Angel Ink (Concrete Angels MC, Book 3)

“Stuck in the Stairwell” Excerpt
Angel Ink
Copyright © 2020 Siobhan Muir
All rights reserved.

Sighing, I stood up and pulled my skirt back down to the proper length. Yeah, I’d be getting rid of this dress as soon as I got home. I hated when the fitted skirts rode up. All right, Michaels. Let’s do this. I grasped the door handle and pulled.

Nothing happened.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

I yanked on the door, but the latch held despite using all of my hundred and sixty-five plus pounds of weight. The door was locked and no one could hear me in the party. And my phone was dead.

“Oh my GLORY!” I slammed my hand against the door, hoping someone might actually hear me over the damn music, but no one came to check it out. “Fuck!”

Biting my bottom lip, I looked up the staircase. Maybe one of the other doors were unlocked and I could at least get back into the building. I memorized the floor number on the party’s door and climbed the stairs to the next floor.

I was about to bang on it, but I paused when I heard what sounded like voices coming from the other side. Logically, it would’ve made sense to thump on the door and have them open it for me. But something made me pause. The voices weren’t loud, but they didn’t sound happy or particularly friendly. Maybe I didn’t want them to know I was there.

This was confirmed a moment later when someone said, “You shoulda thought of that before you went up against Backlog. You was warned. Now you’re gonna pay.”

What the hell is Backlog?

Before I could peer up the stairs, I heard someone shout what sounded like, “No, wait! Don’t!” Just before two gun shots rang out.

I gasped and froze, holding my breath. Not that they knew I was there, but I wasn’t about to take any chances they’d notice me.

“All right, come on. Get his legs and throw him in the stairwell. They won’t find him until we’re long gone. And don’t forget to police your brass.”

Stairwell? Fuck! Whatever they were planning to do, it involved my stairwell and they were very likely to see me. And shoot my unlucky ass. Panic hit me in a wave and I backed away from the door, my shoes clattering loud enough to be heard over the party.

Swearing under my breath, I bent over and yanked off my heels before I padded down several steps and ducked under the curve of the stairs. I flattened myself against the wall as the door above me opened and light spilled into the stairwell. I didn’t dare move as two guys dropped something heavy onto the steps, grumbling about the weight.

“Shit, did the guy have to eat all those frozen pizzas? He’s fuckin’ heavy.”

“Shut up, Inky. Just make sure he’s got no ID on him.”

Inky snorted. “How’s that gonna help? His fuckin’ face is all over the newspapers and internet. Takin’ his ID won’t hide who he is.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and get some cops who don’t know who he is.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Look, just clear his pockets and let’s get outta here. I don’t want any of those partiers findin’ us here with him. Backlog says we got too much to do in prep for the big boss comin’ to town.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on.” There was some rustling as they rifled through the body’s pockets. “Okay, I think I got everything. Keys, phone, wallet, and Chapstick. No wonder his lips looked so soft.”

“Eww, Inky, that’s nasty.”

“No, nasty is your lips, Tinder. There’s no excuse for not keeping your lips healthy. You know the skin is the biggest organ on your body, right?”

Their voices faded as the door above started to close. Too late I realized that was my only ticket out of the stairwell with the dead guy. I whimpered with distaste and padded back up the stairs, hoping I’d be able to catch the door before it latched.

Turns out, I needn’t have worried. The dead guy’s foot had caught in the door, holding it open about an inch. I glanced down at the body’s face as I made to pass it and stopped, my stomach dropping into my bare feet.

“Holy shit, that’s ADA Patrick O’Donnell.”