Chapter 2 - The Traitor's Footsteps
The rhythmic thud of expensive leather boots against the hardwood floor grew louder.
Declan reached weakly for the pistol he had dropped, but his fingers slipped on his own blood.
"It is Marcus," Declan whispered, his breathing growing shallow.
Norah knew exactly who Marcus was.
He was the syndicate's ruthless underboss, the man who paid her cash envelope every Friday.
"He is coming to finish the job," Declan said, struggling to push himself upward.
Norah realized instantly that if Marcus found them both in this room, she would not live to see the morning.
She grabbed a heavy surgical towel and violently wiped the blood from her hands.
"I need you to stay completely silent," Norah ordered, pushing Declan back down behind the metal bed.
She grabbed her discarded apron, kicked the bloody gauze under the counter, and lunged toward the heavy oak door.
She stepped out into the hallway just as the brass handle began to turn from the other side.
Norah pulled the door shut behind her with a soft click, standing directly in front of the forbidden entrance.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, his hand resting inside his tailored suit jacket.
"What exactly are you doing up here, Norah?" Marcus asked, his voice dangerously smooth.
"I heard a window shatter during the storm, sir," she lied without missing a beat.
She pointed to a broken vase she had intentionally knocked over on a hallway table earlier that week.
"I was just sweeping up the glass before someone stepped on it," she added, gripping her dustpan tightly.
Marcus stared at her, his dark eyes scanning her face for any sign of deception.
He took a slow step forward, completely ignoring the broken vase on the carpet.
"Mr. Hayes left strict orders that no one was to approach this specific door," Marcus reminded her.
"I was not opening it, sir," she replied, keeping her chin raised.
Marcus smiled, a chilling expression that did not reach his eyes.
He slowly pulled a suppressed handgun from his jacket and let it hang casually at his side.
"You have always been a very diligent worker, Norah," he said softly.
He took another step closer, closing the distance between them to mere inches.
"But diligent workers do not usually clean floors in the middle of a thunderstorm," he whispered.
He looked down at her plain black work shoes.
May you like
Norah followed his gaze and felt her stomach drop into absolute nothingness.
A single, vibrant drop of fresh blood was resting perfectly on the toe of her left shoe.
