Chapter 1
SOLENE
2:30. Be there.
I read the message once, my thumb hovering over the screen before I locked my phone and slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans.
1:56 a.m.
Thirty-four minutes.
My eyes moved to the clock above the shelves behind the bar, then back to the room. Almost empty. A few abandoned glasses were scattered across the counter, the music had been turned low, and one last customer sat near the window with his shoulders hunched over his drink.
Good.
I gathered the empty glasses and carried them toward the sink.
“Solene.”
I looked over my shoulder.
Adrian stood near the end of the bar with his jacket already on and his keys hanging loosely from one hand. His attention moved from me to the glasses.
“You’re done for tonight.”
“I still have a few things to finish.”
“I can take care of them.”
I lowered the glasses carefully into the sink and reached for the cloth beside me. “It’ll take five minutes.”
When I looked back, Adrian hadn’t moved. He leaned one shoulder against the counter, watching me with the expression he usually wore when he knew arguing with me probably wouldn’t get him anywhere.
“You’re here again tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you closed yesterday.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to take every shift I offer you.”
“I know that too.”
I kept wiping the counter.
Adrian knew I needed the hours. I’d never told him why, and to his credit, he had stopped asking a long time ago. He simply gave me the shifts whenever they were available, sometimes without me even asking.
“Let me drive you home.”
I shook my head before he finished speaking. “I’ll walk.”
His lips pressed together. “It’s late.”
“It’s fifteen minutes.”
“That’s still fifteen minutes at two in the morning.”
“I do it all the time. It’s fine, Adrian.”
He watched me for a moment, his expression softening in that familiar way I pretended not to notice. Adrian had never actually said anything, but sometimes he found reasons to stand beside me when there was plenty of space elsewhere, or looked at me a little longer than necessary.
I noticed.
I just never acknowledged it.
It was easier that way.
He ran his thumb along the edge of his keys before glancing toward the dark front windows. “At least send me a message when you get in.”
“Okay.”
The answer came easily.
Too easily, considering I had no intention of going home.
His eyes narrowed slightly, like something in my voice had caught his attention, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he pushed away from the counter and slipped the keys into his pocket.
“Don’t stay much longer.”
“I won’t.”
He hesitated briefly before nodding. “Night, Solene.”
“Goodnight.”
At 2:09, the last customer finally left. Five minutes later, Adrian followed.
I stayed where I was until his headlights came on and his car pulled away from the curb. Only when his taillights disappeared around the corner did the tension in my shoulders ease.
I moved quickly. Apron off. Jacket on. Tips shoved into the inside pocket of my bag.
My phone vibrated.
2:30.
A second message appeared beneath it.
Rear entrance.
I stared at the words for a moment before putting the phone away.
The bar suddenly felt too quiet.
I switched off the final row of lights and stepped outside, the lock clicking behind me.
Home was to the right.
I turned left.
The building looked worse at night.
Half the streetlights were broken, leaving long stretches of pavement in shadow, and graffiti covered most of one wall, black paint running across old brick.
I slowed as I approached, one hand slipping into my pocket around my phone. I checked the address again.
Correct.
2:27.
Three minutes early.
A man stood beneath the weak yellow light above the rear entrance, dressed in a dark jacket with his hands in his pockets and one foot resting against the wall behind him.
I’d met him once before.
I didn’t know his name, and he didn’t know mine.
At least, I hoped he didn’t.
He lifted his head as I approached, looking me over before settling on my face.
The corner of his mouth moved as he pushed away from the wall and glanced at the watch around his wrist.
“You’re early.” His eyes returned to me. “I like people who follow instructions.”
Something about the way he said it made my shoulders stiffen. Not the words themselves. The look that came with them.
“Only three minutes.”
His smile widened slightly. “Still counts.”
I didn’t answer.
He watched me for another second before turning toward the open doorway behind him and dragging out a black duffel bag.
It was larger than the last one.
Much larger.
He dropped it near his feet with a dull thud.
“How much?”
“Twelve hundred.”
He said it casually, like twelve hundred was nothing.
I kept my attention on the bag. “What do I have to do?”
“Take it to the address I send you.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
His expression gave me nothing.
I held out my hand. “Money first.”
One of his eyebrows lifted before he gave a short laugh and reached inside his jacket.
“You really don’t trust anyone.”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Amusement flickered across his face. “Smart.”
He handed me an envelope. I opened it and counted every note once, then again while he stood there watching.
I didn’t care.
Twelve hundred.
Only then did I close the envelope and slide it deep inside my bag.
The man nudged the duffel toward me with the toe of his shoe.
I bent down and grabbed the strap.
The weight yanked my arm lower than I expected, my knees bending slightly before I caught myself. I tightened both hands around the strap and lifted it higher.
Something shifted inside with a heavy thud.
I froze.
I had no idea what was in there.
And I didn’t want to know.
The faint amusement disappeared from the man’s face.
“Changed your mind?”
I looked down at the bag, then back at him. “No.”
His eyes stayed on me for a second, taking in the way I held the strap.
“Then keep moving.”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
I adjusted the strap higher over my shoulder.
His attention dropped briefly to the way I was holding the bag before that faint smile returned.
It wasn’t friendly.
He knew exactly what had gone through my head.
And he knew I was still going to take it.
“Good.”
He stepped backward toward the doorway while I shifted the weight against my hip and turned to leave.
“One thing.”
I stopped.
He stood half inside the building now, one hand resting against the doorframe.
“Don’t open it.”
A cold feeling settled low in my stomach, my fingers tightening around the strap.
“I don’t.”
He held my gaze.
“Keep it that way.”
Then the door closed.
The lock clicked from the other side.
I stayed there for a few seconds with the bag hanging heavily against my hip.
My hand moved toward the zipper, then stopped halfway.
I could open it.
Or I could leave the bag right there beneath that ugly yellow light and walk home.
For a second, I pictured myself doing exactly that.
Then Friday flashed through my mind.
The payment.
The notebook hidden inside my kitchen drawer, page after page filled with numbers that never seemed to get smaller no matter how much I paid.
My hand dropped away from the zipper.
I adjusted the bag against my shoulder and started walking.
Don’t ask. Don’t look. Deliver it. Get paid. Leave.
That was all this was.
It had to be.
Because if I started asking questions, I might have to admit that I already knew enough to stop.
And stopping wasn’t something I could afford yet.
A few more weeks. Maybe two months.
Then I’d be gone.
