001
RAINEY
"Everybody, heads down!"
The wedding ceremony had looked beautiful until that loud voice echoed through the hall, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.
My blood ran cold.
The only time I had witnessed a crime scene was when I was seven years old—twenty years ago—when a man stabbed my father twenty-two times in the belly.
"Shit." I cursed under my breath, trying to push away the memories. I shouldn't be thinking about that, especially not now, when I wasn't sure I'd keep my head intact in the next few minutes.
I did as the voice commanded, bowing my head low against the ceramic floor.
I shivered, chanting endlessly to myself. Good girls don't deserve to die like this. Then I heard a gunshot just steps away.
I froze; my knees went numb.
An exasperated gasp escaped my lips when I recognized the voice.
"Felix!" That was Miss Donna's voice. "Why did you shoot him?"
I peered from beneath the table and saw the groom's best man lying in a pool of his own blood.
Jesus.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I should have left after delivering the flowers.
I shouldn't have listened to Miss Donna when she told me to at least wait to see them 'kiss.'
"Shut up or I'll shoot you too!" the masked man who had just killed the best man threatened as he held Miss Donna by the neck, but she didn't yield.
"Where's James? Where's my baby!"
Then it dawned on me.
Mr. Miranda was missing.
"Find him now!" the masked man, who seemed to be their gang leader, screamed, and the others scrambled away, searching every corner.
Maybe Mr. Miranda was the target. But why? Why would they want to kill him?
This was his wedding, for God's sake. It was supposed to be filled with good tidings and kisses, not gunshots and chaos!
I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my palms together.
Stupid me. I should have thought about my safety and left the sympathy behind, but I just couldn't help it.
I hated seeing others being hurt. It pierced my heart, and even now, the pain felt insurmountable.
"They're here!" Another man shouted from the other end of the hall. "The police!" He had hardly finished speaking when the sound of blaring sirens reached my ears.
The police were here! What a relief!
"This is all your fault, Vikram!" the gang leader screamed. "If you weren't this damn slow!" He yelled in frustration.
Vikram scoffed, moving closer.
I watched them through the hem of the tablecloth. It appeared they had a beef with each other even before this incident.
"How's that my fault?" Vikram shouted back, his Indian accent thick. "How dare you call me slow? Capo might've chosen you to lead this rampage, but you're in no position to question me."
"Really, Vikram? Let's see who's in charge! Guns down, fists up."
"Let's get out of here! The police will take cover any minute. This is no time for childish fights!" one of the gang members warned, but Vikram chose to pick a fight with him anyway.
"You think I came all the way from Punjab to joke around with idiots like you? You'd better keep your guard up, Jack, or I'll rip your head off."
Soon, the fight ignited. Fists punching faces, painful groans, and angry curses filled the air.
I turned to check the doorway and, seeing it was clear enough to escape without being noticed, I slipped from my hiding spot and crawled away—though not without my purse.
There was no way I'd leave that behind; I needed it for survival.
The business card for my next client was carefully tucked between my fifty-dollar bills.
Losing it would mean dire consequences. Losing it meant no food on weekdays.
No deals, no meals.
Since the police were taking forever to arrive, I had to find a way to survive on my own.
My heels clicked against the floor as I ran, holding my purse tightly against my chest.
I needed to get out of there fast.
But just when I thought I had escaped the chaos, a shrill cry from the corridor behind me made me stop in my tracks.
"What the heck is that?" I muttered under my breath as I took slow steps forward.
My mind screamed at me to keep running, to flee, but I didn't listen.
I kept moving until I reached that dark corner.
My purse fell from my hand when I saw it—Mr. Miranda's belly was cut open.
Cold shivers ran down my spine. It felt as if the incident from twenty years ago was playing out before me all over again.
"Mr. Miranda!" I exclaimed, shaking my head. No, this can't be happening. He shouldn't be murdered like this. Not on his wedding day.
I looked up to see the person who had killed him. A man, about 6'1", dressed in a tuxedo with an eye patch over one eye and a hat obscuring most of his face.
Something about him felt eerily familiar—his attire, the scar on his left cheek, and the weapon he held. It was a small but dangerous sharp pocket knife, still stained with Mr. Miranda's blood.
The aura he carried was unsettling, and I couldn't help but notice the lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced my way.
"Who—who are you?" My voice trembled as I demanded, shaky with fear. "Why did you kill him? He's getting married!"
A wide smile spread across his face as he displayed his bright white teeth.
Beads of sweat trickled down my spine as our faces met. He looked like the devil, and his sinister grin promised me no mercy.
"I'm filing a report right away, Mr. Psychopath," I said, a newfound resolve coursing through me. "You should be punished for this." I picked up my purse, stood tall again, and adjusted my crumpled dress. "You just stay here while I call the police. It won't take long; they're just—just nearby, I promise."
I had barely taken a step forward when he seized my hips, pulling me in with clear malevolence.
"Where do you think you're going?" he scoffed, letting out a dry laugh.
Drawing in a sharp breath, I widened my eyes at him. "What are you doing?"
"Stopping you from doing anything stupid, Rainey Wyatt."