Neither of the two guys spoke to her when they came, and she stayed silent. They hardly even glanced at her. She always just opened the door, allowing them to come inside and switch out the items. It was easy, like a delivery. It was the price she paid to stay free. Anyone would say she had it easy. She did.
It was the least problematic job she could handle, yet it gave her so much angst that she had panic attacks often. She was always worried and looking over her shoulder like someone was going to put a gun to her head at any moment.
The sudden knock on the door broke into her silence. She didn't say anything as she looked through her peephole. She frowned, confused. They weren't the normal two guys that came to the house, Josh and Nick. They were always the ones that came to the door.
She didn’t know these men, but they held the package just the same. The parcels were small boxes with blue tape. They hadfragileprinted on them, making it seem something breakable was inside. You wouldn't suspect an illegal substance.
She swallowed, looking up at the guys. Having someone new show up made her anxiety spike. Her heart skipped a beat, and she suddenly felt sick.
They knocked again, and she forced herself to unlock the door and pull it open. She stood in the doorway, looking at them. The one on the right narrowed his eyes on her. "You must be Emma."
She nodded. "And you are?"
"Do you need to know?" the other snipped.
Emma tilted her head down, tightening her grip on the door handle. It was wrong to ask, but she was concerned. The last thing she needed was undercover cops showing up.
"I just wanted to make sure that the package is going to the correct person." Correction, the last thing she needed was for someone to take the packages and leave her with nothing. She didn't even want to imagine what they would do if that happened.
Suddenly, Emma flew backward, and her head smacked the back of the floor. She blinked as the guys stepped into the apartment. The guy in front scowled at her.
"It's none of your business," he snapped. "Stay out of the way before we teach you a lesson on keeping your mouth shut."
Emma knew to stay quiet, and she remained on the floor. She stared at the cracks in the wood, counting to ten. She was always told to count when she felt her nerves were getting the better of her.
"The packages," the other demanded. "Where are they?"
She nodded toward the shoe rack, and they turned their attention to the bundles there. One grabbed them, and the other grumbled, "Careful, Benny. Don't drop ’em."
"Shut up, Fritz," the man snapped. "Just get the door." Emma took in their names but remained silent.
Just as they reached the rack, one of the containers they carried slipped from Fritz's hand. The top slid off, and a white powder spilled out all over her floor. Emma narrowed her eyes, looking over the plastic and the powder. This wasn't what she thought it was. Something wasn't right. There was no way that a package from her family would bust apart, let alone look so cheap. She wasn’t familiar with drugs, but she knew that whatever this was on her floor wasn't that.
It clicked that these weren't workers sent by her great-uncle. They were from another family, grabbing what was rightly her family's product. Her stomach twisted, and the urge to vomit overpowered her.
She heard the click of a gun and looked up. Benny pointed it at her face. "Pity, you should have left the room."
Chapter2
Ace
Accia Moretti, aka Ace, woke later than normal Saturday morning. He’d spent the entire night before drowning in a bottle of Johnny Walker, surrounded by half-naked babes at the local Neon Fringe. Some of his old work buddies had invited him out for a night of debauchery, but instead of burying himself between a pair of magnificent tits, Ace sat alone, lost in his thoughts.
The sun pierced his eyes like a bullet to the head. He groaned, having not closed his curtains properly. His large hands found his face, and he rubbed hard, wishing he could push the headache out through his eye sockets.
He’d been hungover like this before, but at least in the past, he’d wake up with a naked goddess next to him along with it. The sight of their nude form always softened the blow.
He pretended he was interested, of course, like any good, fit, and charming man his age. Some of the girls at the Neon Fringe knew him ... he had taken a few to bed already ... so they gave him discounts on their lap dances and also gave him special attention.
His buddies loved it. Ace simply waited for them to get drunk enough not to notice how forlorn he felt, his loneliness creeping through the throbbing nightclub ambiance.
Ace threw the silk sheets off his tired body and rolled to the edge of the mattress. His head pounded like a cartoon ... sore, red, and inflated like a balloon. He groaned as he heard his phone vibrate multiple times beside him.
He glanced at his pristine, marble-carved side table. The phone lit up again a few more times, which enticed him to pick it up. The brightness made him squint as he unlocked it and faintly looked through his messages.
Ace had been drunk, but he didn’t black out. He remembered trying to get hot and heavy for the dancers, trying to ignore that unsettled feeling in his gut. He wondered with great horror if something was wrong with his cock. Why couldn’t he get his engine going while staring at some of the sexiest women on the planet?
He scrolled through his phone, finding a few messages of encouragement and intoxicated appreciation from his former workmates. They wouldn’t be up for hours, and Ace wished he, too, hadn’t been woken so early by the unrelenting sun.