Josie is a sales associate by day and a lollipop-sucking hacker by night. She likes to stay in and feel the keys underneath her fingertips. When she decides to grace her friends at a club, she stumbles across a man who seems to send every part of he...
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"Mom, I'm heading to the cafe to do some work. Do you want me to bring you back anything?" I walk out of my room to find my mother lounging on the sofa. She looks livelier now that we aren't in the States, and she doesn't have to work anymore. After I woke up on the jet, knowing that Kade had just disposed of me the way he did made me realize that just because I have daddy issues does not mean that I have to stick around and be someone's toy.
"No, pumpkin, just take care of yourself," Mom calls out, her voice tinged with that classic motherly worry.
"I always do," I kiss her cheek and leave the apartment. I still can't believe it. I freaking live in Singapore now. When I thought of a place to hide with my mother, I knew choosing a place in America would be the obvious choice, but Singapore, of all places, no one would think to look. Of course, I had to lie to my mother and tell her I had been sent here for work. She didn't question it, but I know in the back of her mind she knows something doesn't add up. But the bills are paid, and we want for nothing, thanks to Kade depositing that money in my account.
As I make my way down the bustling streets of Singapore, the humid air sticks to my skin like a second layer. The city is vibrant, filled with a blend of modern skyscrapers and traditional shops that scream colors and foreign scents. My feet lead me to this quaint little cafe I've grown fond of, nestled between a noodle house and a chic boutique with more frills than necessary.
I order my usual—an iced matcha latte—and snag the corner table that gives me a clear view of the entrance and the street. You know, just in case. I'm no Bond girl, but paranoia comes free with my new lifestyle. I mean, it's been four months, but you never know.
As I pop open my laptop, ready to dive into the latest freelance project alias, Life Fund Generator. There is a commotion by the doorway, which pulls me away from the screen. A group of burly men storm in, their eyes scanning the room like hawks. My heart starts thumping wildly, and I duck slightly, pretending to fish for something in my bag while keeping an eye through my peripheral vision.
One of them—a tall guy with a scar running down his left cheek—makes eye contact with me. Fuck me! He starts walking toward me. I slide my hand into my bag, fingers wrapping around the pepper spray I've started carrying around. Just as I'm about to make a stand—probably more dramatic in my head—a hand clamps down on Scar-Face's shoulder.
"Don't spook her, Dante; she's just a kid." A man says, and my eyes move toward him. Wow, he is handsome—ruggedly so, with a jawline that could probably be used to cut glass and eyes so dreamy that I might just do anything he ask. I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding and watch as the man, clearly the leader, nods curtly at my would-be killer, who backs off immediately. "Whatever you have your hand on in that bag, I advise you to move it. You won't make it out of her alive if you do something stupid." He continues as he takes a seat opposite me.
I nod slowly, my fingers loosening their death grip on the pepper spray. "Not a killer? Just a girl with a laptop and a severe addiction to matcha," I manage to quip, attempting to inject some humor into the situation to calm my fraying nerves.
