You probably are, though." He shrugged, those muscular shoulders rounding. "Something like that. Mila's cute. Got a surname to go with that?" Cute? I ignored the flush of warmth and pointed to the door. "Leave. Please." His gaze on me intensified. "Who's out there that you're scared of?" "People. And I'm not scared." "That's a lie." "You don't know me to judge that." "No, Mila, scared little gangster, I don't. My mistake in thinking I did. But tell me something. If you could leave this place right now and be free of whatever shit you're in, would you?" He was giving me an out. It was kind of him, but misguided. "No. I wouldn't. I know what I'm doing." I tightened my jaw. He did, too. We glared at one another until a clatter came from beyond the door, audible over the distant music. Footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. My bravado slipped. "Someone's coming up. Please. Go, now. Don't make this harder for me." He took a step closer until he loomed over me, frustration clear on his features. "What happens if I stay?" I didn't answer. He sighed and shook his head. "Got a phone?" "No. I didn't bring one." Convict slid a phone from his pocket and held it up to show me, then set it down on the dresser. Without another word, he strode away, not pausing as he climbed out of the window. The metal supports for the air-conditioning unit groaned, and I winced and quickly flipped the door lock open then darted after him. But as I reached the glass, he was nowhere to be seen. My mystery man had vanished into the night. That was fine with me. I shut the window and took a deep breath of relief. Him being here could've ruined all I was striving to achieve. No lost boy with a handsome face was worth that.