Page 3 of Shades of Loyalty
Jennifer
A loud shot shatters the morning silence, reverberating through the air. My breath catches. Was that a gunshot?
I freeze, scanning my surroundings, but the streets are empty, and the sound has already faded.
It’s only 7 a.m., and I’m already dealing with this. Great. Just another Monday morning in Chicago. How surprising.
I shake off the unease and keep walking. My mornings are always the same: drop my daughter off at preschool, grab breakfast, then head home to get ready for work.
Predictable, maybe even comforting—but today feels different. That sound lingers in the back of my mind.
This shortcut through the alley isn’t my favorite—it’s disgusting and filled with trash—but it saves time. Time I desperately need as a single mom.
Especially on mornings like this—when every second matters.
I turn into the alley—my least favorite part of this route—when I see it.
Blood. A dark pool of it, glistening on the cracked pavement. My stomach twists. My body locks in.
Instinct screams at me to turn around, to leave before I become part of a murder scene—but my feet won’t move.
And then I see them. And they? They’re watching me, too. As if they’d been waiting forsomeoneto arrive. Someone to see this cruel, bloody scene.
The two men stand over the body sprawled on the ground, their faces sharp and unfamiliar yet… oddly recognizable.
I’ve seen them somewhere before. But I can’t place where.
One of them—taller, long dark-haired, and broad-shouldered—looks startled as our eyes meet. The other, blonde with a jagged scar and a constant scowl, lets out an irritated sigh.
“Why the fuck does this have to happen today? On a Monday morning, at that,” the blonde one mutters, running a hand through his hair. The scar on his cheek twitches as he scowls.
How comforting. At least I’m not the only one who hates Monday mornings.
Fuck. I should run. I should sprint back the way I came. But my body won’t listen.
My gaze drops to the man on the ground, writhing in pain, his shirt soaked with blood.
“Did you shoot him?” The words slip out before I can stop them, my voice barely above a whisper.
The blonde guy’s eyes snap to mine—sharp, cold. “No,” he says curtly. “He is our friend.”
Friend or not, he’s dying.
I step closer, heart pounding. Their eyes track my every move, but I ignore them.
I can help him. I have to try, at least.
Without a word, I rip the scarf around my neck off and kneel beside the injured man, my knees soaking in the blood.
It sends a shiver through me, but I push the feeling aside. My scarf was expensive. But I don’t care right now. I press it firmly against the wound in his stomach.
“Listen to me,” I say, voice shaking, looking up at the men in front of me. “I’ll do what I can, but this isn’t enough. He needs a hospital. You need to call an ambulance. Now.”
The men exchange a look. And then, right when I expect them to get their phones out, the taller one shakes his head. “We can’t,” he snaps.
I scoff. “What do you mean, you can’t?” I look up at them, incredulously. “God. You’re insane. Takemyphone, just call someone!Just do something!”
The man’s jaw tightens. “We. Can’t. Are you deaf, woman?”
