"What's a sweet woman like you doing here all by herself?" His voice is low and raspy, it's hot. He reaches down and tucks a strand of my hair behind my left ear, waiting for my reply.
"I'm not sweet. Go back to your table." I tell him firmly. A gl...
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15 hours. It's been 15 hours since my impromptu meeting with Vincent and less since I last spoke to Zayn. That means I have 9 hours left. 9 hours to locate a phone that appears to have vanished into thin air or- god knows.
At this point, I feel like a dead girl walking. I've searched everywhere; Zayn's car, the clothes I wore that night, the bags of weapons that were recovered and the alley of the club. There's literally no place else to look.I've been through every scenario I can think of and nothing, zip, nada and any other way of saying it.
I've been sat on the musty blue couch in my apartment for the last 3 hours trying to make a game plan.
I found this couch on the corner of a street when I first got my own place, it looked charming so Zayn and I lugged it a few blocks over, up two staircases and here we are. One man's trash is another's treasure.
Zayn once told me that phrase was created with me in mind. I don't know exactly whether it was a compliment or not, but I like to think so. I like to think that what he was trying to say that even if others don't, he likes me.
The only part of this current circumstance I can't seem to accept is leaving him with no explanation. I know I can't involve him in this because even though I know I didn't steal it, I haven't exactly been out of trouble lately.
I get up, making myself another shitty coffee while looking over the files and reports that I took home. I guess it wouldn't hurt to go take another look around the club and the alley, at least that way I'm not just sat around moping.
I gulp down some of my coffee and grab some old jeans and a sweater out of the pile of clothes on my dinner table, which currently resembles the leaning tower of Pisa.
I shove them on lazily while stopping to take sips of my coffee; maybe I should try something stronger to actually keep me awake.
I pull my hair out the back of my sweater, letting it hang over my shoulders once more. I grab a suspiciously murky looking glass off my counter and fill it with a shot worth of vodka that I drink it in one, the slight burn of it rebooting my senses a little.
I finish the remaining coffee in my mug to mask the lingering taste from the vodka -even though the coffee doesn't taste any better- as I force my feet into my converse, not bothering to tie them and just tucking the laces inside each shoe.
On the way out the door, I grab my keys and phone, shoving them into my back pockets. My eyes catch on the sleek black piece sitting on my coffee table. Picking it up, I turn on the safety and wedge it down the waist band of my jeans. I make sure to adjust my sweater to cover its outline. Just incase, I tell myself.
I kick the door closed behind me and lock it. This is pretty much my last opportunity to be home before I have to return to Vincent, even if I don't go back he will send someone to me.
If most people were in my position they'd think about life insurance, saying goodbye to the family and making sure their property goes to who they want it to. At least I get to count my lucky stars that I don't have to sort that shit out; too much paperwork.
