Page 8 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
“At least I provide a service when I take their money.”
So she thought I’d gotten paid for being there, that I’d made a deal and then backed out. It wasn’t the truth, but I didn’t bother correcting her. It didn’t matter how she thought I’d ended up there. All that mattered was that I was out now. And I would never go back.
We stopped at a metal pad outside the wrought-iron gate, a little green light the only illumination besides the moon. She typed in a number, and the gate rattled open. Whoever this was, Shelly knew him, and knew him well. She pulled the car into the circular drive as the gate closed behind us.
The engine popped under the hood as it cooled. Shelly wiped her palms on her dress.
She’d had nothing but confidence since I met her. Now she looked scared.
“You seem…nervous,” I told her, which was a charitable description.
Her lips pressed together. She said nothing, which only made me nervous too.
I glanced at the forbidding facade of the mansion. “I mean, why wouldn’t you come here first—a loaded guy like this in your address book?” Not just a man she knew. One she knew well enough to have a security code. “Unless he’s really bad.”
“He’s my friend,” she said, her voice somehow small. “It’s just that…well, he might be upset with me.”
Shit. “What’d you do?”
“I sold him out.” She sighed, resigned. “Almost got him killed.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know much about powerful criminals, but I would have thought that was a death sentence for her. She seemed to know it too, her expression chillingly blank.
We were both tense as we approached the front door. A man in a smart vest and slacks answered the door. His clothes looked expensive enough, his eyes jaded enough, but he didn’t quite exude power. And definitely not anger. He seemed more bored than anything.
“Philip’s not here,” he said, and I couldn’t help a quiet sigh of relief. I didn’t want to meet this man—a man who could inspire fear in a woman as self-assured as Shelly.
Except I could feel Shelly’s panic—and I knew that we had nowhere else to go.
“But you’re free to wait here until he returns.”
*
WE WAITED IN some kind of living room, the oversize molding and furniture making me feel small. Shelly kicked off her shoes and curled up on the sofa, falling asleep within minutes. Apparently it had been a bad night for her.
I was right there with her, dark memories following me into sleep, crowding my nightmares.
I dreamed of men’s leering faces and cruel words. I dreamed of rough hands and lingering pain. I dreamed of a warm weight on top of me—and I fought it. Just like before, I kicked and punched, determined to fight my way out.
“Shhh,” came a voice I didn’t recognize. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
My vision slowly cleared from sleep, blurry shapes sharpening into a man. He wore a white dress shirt, slightly rumpled but clearly well fit on his powerful frame. His gaze took in everything—from my tangled hair to my messy makeup to the bruises on my wrists.
And he was holding a blanket.
That had been the weight I dreamed about. He wasn’t going to hurt me.
This must be the man we came to see. The man who owned this mansion. The man more dangerous than the one who hunted us now.
“You’re Philip.”
He gave me a small smile. “And you are?”
I shrugged, only half-awake. “She calls me Ella.”
He glanced at Shelly, who was asleep on the couch. “Why did she bring you here?”
Would he kick us out? If he did, I’d have nowhere to go. Nowhere safe. I’d be lost. But even more than myself, I was worried for Shelly. She had betrayed him, she said. Sold him out. He might kill her—and she’d risked so much for me already.
