Chapter 3 - FOOTSTEPS IN THE ALLEY
I woke up to the sound of breaking glass.
I bolted upright from the armchair, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The digital clock on my microwave read 6:15 A.M. I had only been asleep for forty minutes. On the sofa, Kaelen’s eyes were already open, bright and alert despite the gray pallor of his skin. He had his matte black handgun gripped loosely in his right hand, the barrel resting against his thigh.
“Someone is downstairs,” he whispered, his voice a gravelly rasp.
“It’s Sullivan,” I whispered back, panic rising in my throat. “He’s opening the diner.”
“No,” Kaelen said, slowly pushing himself up to a seated position, wincing as his freshly stitched muscles pulled. “Old men don't move like that. Heavy boots. Two sets. They’re kicking in the office door.”
He was right. A second later, a loud crash echoed up through the floorboards. They were tearing the diner apart. I grabbed the twins' makeshift crib and slid it into my tiny, windowless bathroom, pulling the shower curtain closed. If bullets started flying through the floor, the cast-iron bathtub was their best chance.
“Give me your phone,” Kaelen ordered. I handed it to him without thinking. He dialed a number from memory, his thumbs flying across the screen. He spoke in a language I didn’t recognize—Russian, maybe, or Chechen. It was harsh, guttural, and fast. He hung up and tossed the phone onto the cushion.
“My extraction is coming, but they are an hour away. We have maybe three minutes before those men figure out the backdoor leads to the upstairs apartments.” He looked at me, his icy eyes completely devoid of fear. “You need to leave, Ella. Go out the fire escape. If they find you with me, they won't just kill you. They’ll take their time.”
I looked at the door. I looked at the fire escape window. Then I looked at the bathroom where Leo and Mia were sleeping.
“I’m not leaving my apartment,” I said, marching into the kitchen and grabbing the largest butcher knife from my block. “And you’re in no shape to fight off two armed hitmen.”
“Ella—”
“Shut up and get behind the kitchen island,” I snapped. “I know these stairs better than they do. The fourth step squeaks like a dying rat. If they come up, we’ll hear it.”
For the first time, Kaelen Vance looked genuinely taken aback. He stared at me, then at the knife in my hand, and a grim, bloody smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’re a terrifying woman, Ella Harper.”
We waited in suffocating silence. Below us, the sounds of destruction continued—plates shattering, chairs being overturned. They were looking for something. Or someone. Then, the inevitable happened. Heavy footsteps paused at the bottom of the back stairwell.
Creak.
The first step.
I tightened my grip on the knife, my palms sweating. Kaelen raised his gun, aiming it dead center at the wooden door.
Creak. Creak.
They were coming up.
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Suddenly, a police siren wailed in the distance, growing rapidly louder until the screech of tires echoed from the street directly in front of the diner. The footsteps on the stairs stopped. Muffled curses drifted up through the floorboards. A few seconds later, the back alley door slammed open and shut, followed by the roar of an engine speeding away.
I dropped the knife on the counter, my legs giving out as I slid to the linoleum floor, burying my face in my hands. We had survived the morning. But the men who came looking for Kaelen Vance were not the kind to give up easily.
