Chloe kept her eyes squeezed shut. The heavy scent of Axel's cedarwood cologne slowly faded, replaced by the dry, scorching night wind of Las Vegas.
Time rushed backward two years. Twenty-year-old Chloe walked down a desolate back alley, far away from the glittering lights of the Strip. She wore a cheap, ill-fitting black mourning dress.
Her arms were wrapped tightly around a wooden urn and a framed photograph of her mother, Vanessa Sterling. She had just left the memorial vigil at a run-down chapel on the edge of town.
She had no money for a cab. The long walk had destroyed her feet. The stiff leather of her cheap heels rubbed her heels raw, and she could feel warm blood seeping into her stockings.
She stopped walking and leaned her shoulder against a brick wall covered in graffiti. She bent down, massaging her swollen, bleeding ankle.
A dull, heavy pop echoed from deeper inside the alley. It sounded like a gunshot muffled by a silencer.
Chloe flinched. Her body locked up. Her heart instantly shifted into a frantic, racing rhythm.
Instinct took over. She dropped to a crouch, hiding her body behind a massive green metal dumpster sitting by the curb.
She held her breath and carefully peeked her head around the rusted edge of the metal bin.
Under the sickly yellow glow of a broken streetlamp, a fat man in a loud floral shirt was on his knees. The ground around him was slick with foul-smelling dirty water.
The fat man, Paul Petrov, had his hands clasped together. Snot and tears ran down his face as he bowed repeatedly, begging for his life, screaming that he would give back everything.
Next to Paul stood a woman in a tight, revealing dress. She had both hands over her face, letting out a muffled, terrified shriek.
Standing over them was a tall, lean young man in a sharp gray suit. Dante Sinclair.
Dante wore a cynical, cold sneer on his face. In his right hand, he held a black Glock pistol fitted with a long suppressor.
He did not say a single word. He simply raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
A soft thwip cut through the air. The woman's scream stopped instantly. A dark red hole appeared right between her eyebrows, and she fell backward onto the pavement, stiff as a board.
Paul let out a horrific, pig-like squeal. He scrambled on his hands and knees, trying to crawl away through the trash.
Dante's eyes were dead. He lowered the barrel slightly and fired two rapid shots into Paul's broad back.
Paul's massive body twitched twice on the wet ground, then lay completely still in a growing pool of dark blood.
The thick, metallic smell of fresh blood drifted down the alley on the hot wind. Chloe's stomach churned violently. She slapped both hands over her mouth, fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit.
Her hands shook so badly she lost her grip. The heavy urn and the framed photo slipped from her arms.
The brass corner of the picture frame struck the side of the metal dumpster. In the dead silence of the alley, the sharp clang rang out like a church bell.
The second the sound hit the air, Dante snapped his head toward the dumpster. His eyes locked onto her hiding spot like a hunting leopard.
He raised the Glock. The black hole of the barrel pointed directly at the edge of the green bin.
"Who is there?" Dante barked, his voice like cracking ice.
Chloe's heart hammered against her ribs so hard it hurt. She knew she could not outrun a bullet.
She closed her eyes and took one deep, ragged breath. She forced her panic down, her brain screaming for a way to survive.
She quickly scooped her mother's photo back into her arms. She reached up and pulled the black hairpins from her head, letting her long hair fall in a messy tangle over her cheeks.
She stood up slowly. She purposely unfocused her eyes, letting her vision blur until everything became a fuzzy shape. She needed to look legally blind.
She bit the tip of her tongue hard, using the sharp pain to keep her face blank. Stumbling slightly, she stepped out from behind the dumpster.
She acted as if she saw absolutely nothing. She waved her free hand in the air in front of her, her voice trembling with manufactured confusion.
"Hello?" she mumbled, walking directly toward Dante. "Did my contact lens fall over there?"
