Chapter Thirteen
Laila’s POV
I didn't turn back. I walked four blocks past the theater, down the dusty industrial stretch I passed every single morning on the bus to school.
Right on the corner stood the massive, grimy auto workshop. It was always filled with the deafening roar of engines, thick black smoke, and heavy metal music blasting from cracked speakers. I had seen them a hundred times from the bus window—huge, intimidating men covered in grease and dark tattoos, working on high-end motorcycles and heavy trucks. I didn't know the name of the place, but I knew the kind of men who hung out there.
I took a deep breath, smoothed down my floral maxi skirt, and stepped onto the oil-stained concrete lot.
The sound of grinding metal cut out as soon as my white sandals crunched over the
