Page 19 of Creole Kingpin
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My heart slams into my chest, but my brain shifts into survival mode.
I don’t know who he was, why he was here, or what he wanted, but I know one thing for sure—I don’t want anything to do with that knife-happy motherfucker, and I need to get the hell out of here.
The slice on my left side sears me with pain as it oozes blood. I cover it with my hand as I stop in front of my condo door and drop my clutch and the knife I didn’t even realize I was still holding on the floor, letting my keys spill out. Once I have them in my sticky red fingers, I open the door as quickly as possible. Kicking my purse and the knife inside, I lock the dead bolt behind me.
But I’m not staying.
I hit my closet first and grab a duffel bag. It’s already filled with everything I might need to make a run for it. Next stop is my office and the safe. I scoop up my book, cash, and weed and toss them inside the duffel. Finally, I rush into the bathroom and grab my first aid kit forspecialemergencies and a towel. I wrap the knife up and toss it into the bag too.
My side burns like a motherfucker, but I force the pain out of my mind as I wash my hands, slip on a black caftan over my clothes that swirls around my ankles, and snag a floppy hat.
I’m out of my condo in less than three minutes. On the way to the stairwell, I yank the fire alarm.
Chaos is good.
Moments later, I’m hustling down the stairs to the parking garage amid a crowd of frantic residents rushing outside.
My heels click against the pavement as I breathe in exhaust and gasoline fumes, but I don’t go for my Lexus.
It’s a gut feeling. Something I can’t explain. But until I know if that dude in the elevator was coming for me or just anyone who happened to be riding up, I’m not taking any chances. My Lexus is too flashy and noticeable, and I’m feeling paranoid as shit right now. Instead, I trek to a corner spot and slide a key into the door of a black Honda Accord I keep for emergencies, complete with a car seat in the back to blend in.
I toss my duffel in the front seat and get the fuck out of Dodge before I can even hear the sirens that’ll be coming next.
Ten
Moses
People pour out every door of Magnolia’s condo building as an alarm blares, and my unease hits new heights.
“Something isn’t right,” I tell Jules, who sits in the driver’s seat.
“It’s just a fire alarm. You want me to go in and check her place? She’s probably outside already.”
I shake my head. We hadn’t seen Magnolia leave—sneaky woman—so it surprised us both when she got out of a car in front of the condo building a few minutes ago.
“No ... timing is off. Something’s wrong. We’re both going in.”
I’m out of the car before Jules can even get his door open. I don’t ignore gut instincts, ever. That’s how people get dead.
We catch the open front door as people stream out, and the first thing I notice in the lobby is a blood smear on the elevator door and a trail leading toward a door markedService,right beside it.
“What the fuck?” I point at it. “You follow the blood. I’m going to get her out if she isn’t already.”
Jules doesn’t hesitate and goes into tracking mode. “Got it. On it.”
We separate as I dash up five flights of stairs, dodging the people still coming down.
When I reach Magnolia’s end of the hall, the first thing I notice is blood on her knob and door, and another smear on the floor.
“Fuck.” Now my instincts are going wild. Doors are slamming around me as people run to get out of the building, but I know there’s no fire. Whatever happened tonight, Magnolia’s involved, and I gotta find her.
I pound on the door, but there’s no answer. “Magnolia! Open the fucking door.”
Still no answer.
I whip out a credit card, and a few seconds later, I’m inside. I should have known that she wasn’t here, because the chain and dead bolt weren’t set. And for her not to lock the dead bolt as she left? That tells me she hauled ass out of here as fast as she could.
