She groans, buries her face deeper into the pillow and folds the other end of it over her ears when her alarm goes off. It stops by itself and she breathes a sigh of relief, wriggles under her blankets and begins to drift back into a deep sleep when it starts again.
Alarms don't go on and off again.
It's not her alarm, it's her phone, and she has to bite back the moan that wants to escape.
One eye peels open and it's dark. It's way too dark, which means it's way too early for her phone to be ringing. With a sigh she releases her arm, lets the pillow flop back to its rightful position, and shimmies her way over towards the nightstand. Once she's grabbed the offending device, her eyes squint against the bright light of the home screen.
It's a number she doesn't recognize.
She tosses it back onto the surface and curls back into her covers when it goes off a third time, and this time she does let out a growl. She doesn't even open her eyes, just blindly reaches for the phone and answers it.
"What?" she murmurs.
"Kit."
Her heart stutters in her chest and her eyes pop open at the name that hasn't been used in a while. She sits up, bracing her elbows on the mattress as she holds her weight, and her free hand scrapes through her hair.
"Who is this?"
"That's not important."
There's an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "You called me in the middle of the night—three times, might I add—so I think I'm entitled to a name," she tells the man.
He lets out a small, rough chuckle. "You can call me Dante."
"Okay, fine," she mutters, losing her patience. "How did you get this number?"
"I'm a friend of Victor's."
His name is all it takes to make her blood run cold, her heart pound aggressively against her chest as she moves sit up completely. She knew using her real number at the club was a bad idea, but she didn't have the extra cash at the time to just get a separate phone, and when she did, she just didn't want to deal with it. It was a no questions asked kind of place, so no one—not even Victor—knows her real name.
At least she has that still.
"That makes one of us," she bites back. "Why are you calling me?"
"I have a proposition for you," he says.
"I'm not interested."
Her stomach twists at the dull laugh that resounds in her ear. "Oh, I think you will be."
"And why do you say that?"
"Because it has a pay out of $1,000."
She pales, her breathing quickening in its pace. She's intrigued. She hates that she's intrigued. But with a possibility of a thousand dollars, a thousand dollars that she could definitely use right now, she can't stop herself from wondering what calls for that kind of pay out.
Nothing legal, she can already tell.
"What is it," she sighs the question into the receiver.
"Victor wants you to do a... job, of sorts, for him," he says, and she furrows her brow. This doesn't make sense.
"Why isn't he calling me himself, then? And why me?"
Dante just makes a noncommittal noise. "I'm the middle man, you could say. He said you were always one of his best girls, and even though you decided to leave it doesn't change that."
She bristles at being called one of Victor's girls. It makes everything sound so much dirtier, like there was more that went on behind the scenes than meets the eye. And while that could have been true for some of the other girls, she's sure it was, it was never the case for her. She was never one of his girls, never belonged to him or anyone else.
That hasn't changed.
"Okay," she draws out, lets her eyes fall closed. He needs to get to the point, because she needs sleep. "What is this 'job'?"
"There's gonna be a drop. Someone will pick up the package at the back door of the club tomorrow at one, and bring it to the address written on the box. That someone is you, Kit," he says, and she doesn't have a chance to reply before he's continuing. "Pick it up, drop off the china white, maybe entertain the man while you're there, and then you leave. Money made."
She blinks. "China white—you want me to do a heroin drop?" she asks incredulously. "No."
"Come on, Kit. It's just a drop."
"'Maybe entertain the man while you're there'," she echoes, mimics his voice.
He huffs. "So you have a little fun in the meantime," he says, so casual, as if this is normal. "You seem tense, it'll take the edge off."
"No," she repeats. She's not—she never did the drugs that ran through the club, she doesn't plan to start now. "I said I'm not interested."
"You'll change your mind, Kit."
"I won't."
There's a laugh, and she balls her fists in her lap. "Keep telling yourself that," he breathes. "That 1k is sounding good to you right now, you'll come around. Call this number before one tomorrow when you reconsider."
She hangs up, doesn't offer any parting words, and all but throws her phone onto the other side of the bed. Collapsing back onto the mattress, she eases her head back against the pillows and stares at the ceiling.
Ridiculous.
She hates that the prospect of getting a thousand dollars is appealing, so appealing she considered for a brief moment actually doing the drop. Shaking her head, she turns onto her side, curls one hand underneath her pillow and the other beneath her chin. That's not who she is, one who does anything for money.
On its own, it's awful. Orchestrated by Victor, it's worse.
She knew he ran something through the club, knew from the occasional drugs that would make the rounds every so often, but she's never taken part in any capacity. It's not her thing. Alcohol is her poison of choice.
She's not doing it.
Taking a deep breath, she pulls the blankets up over her shoulders and closes her eyes, wills herself to fall back into the peaceful sleep she was woken from.
For the second time in too few hours, she wakes to the sound of her phone. She ignores it this time, though, lets it go to voicemail and turns over, squeezes her eyes shut tightly. To her pleasure, her phone doesn't ring again. To her displeasure, he alarm goes off not five minutes later.
With a groan, she lifts her head, rolls over to silence the buzzing.
It's her only day off for the week, one she didn't even want but Anna had insisted she take. "You've been working every night until closing, Kate," she'd said. "I don't want to see you here tomorrow. And that's an order."
And so here she is, lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling.
When her phone rings a third time, she doesn't bother looking at the caller ID, just answers it with a grumbled, "I said no."
"Miss Beckett?" a voice asks, and it's not the deep tone of Dante, her early morning caller.
"Uh, who is this?"
Someone from her building, it turns out. The superintendent. She's not sure how she's done it, absolutely no idea, but she got the dates mixed up on her calendar for this month. Something about rent rebates and the rent being due a few days earlier than usual, just to account for the time it'll take to get everyone's paperwork done.
She doesn't ask, doesn't say much other than sorry about that, I'll have it when they tell her she's now almost two days late on the rent she thought she had a few more days to get together.
Running a hand through her hair, down her face, she lets out a muffled grunt into her palms. Her plan of using the money from this coming paycheck to pay off her rent has just been shot to hell, given that they don't get paid until two days after she needs to have this in.
She has to figure something else out.
Shoving the blankets off of her body, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed, pushes herself up with a groan. She wanders into the kitchen to make coffee, sits at the counter with the ceramic warming her chilled fingers, when her head falls onto the counter top. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself and work through some kind of solution.
She doesn't have enough in petty cash to just pay it off in full, doesn't want to dip into the little she still has in one of her accounts, and while she knows Rick would lend her the money in a heartbeat, likely with no questions asked if that's how she wanted to play it, she can't do it. It's pride, she knows, and she should just swallow it and ask. Get it over with, pay him back when her check comes in and then it'll all go back to normal next month when the deadlines are back on their usual schedule. She won't have to worry about it, and she'll be on time from here on out.
Should, but she won't.
She finishes off another cup of coffee before finally making her way back into her bedroom and tugging on a pair of leggings and a light sweater. The body of the fabric is snug, form fitting, but the sleeves are longer and she's able to pull them past her hands, curling her now-covered fingers in the material.
As she's walking back from her closet she catches sight of her phone where she left it on the nightstand. She blinks a few times, staring at it, her hands wringing against her stomach. Sitting back onto the edge of the bed, she rests her elbows on her knees and lowers her head.
She can't.
She won't. Right?
With a deep breath, she lifts her head, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
It's wrong, it's completely and utterly wrong, and she can't even believe she's entertaining the idea. She's not a drug mule, not in any sense of the word, and she'd very much like to keep it that way.
But a thousand dollars.
She needs that money. With it, she could pay off her rent in no time and then have plenty extra to hold her over for a little while. Save the rest, add a bit more from each paycheck until she gets a nice savings going.
When the phone is in her hands, fingers hovering over the number that called her many hours before in the dead of night, her stomach falls, both nerves and disgust entering her system.
The same voice answers, and she doesn't bother with a greeting, just a regretful, "Okay."
She should take a cab to the club, or even the subway, but she decides to walk instead. The cool air will do her some good, and she needs the time to clear her thoughts anyway, clear away anything that's telling her this is a good idea.
It's not, and she knows it.
She doesn't want to do it, but it's just this once, which is exactly what she'd told Dante on the phone when she told him she'd do it. He'd laughed in her face—or in her ear, really—and given a sarcastic sure. He might not be sure, but she is.
Bypassing fellow New Yorkers, she keeps her head down. She doesn't need to focus on anything else.
All she has to do is go to the club, pick up this package, and bring it to the apartment on the label. She'd already been expressly clear that she's not going inside the apartment. Whoever wants the package can come out and get it from her, or she'll leave it on the stoop and they can come out once she's left.
She knows this is stupid, but she's not that stupid. She's not taking her chances. There's no shortage of girls that've gone missing or shown up beaten, raped, because of something like this. She knows that, and she refuses to become the next one.
There won't be any going inside, no entertaining whoever this man is, no sampling the merchandise she's dropping off. None of that.
Pulling her jacket closer to her body, she pushes through the crowd, looks both ways before darting across the street. She's taking a different route to the club than she normally does when she walks, mostly because she wants some more time to herself. There's still time before she's supposed to pick it up anyway, so while she should keep going, she's in no rush.
When she passes a park, she's weaving back and forth between parents with strollers and toddler's straggling at their sides, and she cuts through to enjoy the clutter-less paths.
She thinks she hears her name and her head turns, but she sees no one, and so she continues moving. Probably for someone else.
"Kate!"
Turning once more, she sees a man and a small redhead standing on the playground a few yards away. It's Rick and Alexis, and her heart sinks.
She disguises it though, puts on a smile as she gives them a small wave and wanders over to where they are.
"Kate, hey," Rick says, giving her a once over. "What are you doing here?"
The usual answer of nothing would be way too suspicious, and so she doesn't use it.
"Just thought I could use a walk," she tells them. "What are you guys doing here, doesn't Alexis have school?"
He shakes his head. "Some kind of obscure religious holiday, they have off. I'm more than happy to have this one to myself for the day, though," he says, shaking Alexis into his side.
She can't help but smile at them then, nodding at his answer.
"Can you stay and play, Kate?" the girl asks, looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes.
Oh no. How is she supposed to say no to that? Looking down at her watch, she realizes she still has some time, and so she returns with a small smile.
"Sure," she nods. "I'm sure I could hang out for a little bit before I have to leave."
Rick grins. "Perfect." He turns to Alexis. "Swings, frisbee, or the money bars?"
Alexis's tongue peeks out while she thinks, and then she's bouncing on her feet. "Frisbee!"
"Isn't frisbee usually a summer or spring activity?" she asks, a brow arched.
"Frisbee is an all the time activity, Kate," Rick says, a hand over his chest. "I can't believe you'd insinuate otherwise."
She huffs out a laugh, holds up her hands in surrender. "My apologies. So, where's this frisbee of yours?" When he walks over to his bag and comes back with a Spice Girls themed frisbee, she has to clamp her hands over mouth. "That's a very... decorative frisbee you have there, Rick."
She's teasing him, she's teasing him and she knows he knows it, and his mouth twists to the side in a smirk.
"I'll have you know that the Spice Girls are one of the best girl groups of all time," he says matter-of-factly, and then his shoulders deflate. "And this was the last one they had at the store."
"Of course it was."
"I'll stand behind my frisbee."
"How about you stand behind that tree and throw," she retorts, nodding towards an open patch of grass.
Alexis runs towards it, already there by the time the two adults make their way over. "Come on, guys!"
Five minutes later, after Rick has gone through his show of checking the wind velocity and angle with his finger, eyes squinted as he holds it up to the air, he's finally determined it to be the right time to begin. They're standing in a triangle of sorts, Rick in front of the tree she'd mentioned before, Alexis off to his right, and Kate all the way to his left and Alexis's right, completing the shape.
Everything goes perfectly fine until the wind picks up and the frisbee goes flying everywhere. During one of the retrieval excursions, after it ended up almost landing in a baby stroller, she rolls her eyes, stifling her cackle when the owner of the baby stroller gives Rick a glare.
He jogs back with the frisbee in hand and a grin on his face, and she shakes her head.
"You almost took out a baby, Rick," she teases.
He gapes. "It was empty!"
She knows this.
"Could've knocked that kid out."
"Empty."
"They could've had a concussion," she says, amusement weaved in her tone.
His eyes sparkle, and he starts walking towards her, but she stands her ground. She just grins at him, twists her mouth to the side, watching as he advances slowly. It's only when he's a few feet away that she starts to back away, wiggling her brows at him.
"Poor thing never had a chance," she laments with a dramatic sigh.
It takes her by surprise, the way he pounces, closing the gap between them by wrapping his arms around her middle and trying to get her to relent.
"It was empty, Kate," he tells her, amusement in his own voice.
"I don't know, Rick, I saw some tiny wisps of hair peeking out," she manages between puffs of laughter.
He shakes his head, laughs. "Come on, admit it. The stroller was empty and I did not decapitate a baby."
"In my defense, I said nothing about decapitation," she points out, and he huffs.
She doesn't know when it happens, but she loses her balance when she's not paying attention to what they're doing, trips backwards on a branch, and Rick isn't fast enough to pull her up. They both tumble to the ground, Rick on top of her and their limbs tangled together on the grass.
Kate squeaks upon impact, and she vaguely registers him asking if she's okay, concerned eyes on her, but she just laughs, leans her head back so she's lying completely on the ground. He joins in then, laughs at what's just happened and the way they've been taken down by a branch no bigger than his arm.
When she looks up next, he's staring at her, eyes bright and clear, and she can't wipe the smile off of her face. It mirrors his, and they lie there for a few more minutes even after he's rolled off of her and now sits beside her.
"Guys!" Alexis calls finally, vacating her spot by the tree to find them. "Are you okay?"
They both nod. "We're good, pumpkin," he laughs as he stands. He extends his hand to her, pulls her up, and she wipes at her pants to get off any dirt and leaves. "Do you have to head out now?"
The smile drops from her face, and she looks at her watch. It's been much longer than she had planned to stay, much longer than she should've stayed if she wanted to get to the club, pick up the package, and go. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth with a sigh.
If she leaves now, she'll make it on time.
She looks at Rick, the hopefulness disguised as understanding in his eyes, and her gaze falls.
"Uh, no," she decides, shakes her head. "I don't need to be anywhere."
The money isn't all that important anymore, not when she's right here with him. She'll ask for a three day extension on her rent, she decides. She'll be fine. Her choice is finalized when he grins at her, and she watches as Alexis, half-hidden behind her father, echoes the sentiment.
"Great," he beams, nodding behind them. "What do you say to some ice cream?"
Alexis bounces on her toes, already leading the way to wherever it is she assumes they're going, and Kate laughs, offers him a small nod.
"I'd say that sounds perfect."
With a sigh of relief and a small smile, she doesn't go.
You're all amazing, thank you.