Chapter 1:THE CHOICE
Lena's feet ached.
She'd been on them for nine hours straight, weaving between tables, balancing trays, smiling at customers who barely looked at her.
The diner paid just above minimum wage, but it was close to her apartment and the manager didn't complain when she asked for Fridays off for evening classes.
Still, by the time her shift ended, her legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
Outside, the night air was sharp and cold. Lena pulled her thin jacket tighter around herself, though she knew it wouldn't help much. Winter was creeping in, and the fabric was too worn to keep the wind she checked the small jar of tips in her bag as she walked.
Twenty-three dollars.
Not terrible, but not great either.
Enough for groceries if she spends it carefully.
Her mind wandered as she headed down the familiar streets toward her apartment building two blocks away.
She still had a sociology paper due Monday and hadn't even started reading the articles for it yet. Her professor was going to kill her.
Lena slipped her keys between her fingers the way her mother had taught her years ago, the longest one sticking out between her knuckles.
Be smart, mija. Don't be a victim.
Her mother's voice lived permanently in her head.
The street was quiet. Too quiet for a Friday night.
A few parked cars lined the road. A single streetlamp flickered weakly above the sidewalk. Somewhere far off, a dog barked.
Lena was thinking about whether she still had eggs at home when the gunshots shattered the silence.
The first one was so loud it felt like it punched straight through her chest.
Another shot followed.
Then another.
Lena didn't think. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. She dove behind the nearest parked car, her knees slamming hard against the pavement.
Pain shot up her legs, but she barely noticed.
More gunfire echoed down the street.
Men were shouting somewhere nearby. The words blurred together, spoken in a language she couldn't understand.
Italian, maybe.
Or something close to it.
Her heart pounded so violently she could hear it in her ears.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything went quiet.
The kind of quiet that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Lena stayed where she was, crouched low behind the car, Her fingers tightened around her keys as she waited for the sound of sirens.
But nothing canned, the street was still quiet.
She forced herself to breathe slowly. A low sound drifted through the silence.
At first she thought it was the wind.
But then it came again.
A groan.
Lena froze.
The sound was human wet and broken, like someone trying to speak through pain.
It came from the alley just a few feet to her left.
Her mother's voice rang loudly in her head.
Don't go.
Her entire body agreed.
But the groan came again, weaker this time.
Something inside her chest twisted painfully.
Lena closed her eyes for a second.
"This is stupid," she whispered under her breath.
Still, she slowly stood up.
The alley was dark, but not completely. Light from the streetlamp spilled just far enough inside to reveal shapes on the ground.
Four bodies.
They lay scattered across the concrete like discarded dolls, twisted in ways that made Lena's stomach turn.
Blood glistened darkly beneath them.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe.
Then she noticed movement.
One of the men was still alive.
He was dragging himself across the pavement, leaving a smeared trail of blood behind him.
Each movement looked like it cost him everything he had left.
He was trying to reach the street.
Trying to reach her.
Lena hesitated at the mouth of the alley.
Her instincts screamed at her to run.
Call the police. Pretend she hadn't seen anything.
But the man lifted his head.
Even in the dim light, she could see his face clearly.
Lena felt unease with his sharp features and dark hair plastered against his forehead, good looking jaw lines, attractive lips with sweat and blood.
His eyes locked onto hers with startling intensity.
Desperation lived in that gaze.
Don't let me die.
He didn't say the words out loud.
But Lena felt them anyway.
Her shoulders sagged.
"God," she muttered.
Of course this would happen to her.
She had always been the kind of person who stopped when others didn't. The kind who brought home injured birds or gave spare change to strangers who needed it more.
It was a terrible survival strategy.
But it was who she was.
Lena stepped into the alley.
Up close, the damage was worse than she'd thought.
Three gunshot wounds.
One in his shoulder.Another in his side.And one in his leg.
Blood soaked through his shirt and pooled beneath him.
The man tried to push himself up again, but his arms gave out.
He collapsed with a rough groan.
Lena moved quickly, sliding her arms under his shoulders.
"I know," she murmured when he flinched. "I know. But you need to help me, okay? You can't stay here."
He was heavy solid in a way that suggested muscle, not fat. The kind of body built through hard work or harder violence.
Lena dragged him backward inch by inch, her sneakers slipping slightly on the slick pavement.
His head lolled against her shoulder.
For a second, she thought he'd passed out.
Then his eyes opened again.
They were dark.
Almost black.
And they stayed fixed on her face as if she were the only thing keeping him anchored to the world.
Her apartment was two blocks away.
Two blocks suddenly felt like miles.
She pulled him behind a dumpster first, pausing to catch her breath. Her arms trembled from the effort.
"Okay," she whispered to herself.
One step at a time.
She ran ahead to check the corner.
Clear.
She hurried back and grabbed him again, dragging him another twenty feet before hiding him behind a van.
Her heart raced the entire time, certain someone would appear at any moment.
But the streets stayed empty.
Finally, they reached her building.
The outer door still had the same broken lock it had always had.
Tonight, for once, Lena was grateful for it.
Inside, the stairwell smelled faintly of dust and old paint.
"I can't carry you," she said breathlessly.
The man made a faint sound.
"…walk."
It wasn't much of a word, but it was enough.
With his arm slung heavily across her shoulders, they stumbled up the stairs together. His weight nearly crushed her, but she kept moving.
One flight.
Then another.
By the time they reached her door, Lena's hands were shaking so badly she dropped her keys twice.
The third attempt worked.
They practically fell inside the apartment.
She guided him straight to the bathroom and helped him into the bathtub, the only place she could clean easily if things got messy.
He collapsed against the porcelain with a dull thud.
"Stay," she said automatically.
The word felt ridiculous the second it left her mouth.
Lena grabbed towels from the cabinet and filled a bowl with water.
It turned red almost immediately.
His eyes had closed again.
"Hey," she said quickly, touching his shoulder. "No, no. Stay with me."
For a terrifying moment, he didn't respond.
Then his eyes opened.
They focused on her slowly, as if pulling themselves back from somewhere far away.
"Good," she said, pressing a towel firmly against his shoulder wound. "Keep looking at me."
She had no idea what she was doing.
But she kept talking anyway.
And somehow, through the long, exhausting hours that followed, those dark eyes never left her face.
By the time morning light crept through the small bathroom window, the bleeding had slowed.
Lena sat on the floor with her back against the wall, hands stained red.
The man in her bathtub was still breathing.
She had no idea what she had just gotten herself into. But she knew one thing for certain. Her life was never going to be simple again.