Chapter One
Katriona
Ialways regret my life choices the morning after.
Two eight-hour shifts back-to-back rip my soul from my body. Every. Damn. Time.
I plant the palms of my hands against my eyes and rub.
Just a little longer.
A soft melody plays from somewhere under the covers knotted around my body and it takes me several seconds to peel them back to find my phone. I blindly swipe a thumb across the screen and collapse into the mass of pillows and sheets.
I’m already thinking of when I can fall back into their soft embrace, but for now, I drag myself out of bed regretting picking up a second double shift after only three hours of sleep.
Chicago in the summer with no central air to speak of can be stifling. But I love the heat. It provides a sense of comfort and serves as a reminder of my bigger dream.
I throw open the blackout curtains draped over my bedroom window to enjoy my one guilty pleasure. Blinding sunlight pours through my window and I turn my face up to it, counting down the months until I get to do nothing but live in the light again.
Normally I’m asleep at this hour, but thanks to my inability to say no and my need for money, I take an extra five minutes to soak up this one luxury like it’s liquid gold that doesn’t come around often enough.
Poor life choices at work. Maybe in some other life, I had my shit together, but not this one.
I swing open my bedroom door to find Nikki, my roommate and one true friend in this God-forsaken city, in the living room stuffing clothes into a shoulder bag. As usual, a lit mint Marlboro clings to the corner of her red-painted mouth.
We’ve shared this tiny apartment for two years and most evenings we head for work together. I must have slept through several of my alarms because she’s already heading for the door when I barely know what day it is.
“Hey, babe. Welcome back to the land of the living. Thought I’d have to bang some pots and pans or something to get your dead ass up.” Ashes fall from the tip of her cigarette to land on the one luxury piece of furniture in our shitty two-bedroom apartment. Since I paid for the large sectional couch I tend to bitch about burn holes, but today I just don’t have the energy to care. But I spare a little to throw up a finger, pairing it with a playful smile. “Gotta have my beauty sleep.”
She winks, causing the super large falsie glued to her eyelid to flutter. To say she is extra might come off as an understatement. But I love her for all her eccentricities.
She flips a long, electric red lock over a bare shoulder. “Love ya too, babe. Hey, listen. I’m heading out. Can’t be late again. See ya there?” She’s by the front door, hand on the handle, head turned back to me. “By the way, happy birthday!”
“Thanks.” I force a smile on my face given today is my least favorite day of the year.
We work at the same club with the same shitty long hours, but the nightly tips more than make up for it. One more year of saving and I will have my ticket out of this city and away from all the foul memories. Now that will be one helluva birthday present.
This time my smile is genuine as I wave her off. Heat rolls in on a beam of sunshine when Nikki swings open the front door. “When you get to work we’ll sneak off and have a celebratory martini and make wild birthday wishes with abandon. The sky will be the limit!”
“I won’t be far behind you,” I call out just as a looming shadow cuts into the rays of light pouring inside.
My smile quickly falls from my face at the sight of Nikki’s cigarette dangling from her lips, her head tilted back so far it appears to be hanging by a hinge.
My heart gives an erratic beat in the seconds it takes for Nikki to blink. She rolls her shoulders and narrows her eyes into thin slits. “What the fuck, man, you ever hear of personal space and a doorbell?”
Gripping the bathroom door handle, my body instantly goes on full alert. My mother had shitty tastes when it came to men. On more than one occasion I usually ended up paying the price for her poor judgment. Memories of more than one ‘gentleman’ wanting to see if he could get a two-for-one special chases me into my dreams years later. No eight or ten-year-old should have to fight men off. But I did.
“Nikki?” I hiss. Those old wounds reopen, causing my heart to thump heavily.
While my hands tremble at the slightest sign of trouble, nothing ever seems to rattle Nikki. She grew up in New York and came to Chicago with the attitude of a Bronx chick and a set of brass balls I wish for every day.
I hear a harsh masculine exhale and a bitter, “Ms. Kane.”
I look on as my friend plucks the smoke from her mouth with one hand and goes to shut the door with the other. “Nah, man. Wrong address. Byeeee.”
I turn to face the door, filling with apprehension. Wrong move, Nikki. Whoever this is isn’t stopping by for pleasantries. His tone oozes with badass motherfucker vibes and I’d bet my last dollar not many people utter no in his presence. My father makes sure none of his muscled goons knows the meaning of the word.
Up until now I always felt safe inside our tiny apartment, but right now I feel caged in with no other exit than the door currently occupied.