By the time she walked into her neighbourhood that night, it was already nearing 1 a.m. Her vision was blurry, her ankles were hurting like a bitch, and her entire body felt like it had been spun in a washing machine.
So, quite normal.
The project was around 90 per cent done, anyway. She had transferred it to her laptop and brought it home with her, hoping to finish it after getting a three-hour nap on her couch.
She looked sideways and an almost unfamiliar reflection smiled back at her from a telephone pole on the side of the road. Her red curls were a mess, her glasses were crooked, and her face looked drained of color. She stared at it for a moment.
It looked absolutely exhausted.
Though, the worst part of the day probably was that she could not just go ahead and have the magical cure of exhaustion invented by man—the expensive red wine in her fridge.
Cuz that was the rule. You can't smoke and drink on the same night.
Shayna pondered over why it was a rule in the first place. It wasn't like anybody was afraid of getting cancer or something.
They would probably be if they heard of the places you can get cancer in.
Ain't no way in hell am I losing this rack.
She slowly stumbled towards her porch, half afraid that she would wake any of her fucking multimillionaire neighbours.
They'd probably just think I am a raccoon or something.
I definitely look like one at the moment.
Her eyes caught her reflection again in the lower living room window. Her beautiful red curls were lying loosely all over the place while her very professional ponytail was now hanging with half the rubber band not even visible. Her glasses were crooked around her nose like an elementary school teacher, and her shoes..
My shoes.....
There was a black envelope with a chimaera emblem lying near her shoes in the reflection.
An emblem that she recognized all too well and which she had never, in a thousand nightmares, hoped would be delivered to her.
It was an official summons from the underworld.
There was only one purpose for the envelope. Questioning her regarding treason to the mafia.
Kind of an equivalent of telling on the cartel.
She stared at it for a long moment, her mind racing through a thousand possibilities. Had some enemy of hers fabricated evidence against her? Was this Lynx's doing? Or was it something even more serious?
But Lucas would never let that happen.
She knew it in her head. Lucas was a lot of things, but he wasn't this. He would never let her get caught up in something like this. Especially when he knew how they 'handled' their suspects.
Was Lucas forcing her to marry him because he was too tired of waiting? That was the only thing that would make sense.
She bent and picked it up with trembling hands, making sure to look around her before she did so.
"Be there by 9."
That was what underworld summons were usually like, not that official-looking crap they showed in movies.
It was organized crime, not the fucking court.
But it wasn't the letter that intrigued her. Instead, it was the small stamp underneath.
Why would Mairi's father detain me for treason?
It made no sense whatsoever.
She stared at the time on the envelope: 9 o'clock. There was no way she could fake another food poisoning incident.
Well, we'll have to figure something out.
Her eyes went back to the envelope in her hand, her stomach tightening into really painful knots.
Calm down, woman. Lucas is gonna handle this.
He's useless but still in love with me. Might as well put it to some good use.
...
The crack of dawn hit her sharper than a slashing whip. She got up, realizing that she had just collapsed on the living room floor right in front of the doorway.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly before a couple of pretty important things rushed to her still-dazed mind.
The project.
No, the summon!
Her eyes landed on the expensive clock in the corner of the room and her heart sank.
It was 8:45 a.m.
No time to lose, Shayna rushed to her room, putting on the first shirt she saw. She gave her electrified hair a few strokes before giving up and just tying a ponytail. Then she grabbed her gun and made a beeline towards her car.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her phone vibrated suddenly from the car seat. Shayna's face relaxed a little, hoping it was Lucas.
But it turned out to be Rebel.
"What the hell is happening?" Rebel's voice echoed from what felt like an empty chamber. "Why are you not picking up my calls? And why did you get a summon?"
"I don't know," Shayna whispered, her voice faltering. "I just came back from work yesterday and saw the wretched envelope on the porch."
"Why the fuck did I have to go to Switzerland right now?" Rebel cursed herself. "I should have fucking stayed there."
"Well, at least Lucas is here," Shayna reassured her.
There was a pin-drop silence on the other side.
"Lucas is here, right?" Shayna repeated, her voice rising in sheer panic.
"No," and Shayna found her heart plummeting downwards. "He's in San Francisco. Some major drug deal went down there, so he had to go."
Shayna's eyes widened in realization.
That's why Damian Fraser called her today.
With Lucas gone, there was no help for her of any kind.
That man's evil.
"I hope he's in time for the funeral then," Shayna tried to joke, but it felt as if someone had sucked her soul out.
"What about Cobra?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"He's in San Francisco too," Rebel whispered, trying not to show her panic.
And Mairi had gone to Paris with Dmitri for her trip.
Fuck, he really planned this.
"Shayna, you cannot go there." This time it was Munay's voice that spoke. "You need to find a place where you can stay low for two to three hours or so. We'll come rescue you."
"I can't do that," Shayna replied. "They will release a kill order for me."
That's what they did to... um... people who went rogue. Or tried to hide, for that matter. Murdered in the most gruesome way possible, to remind the others of their loyalty.
"And if you go there, they'll torture you into admitting something you didn't do," Munay replied.
I already knew. I had seen the "questioning" they did multiple times during my own time.
God, those fucking nightmares.
"And if I don't go, I will be branded a runaway, and they will send their entire brand of assassins after me," she replied hoarsely.
So, Lynx will get to have his revenge after all.
"Is this a bad time to say I love you ?"
"Listen to me," Rebel's voice echoed again. "Do not think negatively. You won't be prosecuted. I won't let them."
Shayna could feel her breath hitch.
"If you're gonna go, look confident, okay. As confident as you can. You have not done anything."
Shayna's eyes fell on her reflection in the side mirror. Her mascara had smudged itself to give her a natural smokey eye, and she was in a Christmas sweater and suit pants.
Her clothes were a pretty accurate representation of her mind at the moment.
"That's stupid advice," Munay snatched the phone from Rebel on the other side. "You do not need to look confident. Instead, you have to look the opposite. Pitiful and desperate. Try not to snap back at them too much; it hurts their fragile ego."
"In fact, sometimes they'll just let you go because you look weak and shit."
Shayna closed her eyes for a moment. Rebel was her best friend, so she knew Shayna by heart. But Munay was the one who had a longer experience in the industry. She'd seen some real shit.
Her fingers went up to her mascara, smudging it a little more before moving on to her lipstick.
If they wanted a broken, pitiful woman, that's exactly what they were gonna get.