29. SARA

I knew it. When I asked Chance if he was hiding anything, he lied to my face.

Of course, I lied to his face right before that, so I guess we’re even. We’re both hiding something. The difference is, I’m actively searching for his secret.

“Where we goin’?” Tre slurs as the limo pulls up outside the pub. “’Nother bar?”

“You’re all going home,” Chance says. “Take tomorrow off, buddy. Sleep in.”

Grace pipes up: “Maybe I should make sure Tre gets into his place okay.”

I glare at her. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I guess not,” she grumbles. “Just askin.’ Try to help somebody…”

Chance puts a hand on the driver’s shoulder.

“Make sure Tre’s is your last stop, okay?”

As they chat, Kelsey sidles up to me.

“I like Chance,” she says. “It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you two have a history together.”

I can’t help but smile. I trust Kelsey more than my own sister; her opinion means a lot to me.

“I have no idea where we’re going with this,” I say. “It’s like we’re driving through a forest in the dark without any headlights.”

She chuckles and shakes her head.

“You think it’s any different for the rest of us? It’s always a gamble, sweetie. The question is whether you’re willing to spin the wheel and accept the consequences, good or bad.”

Am I willing to spin the wheel? And even if I am willing, am I even capable of spinning it? I honestly don’t know.

What I do know is that Chance is coming back to my place right now. And we’ll see what happens from there.

We both wave as the limo’s taillights fade into traffic. Chance turns to me and smiles.

“So,” he says. “Your place.”

“Yup. It’s about four blocks this way.”

Strolling through the glow of the streetlights makes me think of the other night, when we were headed to Chance’s house. I can’t help but draw an unflattering comparison in my head.

“Just so you know, my place isn’t a greystone,” I say.

“Is it bigger than a storeroom?” he asks.

“Yes,” I grin. “It’s bigger than a storeroom.”

“Then I’m looking forward to it.”

I take his arm was we wander for a few blocks, stopping every now and then to look in storefront windows. The neighborhood isn’t great, but there are lots worse in Chicago. Plenty worse in Philly, too.

“How far now?” he asks as we cross the entrance to an alleyway.

“That’s far enough,” says a voice from the shadows.

Suddenly Chance’s hand is on my waist, pushing me behind him.

“What are you doing?”

Before he can answer, I see four men in hooded sweatshirts walking toward us from the alley.

“We saw you with the limo,” says the one in front. None of their faces are visible in the shadows of the tenements on either side of the alley. “Give me your wallet.”

Chance holds up a steadying hand while he reaches into his sport jacket pocket with the other.

“No problem, man,” he says calmly. “It’s all yours.”

Suddenly one of the others is moving toward me, reaching for my purse.

“Whatcha got in there?” he asks as he yanks on the strap. The sudden jerk pulls me along with it, making me lose my balance.

“Hey!” Chance barks. “Don’t touch her!”

“Or what, motherfucker?” the guy yells. “You gonna do something about it?”

“No,” I say, glaring at Chance. “He’s not going to do anything.”

Chance waits a beat while I take a breath.

“I’ll do it for him,” I say as I stomp the heel of my pump into the guy’s instep. He shrieks in pain until I drive my right elbow into the bridge of his nose. Then there’s only a wet crunching sound.

“What the fuck – ” the guy in front manages to say before Chance’s fist pile-drives into his mouth. Chance follows it up with knee to the groin, a stomp kick to the inside of the knee, and finally a wristlock that sends the guy face-first into the pavement.

I finish off my guy with a punch to the throat, then spin to face the other one nearest me. Meanwhile, Chance has the remaining attacker in a chokehold, slowly passing out.

I drop into my kickboxing stance. “You can run now if you want,” I say.

The .38 Special is out of his pocket and pointing at me before I even see his hand move.

“I’m not runnin’ anywhere, bitch.”

My heart barely has time to skip a beat before I hear the sickening clank of metal hitting bone. As the gunman drops to his knees, I see Chance standing behind him, holding a length of hollow steel fence pipe like a Louisville slugger.

“Thanks,” I say, tasting the tang of adrenaline in my mouth.

“Oorah,” he says. He’s not even breathing hard as he kneels down to pick up the gun.

“Empty,” he says, weighing it in his palm. “These guys are punks. Do you want to call the police?”

“I never have before,” I say. “It always complicates things.”

“You’ve done this before?” he asks, eyes wide.

“I return missing girls,” I say with a shrug. “The people they sometimes end up with usually aren’t too keen on handing them over peacefully.”

He shakes his head and looks at the bodies lying in heaps on the asphalt.

“Wow,” he breathes. “You were seriously badass.”

“So were you,” I say, trying to slow my breathing.

He pulls me closer and runs his hands along my face and torso.

“Everything okay? No injuries?”

“Nope. You?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want this to ruin the rest of our evening.”

He goggles at me for a few moments and then shakes his head, grinning.

“Seriously badass,” he breathes

“Like the old song on the radio in the storeroom used to say, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

I take his hand and lead him down the street to my apartment.