Chapter 3 Escape
Kira slipped through the back alleys for over an hour, cutting across empty lots and ducking behind dumpsters until her lungs burned and the adrenaline finally gave way for exhaustion to take its place.
Her tiny apartment was exactly as she had left it…one room with a hot plate, a sagging couch, and a bathroom the size of a closet. She locked the door behind her and leaned her back against it with her eyes closed.
She was safe. For now at least.
When she opened her eyes after a while, she noticed the pile of envelopes on the couch, and then laughed humourlessly. She had almost forgotten that they arrived before she left for work.
Bills. Always bills. She pulled off her sneakers and went to the couch, gathering them with numb fingers. Electric…final notice, red stamp glaring. Rent…sixty days past due. Phone…service suspension in three days. Credit card she’d maxed out on dance shoes and ramen. A flyer for a payday loan place with a smiling cartoon pig. Another reminder from the hospital about the ER visit last year when some drunk had broken a glass next to her on stage and a shard had sliced her thigh.
She dumped the stack on the milk crate that served as a coffee table, sorting them by importance. She didn’t even bother opening most of them anymore…she already knew what they said. Instead she sat heavily and Lola's warning.
Marcus’s blood was still under her fingernails, and she could still smell the champagne on her hoodie. The bruise on her breast throbbed with every heartbeat.
Her eyes were burning, but no tears came. She was too tired for tears.
Then one envelope from the pile caught her attention.
It was different from the others, and she was certain that she had never seen it before. It was thick cream stock, expensive, and made from the kind of paper that didn’t belong in a place like this. There was no window or no logo, just her name typed in elegant font…Miss Kira Thompson. The return address was embossed in subtle gold…Hawthorne, Blackstone & Leeds, Attorneys at Law, New York, NY.
Kira frowned. She didn’t know anyone in New York. She’d never been farther east than Dallas where her mother had abandoned her.
Curiosity soon overrode her exhaustion, and she tore it open to find a single note that was folded once. The letterhead repeated the firm’s name. Below it, was a message typed in black…
Dear Miss Thompson,
We regret to inform you of the passing of your mother, Mrs. Elena Hawthorne (née Thompson), on the 14th of June this year following a brief illness. Mrs. Hawthorne’s last will and testament names you as a primary beneficiary of her personal belongings, including substantial assets held in trust.
Your presence in New York is required as soon as possible. Enclosed is a prepaid debit card for immediate expenses.
We extend our deepest condolences.
Sincerely,
Edward Blackstone, Esq.
Kira read it twice. Then a third time.
Elena Hawthorne.
Her mother…Elena Thompson when Kira had last seen her…had apparently married some rich man, changed her name, and died of over six months ago without ever once trying to find the daughter she’d abandoned at sixteen years old. And now she was suddenly leaving her money.
Kira's hand began to shake with unimaginable anger. She had spent the last five years scraping by, dancing for drunks, dodging hands and worse, while her mother was busy living in luxury with a new name and a new husband who could afford lawyers with gold embossed letterhead.
A brief illness. Deepest condolences.
She laughed dismissively, forgetting about her predicament with Marcus and Reaper fro a moment.
“Fuck you,” she whispered to the letter. “Fuck your condolences, and fuck your money.”
Then she ripped it in half and dumped it in the waste bin. What she needed now was a shower…something to wash away the stench of Marcus's touch and the terrible night she had.
Her phone started ringing immediately she came out of the shower, and she hurriedly answered when she saw that it was Lola.
“Yeah?”
“Girl, listen to me,” Lola’s voice came frantically through the phone. “You gotta get out of town. Right now.”
Kira’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“It’s Marcus, Kira. He's woken up, and he’s screaming about you to anybody who’ll listen. Reaper has sent the Serpents, and they’re on their way to your place. They’re pissed, Kira. Like, really pissed.”
Kira's head spun wildly as she realized the trouble she was in. “How long do I have, Lola?”
“Minutes. Maybe less,” Lola's panicking voice said again. “I overheard them at the club…Tommy tried to calm them down, but Marcus kept saying you tried to kill him. They’re coming for blood.”
Kira didn't wait to hear anymore. She killed the call immediately and stuffed the phone into the pocket of her jeans, then pulled on a new hoodie and sneakers. There was no time for anything else.
She could now hear the low, guttural growl of motorcycles outside, and she knew they were here already. Going through the front door was no longer an option.
Kira ran to the window over the kitchen sink…the one that opened onto the rusted fire escape. She’d used it before to smoke when the landlord was on the prowl. It stuck at first, and she had to shove hard with her shoulder.
Behind her, boots thundered on the outdoor stairs. Voices…rough, drunk, and undeniably furious.
“Where’s the bitch?”
“I’m gonna carve my name in her before I fuck her corpse!”
It was definitely Marcus and his goons.
The front door exploded inward as a brutal kick crashed into it, and she saw Marcus with a knife in his hand followed by four huge monsters that were armed with clubs.
As soon as their eyes met, she swung one leg over the sill, then the other, dropping onto the fire escape and fleeing down the steps two at a time.
“She’s here!”
“Take the stairs!”
“Don't let her get away!”
Kira hit the last landing and vaulted the railing, dropping the final six feet. She landed hard, with pain shooting up her legs as they buckled, but she rolled and came up running. Years in the rough parts of Oklahoma had built her to be tough, and one little fall wasn't going to slow her down.
“Get her!”
“Don’t let the cunt run!”
An engine roared to life, but she didn't bother looking back to see who was coming after her. Her lungs were on fire again, but fear was a better fuel than adrenaline.
She hauled herself up a barbwire fence with desperate strength, ignoring the pain as barbs snagged her hoodie and tore the skin on her forearm.
Dogs started barking as she landed in someone's backyard, but she kept on running…over another fence, across an empty street, and into a maze of identical low budget complexes she knew by heart. Only when she was comfortably hidden in an abandoned car wash and couldn't hear the sound of bikes anymore did she stop to think.
She had no money beyond what was in her pocket. No car and no plan.
Her hand brushed something in her hoodie pocket…the torn letter. She had grabbed it without thinking as she fled.
Hawthorne, Blackstone & Leeds. New York.
A prepaid debit card had been mentioned…she hadn’t even looked for it in the wreckage of the envelope.
She almost laughed again. Almost threw the pieces away a second time.
Instead, she stuffed them back in her pocket.
The distant growl of motorcycles echoed somewhere through the night, searching for her.
Kira got up, wiped blood from her arm with her sleeve, and checked the time on her phone…4:57 am.
New York was a long way away.
But anywhere was better than here.
