Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel #1)(7)

No. Get a move on.

Quickly, I scrambled out of the window. Was that the murmur of voices out in the hallway, or was I imagining things?

No, they were out there. I could hear them at the door.

Carefully, I closed the window behind me—they had no way to know I was definitely here. No point in leaving them a big blinking arrow indicating which way I’d run. I left the iron bars open because of the betraying squeak, but they weren’t visible unless someone stuck their head out the window. Besides, loads of people in the building kept their bars open at the fire escape—it was the best place to smoke.

With a last, brief look back at my old home, I stared down at the alley. I was only one level up, and I could lower the ladder to get down. But that would make more noise.

I should just jump it.

“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming,” I whispered to myself.

Then I jumped, landing hard in a crouch. I couldn’t head toward the front street—there would definitely be cops out there. But the back street might be okay.

I hurried down the alley on swift, silent feet. The cold night air kept my head clear and my senses alert. As I neared the main road, I slowed and stuck close to the wall.

At the end, I paused and peeked around the corner.

Looked clear.

Even better, a drunken hen party was headed my way. Ten girls, all dressed in sparkly dresses and boas out to celebrate. The bride wore a crown and a sash that said Last Night A Free Woman.

“Don’t get married then, idiot,” I muttered, then cringed. I was being a total Bitter Betty, and these girls were just having fun.

If I were being honest, I was lonely and a bit jealous of their easy friendship. I missed Beatrix.

I joined them as they passed me, trying to blend with the crowd. It was the tail end of the night, closer to dawn than midnight, and they were probably headed home.

Though the hen party was too wasted to notice that I’d joined them, no one else would buy it. I didn’t fit in with my black jeans and battered black leather jacket. More like a dour cousin forced to celebrate with them, but it was better than nothing.

I huddled amongst them and let them carry me down the street, glancing back to see a cop car pull around to the back of the building.

They should have covered this exit before going into the front.

Thank God they hadn’t.

When the girls turned into a club that was blasting Bon Jovi, I felt my eyebrows rise. Apparently, I’d been wrong. The party girls were still partying, even at this insanely late hour.

I need to get more of a life.

I added it to my to-do list, putting it right after clearing my name of murder. Easy peasy.

I followed them into the packed club, where music blared and colored lights flashed. The whole place smelled of booze and sweat, and the crowd was heaving on the dance floor. My group surged toward the long bar at the back, and I split off, veering toward what I hoped was the rear exit.

Honestly, I’d rather follow the hen party to the bar. I’d have a quick shot of vodka—which I hated, though it definitely got the job done—and then I’d dance the night away and forget my current troubles. Getting lost in the oblivion of this place sounded a hell of a lot better than being on the run from the law.

But that wasn’t my life. And I was on the run.

“Better pick up the pace,” I muttered.

I pushed my way through the press of bodies, aiming for the far corner and a nondescript door.

I was almost there when I got caught between two drunk guys.

“Hey, pretty bird,” slurred one of them, his hands going immediately to my hips. He gripped me hard, pulling me toward him.

A streak of anger blasted through me.

“Don’t touch me.”

I kneed him in the balls, and he bent over with a grunt of pain.

“No fair!” shouted his friend, so drunk that his eyes were nearly crossed.

“Fair? This isn’t a freaking game, moron. And no one touches me without my permission.”

Especially when I was jumpy and trying to outrun the cops.

I hurried away, slipping into a hallway that led to the toilets. I strode into the women’s, ignoring the two girls drunkenly fixing their lipstick in the mirror.

I tossed my pack on the counter and dug through it for my hoodie. Shrugging out of my leather jacket, I pulled the hoodie on, then flipped the hood up. Last, I tugged the jacket on over the hoodie and zipped up my bag.

“You’re too pretty to cover your face,” one of the girls slurred. Her blonde hair was a wild mess from dancing, but somehow, she’d got her red lipstick on perfectly. That was a handy skill.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You on the run?” the dark-haired one asked, her blue eyes keenly assessing me.

I nodded, mind racing. “Bad boyfriend.”

Her face fell. “I know how that is.” She fumbled in her purse, and I thought she was reaching for more makeup. Instead, she pulled out a small wad of cash and thrust it toward me. “Here.”

I stared at it like she was trying to hand me a snake. “What’s that for?”

“To help you get away.”

The blonde dug into her own bag and shoved a Mars bar at me, then said apologetically, “It’s all I’ve got.”

My throat tightened. Drunk girls in bathrooms were the best people on earth.