“I think it’s clear,” Liam says. “We’ll walk in together.”
I stop him. “You should go back. I can go alone.”
“No. I want to be sure you get on the train.”
I look up at him. “I’m scared, Liam.”
He pulls me in for a tight hug. “Nothing is going to happen to you or to any of us. Come on, you’ve only got a few minutes to catch your train.”* * *The conductor blows his whistle, and the train starts moving as soon as I step on board. I walk into the first compartment and bend down to watch Liam on the platform. He sees me right away and raises one arm to wave briefly before sticking both hands into his pockets.
I walk farther and farther back as we pull out of the station, wanting to see him for as long as possible, not liking the worried expression on his face, not liking the thought of leaving them all behind.
This is a mistake.
I shouldn’t leave them. These men, Liam’s right, they mean business.
But it’s too late now. Even if I get off in Baltimore to change trains and come straight back, I won’t make it in time. Not if he truly does come for me at midnight.
The door swooshes open, and I startle. But it’s the conductor here to check tickets.
I find a seat and slip my backpack off, setting it on the empty chair beside mine. I’m grateful the car isn’t full. There are only about a dozen other passengers beside me.
When the conductor gets to me, I show him my ticket. He punches a hole into it, hands it back, and wishes me a good trip. I tuck it into the pouch and take out the little slip of paper with my aunt’s address and phone number.
Although I’m grateful she agreed to help me isn’t it dangerous for her? Isn’t what I’m doing selfish? Because no matter what, I know I’m putting them all in danger.
Tucking the address back into the pouch and the pouch back into my backpack, I slide over to the window seat. Rain has started to fall again, and I wonder if Liam got back okay. Wonder how he’ll get by those guys at either door or if he’ll just scale the fence we went over to get out.
I think back to that night I first met Damian Di Santo. I remember how he’d looked, but more than that, I remember the darkness that shrouded him.
Tonight, eight years later, that darkness has become inky. Grown denser and more impenetrable.
Finding that contract in my backpack, I take it out and study it. It’s simply written, not overly complex. And nothing changes as I read it through for the hundredth time.
My father bought my childhood with his life. Were they really there to murder me that night?
I put the paper back into the bag even though a part of me wants to tear it to pieces. Leaning my head against the window, I watch the lights of the city fade. I’m tired. But when I close my eyes, Damian Di Santo’s gray ones flash across my memory. Like a wolf’s eyes. A predator’s eyes. Watchful. Calculating. Dangerous.
And beautiful.
I groan and tuck my jacket closer, feeling suddenly chilled.
Damian Di Santo beautiful?
He’s a monster. Didn’t he tell me so himself?5CristinaAn unfamiliar sound of screeching wakes me slowly. I’m disoriented, and it takes me a long minute to fully wake up and remember where I am. Remember I’m on a train heading south to Raleigh, North Carolina, via Baltimore, Maryland, to my aunt’s house. A woman I hardly know, and am not related to by blood, who is helping me nonetheless.
I rub my face and look over to the seat beside mine, realizing I’d left my backpack unzipped. I quickly check to make sure the pencil case of money and my passport are still inside, relieved when I find they are.
The other passengers are waking up too. Are we in Baltimore already? How long have I been out? I didn’t bring my phone for fear Damian would track it and never wear a watch, so I don’t even know what time it is.
Cool air tells me a door has opened. From inside my backpack, I take out a knitted cap and put it on my head, then zip it back up. It’s still dark out so all I see is my own reflection in the windows. I stand and begin to make my way out of my seat.
But when the door to the car slides open my heart drops to my belly. The man in the dark suit quickly scans the faces of the passengers. When he sees mine, he stops, and even though his expression doesn’t change, I know he’s looking for me.
He takes his phone out of his pocket and types something in. A moment later, another man joins him. He studies me, too. I don’t recognize them from the apartment, but they could have been there. I only remember the one with the scar.