Cruel Hearts (King’s Crossing #2)

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Stella

M y feet pound on the wet pavement, my backpack thumping against my lower back in time with my footfalls.

Everything is the same, but it all looks different. Storefronts have changed, shops are gone and new ones have taken their places. Only the street names tell me where I am—and the buildings that will stand forever. Maddox Industries towers above them all, and I force myself to look away.

My clothes stick to my skin, the August heat made worse by the humidity clogging the air.

A haze drifts over the dark sky, hiding the moon, and I push myself faster.

I don’t know where I’m going. Stupid that in all the planning, I didn’t get that far. Didn’t get beyond what I would do after I managed to escape.

Someone’s behind me.

In a dank alley, I duck into a random entrance, and the door opens when I tug on the handle. I don’t know where it leads, and I cower inside, the stink of garbage plugging my nose. Crouching, I hold my breath. I don’t know how long I should wait. I don’t know for sure someone is after me. Only the hairs standing up along the nape of my neck urged me to hide. I’ve gotten good at listening to my instincts.

He wouldn’t have let me get away that easily.

Shallowly, I breathe through my mouth. I don’t hear anyone on the street, and the hallway is silent behind me. It’s quiet except for my heart heaving in my chest.

My feet ache. I have no idea how long I’ve been running in the cheap shoes I changed into that I kept from the night he took me.

The old yoga pants and t-shirt stick to me like glue. God, it’s so hot.

I don’t have a phone, and I don’t have any money. I can’t ride a bus, but I have nowhere to go even if I could.

Pushing my back against the wall, I press my hand against my mouth to stifle a sob. This is better than being trapped like Rapunzel. A castle is still a prison if you’re not allowed to leave.

The one thing I know for absolutely sure is I should get out of King’s Crossing as fast as I can. Change my name and pray to God I can stay hidden and live some kind of normal life.

But I can’t do that.

I peek around the doorjamb. There’s nothing in the narrow alley except bags of trash and a rat nosing around the piles of garbage.

Securing my backpack, I ease out of the doorway. I feel so exposed without the cover of the building, but I keep moving forward. If I don’t, there was no reason to escape. Glancing over my shoulder, I scramble to think of a place where I can go. Someone who can help me.

Zane is always in the back of my mind, but because of the letter I mailed him, he’ll hate me for the rest of my life. If I didn’t love him so much, I would never look back.

I sacrificed myself for him once.

I have no choice but to do it again.

Heading east, I stick to the shadows.

I don’t want to bring her into this, but I need to find Quinn. If she’s not married and driving a minivan full of kids, she’ll help me, but it’s been five years and I wasn’t able to contact her. She could be more than a soccer mom. She could be a famous clothing designer. With the lifestyle she was living before I disappeared, she could be in jail.

She could be dead.

Coming from this direction, there’s no other way to reach the industrial park but to cross the Renegade River. I don’t like running on the bridge—there isn’t any protection. A lone biker, reflective lights flashing on the wheels, flies by, but he ignores me. I make it to the other side without incident, but I’m shaking when my feet touch solid ground. Huge barges float along the water, and I pause, mesmerized. So easily people take something like this for granted. The moon, the stars.

I was allowed outside.

Sometimes.

The industrial park in King’s Crossing changed too, and it’s difficult to find the building where I met Quinn so long ago.

I’m thirsty and hungry and I’ve been on the run all night, but if Quinn isn’t around, I’ll need to keep going.

Tears burn my throat. If I can’t find her, I’m fucked.

The straps on my worn backpack slide off my shoulders, and I stop for just a moment to tighten them. I can’t lose the bag or what’s inside. Finally, I have proof. Once I get it to Zane, I can leave King’s Crossing forever.

The warehouse where Quinn works sits in the distance. An enormous sign advertising Mick’s Auto Body is attached to the side disguising what really goes on under the roof.

Gravel crunches under my shoes, but I can’t be any quieter. There’s no one around—at least, it doesn’t feel like there is. A dog’s barking echos across the industrial park and a few more howl in response. Then someone shouts, “Jesus Christ, be quiet!”

I smile. My first real one in a long time.

It fades just as quickly as it appeared. I can’t let my guard down.

Ever.

I try a side door, and surprised it isn’t locked, I let myself into the warehouse. The door hinges squeal loudly as it thumps closed, and I cringe. Everyone in a five-block radius heard that. Crap. I’m betting my life Quinn’s still manufacturing knock-off purses, and she’s my only hope.

Security lights waver over the huge workspace. Workstation after workstation fill the concrete floor where the girls sew the purses together. But there’s no one here.

Or so I think until I feel the cold barrel of a gun pressed to my neck.

“What do we got here?” a man says close to my ear, reeking of cigarette smoke, his putrid breath fanning my face. If I could see him in the light, I wouldn’t be surprised if his teeth are rotting out of his head.

No one said counterfeiting Chanel purses was glamorous.

My throat constricts. My five years under Ashton Black’s thumb better not amount to being shot to hell because some trigger-happy SOB takes me out before I can do what I need to do.

“I’m looking for Quinn Sawyer,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

He shoves the barrel harder into my skin. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Stella. We were in foster care together.”

The asshole lowers the gun, and a sigh of relief rushes out of me.

“She told me about you. Couldn’t shut up. Said if I heard from you to let her know. Come on.”

The man’s obese, a dirty t-shirt straining over his belly, work pants falling, revealing the crack of his ass. He seems familiar, and I trust him. He leads me to an office and I stand next to a scarred metal desk, the fluorescent bulbs flickering above us. I squint, subtracting five years off his features and sixty pounds from his body. This could be the same guy Quinn worked with.

“Here, drink this.” He pushes a couple fingers of amber liquid in a dirty glass at me. I don’t want it, but I’m strung tighter than a guitar string. I found Quinn, and she’ll help. I need to relax. Things won’t be okay, but I’m not alone anymore. I sip the drink, and the guy glares at me.

“Do you know where she is?” I ask.

“She don’t work here no more, but she told me if you ever came back to give you whatever you wanted. I’ll let her know you’re here, and you can get some sleep while you wait. You look like shit.”

“Wait?” I ask numbly, his insult not upsetting me. I probably do look like crap after hiding on the streets all night.

“Boss promoted her. She runs a shop in New York City.”

Shit. This isn’t what I need, but I should have expected it. Quinn Sawyer, head of her own counterfeiting operation. In a strange way, I’m proud of her, and it could be to my advantage. After I’m done here, she can help me hide in New York.

I finish the drink and warmth travels through my body. I’m so tired. My feet drag as he leads me downstairs and through a maze to the room I vaguely remember when I visited Quinn before. When I first met Zane.

“You can sleep here.”

Hunger gnaws at my stomach. I haven’t eaten since dinner yesterday, but I don’t ask for food. I don’t want anything he’d give me.

Ash didn’t turn me into a snob, but I’d rather not die of food poisoning, either.

He steps into the hallway. “You on the run?” he asks, his voice full of suspicion.

“Yeah.”

“From who?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“You got yourself mixed up in some shit.”

That’s putting it mildly, but that’s what you get for thinking you’re good enough to associate with the rich and famous.

“Yeah.”

“Lock the door.”

“I will.”

Resting his hand on the metal doorknob, he pauses. He pulls the handgun out of the waistband of his jeans. “Take this. You know how to shoot?”

I shake my head, but I reach for the scuffed black gun he holds out to me, butt first. It’s heavier than it looks.

“Aim in the general direction, the closer the better. Shoot first, ask questions later, and pray it’s not a cop. If you need to get rid of it, wipe it clean and throw it in the river. Got it?”

I imagine shooting Ash Black right between the eyes. His mouth falling open in shock I would have the guts to do such a thing.

Oh, I would.

“Yeah.”

He closes the door, and I twist all the deadbolts, snicking them into place. I sink onto the dirty mattress, the tattered comforter a wad on the bed. I didn’t think to ask how long Quinn’s been in New York or why she would leave King’s Crossing if she was so worried about me.

I can only thank God she’s coming back, and I have a weapon. It’s more than I had five minutes ago.

I pull my backpack off and shove it under the bed. I wish there was a place I could hide the flash drive, but I feel better keeping it on my person. If I lose it, I lose everything I worked so hard for these last five years. Every second would be for nothing.

Zane’s hate would be for nothing.

I hide the gun under the flat pillow, my hand wrapped around the grip, and I fall asleep, my finger curled around the trigger.

A pounding on the door wakes me. Adrenaline bursts through my body and I bolt off the creaky bed. I slept harder than I thought I would.

Quinn shouts at me. “Stella! Wake up! Stella!”

I drop the gun onto a small table in the corner of the room and unlock the door, fumbling with every single one in my haste. I don’t have time to get a glimpse of her before I’m in her arms, her hands clutching at me as if I were a lost child suddenly found.

I hug her back, and she rocks me in the basement hallway of the fake purse warehouse. If Ash didn’t want me dead, if I wasn’t so fucking scared, it would have been touching she missed me so much.

Quinn leans away, tears dripping down her face.

Like the city, she looks the same, but different. I try to find comfort in the things that are familiar and strength in the things that have changed. Quinn has never been as soft as me, and I’ll need to learn from her. I have a target on my back, and unlike me, those people know how to shoot.

“Where have you been?” she cries, shaking me. “Five fucking years, Stella. Five . You drop off the face of the earth, and then all of a sudden the rags report you living the life in Italy.”

“What?” I don’t understand. The last thing I’ve been doing is living it up in Italy, and I have no clue where she could have gotten an idea like that.

Quinn waves off the question. “Come on. Luis said you’ve been here since early this morning.”

“What time is it?” God, how much time did I lose sleeping? I must have felt safe. For the first time in five years, I felt safe enough to let down my guard and actually sleep.

She reaches for my hand, but I jerk away and slide my backpack from underneath the bed. I can’t let it out of my sight. “It’s four in the afternoon,” she says, raising her eyebrows, the dark elegant arches matching her hair.

I slept twelve hours straight. No wonder Quinn had time to fly to King’s Crossing.

I follow her up the stairs to a small, grungy breakroom, and she pours me a cup of coffee and adds milk she grabs out of a dirty fridge.

Issues of the King’s Crossing Chronicle cover the stained tabletop, and I trace my finger over the thin paper, awed that after all this time information is once again within my reach. Ash didn’t give me access to the news or internet. What I know I picked up eavesdropping around the office. Anything I heard could have been truth or a lie.

She shoves me onto a metal chair and pushes a fast food bag at me. “Sorry. I didn’t have much notice, and I hit a drive- through on the way here. It’s all I could get my hands on.” She sinks into a chair across from me. “Stella, where have you been?”

I can’t answer. My mouth is full of cheeseburger and fries. I’ve never tasted food this good, though I can’t say I’ve never been this hungry. I have—plenty of times. I don’t speak until every last scrap is gone and I’ve washed it down, gulping my lukewarm coffee.

Understanding, Quinn waits patiently until I’m done, and she gently grasps my hand in both of hers and rubs her thumbs over my knuckles. Tears fill her eyes. “I missed you so much. So fucking much. I know we didn’t see each other a lot, and I told myself living in the same city was enough. Then rumors started circulating you ran off with an Italian prince, and it broke my heart you didn’t even bother to say goodbye—”

I interrupt her. I need to tell someone the truth. “Ashton Black locked me up. At Black Enterprises. He blackmailed me. Well, not me. I did it to protect Zane and Zarah.”

She blinks and her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Finally, she asks, her lips trembling, “What? You’ve been in King’s Crossing all along?”

“Yeah.”

On the sticky tabletop, Quinn rests her head on her arms and sobs.

I grip her hand and let her cry.

This isn’t going to be easy. For anyone.

She lifts her head, and using one of the greasy napkins that came with my meal, she wipes her cheeks and blows her nose. “I should have looked for you longer, harder. Goddammit! ” She slams her hand against the table. “I knew when you told me about those fucking Maddoxes. I just knew you were going to get messed up in a pile of shit.”

“Shh. Calm down. I don’t blame you. Even if you’d looked harder, Ash made me disappear and there was no chance you could have found me. Zane didn’t have anything to do with this.” I bite my lip. Well, if Zane hadn’t had such unshakable faith in his friend, he would’ve been easier to talk to.

Easier, hell.

I would have had a chance to say something.

Anything.

But there was no way he would have believed me no matter how much he said he loved me. I didn’t stand a chance against years of friendship between the two families.

Ash knew it.

Zarah knew it.

I paid for it.

“Then what happened? Can you tell me? Was it bad?” she asks, her voice shaking.

The industrial coffeepot still has coffee in it, and I stand and pour more. “All you need to know is Ashton Black is a liar. He used my love for Zane against me. Told me he would expose Zane’s parents. He said they were doing illegal black market arms deals, but I have proof it’s not true. Clayton Black is the one doing illegal shit, and a lot of it. I need to get a flash drive to Zane, and then I can take off. Hide. Change my name and pray Ash is too busy picking up the pieces, or better yet, in prison, to look for me.”

Quinn throws the fast food bag into a huge trash container near the door of the breakroom. “Then put it in the mail, and let’s get out of here. We can be on the next flight to New York. There’s not a better place to hide than in plain sight.”

The idea is tempting. To shove the flash drive into a bubble envelope, smack Zane’s address on it, and run.

“I can’t. I need to make sure he has it and understands what’s on it. Otherwise, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if it got lost in the mail or if he threw it away. This isn’t just about me and Zane. Someone needs to stop Clayton and Ash.”

“Then give it to me. Write a note, and I’ll deliver it to his building. You won’t have to put yourself at risk.”

She doesn’t understand.

“I want to see him, Quinn.”

“ Fuck that . After he let you vanish into thin air? After he let you rot, letting those fuckers do God knows what to you.” She gasps and her palm muffles a moan. “Were you abused?”

I sip my coffee. “I want to tell him I did it because I loved him. Ashton Black turned me into a prisoner, kept me as a slave, and cut me off from the world, but in those five years, he rarely laid a hand on me.”

Besides the stomach-churning kiss he gave me the night he showed me the room that would turn into my whole world, he never touched me like that. In some strange respect for Zane, maybe. He could have easily sold me as he had Zarah, but he didn’t. I wonder what happened to her. Married a rich guy who loves her. Living a fantasy life while I was locked up. She never tried to get me out. Ash would have taunted me with it if she had.

I push away the bitterness. Everything I did, I did for Zane. I have no regrets.

“He hit you.” Quinn reads me like she always has.

“Every once in a while. To keep me in line. It only took a couple of times to learn what made him angry. You know about that, Quinn.”

She lets out a huge sigh. “Yeah. That’s something, then. I’ll go with you, and we’ll drop it off at his building. I doubt you’ll get past his security. You may just have to leave it with a guard in the lobby.”

I hate the thought of doing anything with the flash drive but giving it directly to Zane and explaining what’s on it, but she’s right. I can’t wait for him to go home after work—he never has to leave the building. I could camp out on the steps for days, waiting to see him face to face, and that’s if security doesn’t peg me as a homeless woman needing a place to nap and kick me off the property or call the cops. “That will have to be good enough.”

“Then will you go to New York with me? Let me take care of you?” Quinn asks, brushing a piece of my dirty hair off my cheek.

How she still loves me after all this time should be a mystery, but it’s not. I’ll love Zane forever. It will never matter how much time goes by. I shouldn’t make promises to Quinn I won’t be able to keep, but I let myself step into her arms, let her press her lips to my temple. “We’ll get it to Zane, and then I’ll go with you.”

I don’t want to drag her into this mess, but I need help. Then we can disappear. She has connections and can have a new driver’s license and birth certificate made for me.

I’ve never felt like Stella Mayfair.

I don’t know who that person is.

Now I can leave her behind.