Get In, I’ll Take You Home,” the Exhausted Waitress Whispered to the Bleeding Stranger in the Rain

“Get In, I’ll Take You Home,” the Exhausted Waitress Whispered to the Bleeding Stranger in the Rain—Never Knowing She Had Just Saved Chicago’s Most Feared Mafia Boss, or That He Would Burn His Whole Dangerous World to Protect Her

Part 1

Cassidy Moore had been awake for twenty-one hours when the first gunshot cracked through the rain.

At first, she thought it was thunder.

She sat frozen behind the wheel of her rusted silver Honda, apron still tied around her waist, hair escaping its tired bun, her hands smelling of coffee, fryer grease, and lemon dish soap. Pearl’s Diner glowed behind her like the last warm place in the world, its neon sign flickering against the wet pavement on Chicago’s South Side.

It was two in the morning.

Her feet ached so badly she could hardly feel them. Her tips for the night sat folded inside her bra because the zipper on her purse had broken again. In the passenger seat was a bag of leftover soup for her grandmother, who would pretend not to be hungry, then eat every spoonful once Cassidy looked away.

Cassidy turned the key.

The Honda coughed, wheezed, and came alive.

Then came the second shot.

This one was no thunder.

Cassidy’s head snapped toward the alley across the street. Rain poured in silver sheets beneath the streetlamp. For one breath, there was nothing.

Then a man stumbled out of the darkness.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a black suit that looked too expensive for this broken block. One hand was pressed to his side. Blood ran between his fingers, dark against his white shirt, diluted by the rain until it dripped onto the pavement like ink.

Cassidy’s heart kicked against her ribs.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

The man staggered, caught himself on a dumpster, then looked up.

Their eyes met through the windshield.

Even wounded, even soaked, even half bent with pain, there was something terrifying about him. Not just danger. Command. The kind of authority that didn’t need to raise its voice. The kind of man people either obeyed or ran from.

He took one step toward her car.

Cassidy’s hand moved to the gearshift.

Drive away.

That was what every reasonable part of her screamed.

She had a grandmother upstairs who needed insulin they could barely afford. She had rent due in six days. She had two jobs, a bad car, and no room in her life for a bleeding stranger with gunmen behind him.

The man reached her hood and nearly collapsed across it.

Behind him, shadows moved in the alley.

Men.

Guns.

Cassidy stopped breathing.

The stranger lifted one bloody hand and pressed it against her hood. His lips moved. She couldn’t hear him over the rain, but she understood anyway.

Please.

Cassidy thought of all the times people had looked away from her. Landlords. Doctors. Customers who snapped their fingers for coffee while she smiled through hunger. Men who watched her carry too much and never offered help because poor girls were supposed to be strong enough to suffer quietly.

Her thumb found the lock button.

Click.

The stranger’s eyes sharpened.

Cassidy leaned across the passenger seat and shoved the door open.

“Get in,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’ll take you home.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He folded himself into the passenger seat with a harsh sound of pain, and the smell of blood filled the car. Cassidy slammed the car into drive before his door had fully shut.

“Go,” he said.

His voice was low, rough, and used to being obeyed.

Cassidy hit the gas.

The Honda lurched into the street. Tires screamed on wet pavement. In the rearview mirror, two men ran from the alley, guns raised. One fired. The back window exploded.

Cassidy screamed and ducked, but she did not stop.

“Left,” the man rasped.

“I know these streets,” she snapped, surprising herself.

She took the corner hard, nearly clipping a parked delivery van. The Honda fishtailed. The man gripped the dashboard with one bloody hand, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped near his temple.

“You drive like you’re trying to kill us,” he said.

“I’m trying not to get shot.”

A sound escaped him, almost a laugh, almost a groan.

Cassidy turned down an alley so narrow the side mirror scraped brick. Rain blurred everything. Her heart hammered so loudly she could barely hear the engine. She knew every shortcut within three miles of Pearl’s. Every dead-end street. Every alley where the lights worked and every one where they didn’t.

She had learned the city the way poor women learned everything. By surviving it.

The stranger’s breathing grew wet and uneven.

Cassidy shot a glance at him. His skin had gone gray beneath the blood and rain. His lashes lowered, then lifted with effort.

“Don’t you dare die in my car,” she said.

His mouth twitched.

“What’s your name?”

“Cassidy.”

“Cassidy,” he repeated, as if memorizing it. “You just saved my life.”

“I don’t know that yet.”

“I do.”

“You need a hospital.”

“No hospitals.”

“Then police.”

“No police.”

The words cracked like an order.

Cassidy’s stomach turned cold.

She looked at him again, really looked. The watch on his wrist probably cost more than her car. His suit had been tailored to his body. Even bleeding out, he carried himself like a man who expected the world to move aside.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

For a moment, he said nothing. Rain rattled against the roof. The engine groaned. Sirens wailed somewhere far away, but not close enough to save anyone.

“Rowan Kaiser,” he said at last.

The name meant nothing to Cassidy.

But the way he said it made the air in the car change.

“Where am I taking you, Rowan Kaiser?”

He gave her an address on the Gold Coast.

Cassidy almost missed the turn.

“The Gold Coast?” she demanded. “What were you doing down here getting shot?”

“Bleeding, mostly.”

“Cute.”

His eyes slid to her. They were dark, steady, and too aware for a man losing that much blood.

“You’re scared,” he said.

“I’m furious. Fear is underneath.”

“Good. Fear keeps people alive.”

“Then you must be immortal.”

This time he did laugh, and immediately regretted it. Pain twisted his face. Cassidy’s anger softened despite herself.

“Hold pressure,” she said, grabbing a clean dish towel from her work bag and shoving it at him. “Hard. Don’t be dramatic. I’ve seen men cry over burnt toast.”

His hand closed over hers for one brief second.

His fingers were cold.

Something passed between them in that touch. Not romance. Not yet. Something stranger. Recognition, maybe. Two people from different worlds trapped inside the same storm.

By the time Cassidy pulled up in front of the glass tower on Lake Shore Drive, three black SUVs were already waiting.

Men in dark suits rushed forward before she could open her door.

“Mr. Kaiser!”

The doorman’s face had gone white.

Cassidy sat rigid as the passenger door opened. Strong hands reached in and helped Rowan out. He stood only because the men held him up.

Before they took him inside, he turned back to her.

Rain ran down his face. Blood stained his shirt. He looked like a man carved from violence, but when his eyes found hers, something in them softened.

“Thank you, Cassidy Moore.”

Her blood went cold.

“I didn’t tell you my last name.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t.”

Then he was gone.

Cassidy drove home with his blood soaking into her passenger seat.

By the time she reached her grandmother’s apartment, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely get the key out of the ignition. She climbed the stairs quietly, stepped over the loose board near the third-floor landing, and slipped inside.

Her grandmother slept in the recliner with the television on mute, a quilt over her knees, face soft in the blue light.

Cassidy stood there for a long moment, trembling.

She wanted to wake her. Wanted to confess everything. Wanted to be ten years old again, crawling into her grandmother’s bed after a nightmare.

Instead, she locked the door, shoved her bloody clothes into a trash bag, and sat on the bathroom floor under water so hot it hurt.

Only after the red swirls vanished down the drain did she search the name.

Rowan Kaiser Chicago.

The results loaded.

Her breath stopped.

Suspected organized crime leader.

Federal investigation.

Alleged head of the Kaiser family.

Violent underworld power struggle.