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“What—“ a voice started, cutting off as I whirled on the sound, gun raised, arms shaky.
To find the damn kid from the hall there, headphones around his neck, his brows raised.
“Whoa.”
“Jesus Christ. Don’t sneak up on someone like that,” I snapped, not caring how snarly I sounded. I was too freaked out to care. “Hey, get over here,” I demanded.
“Why?” he asked, but he was already moving toward me.
“Check under the bed for me,” I said, handing him the gun. “I can’t get down there,” I explained.
To my surprise, he took the gun and got on his knees, head nearly touching the carpet as he looked under the simple metal bed frame.
My ribs hurt more than I was willing to admit to myself. Courtesy, I was sure, of the borderline brutal way Dav had fucked me the night before.
I wasn’t complaining, though.
I’d always been drawn to Davide’s dark side.
That had just been a facet of it I didn’t know existed but was happy to be a part of.
But just for that one night.
Never again.
“Nothin’,” the kid said, getting back to his feet and handing me back my gun. “Someone broke in, huh?” he asked.
“I guess you didn’t see who.”
“Nah. But I go to school and shit,” he said, shrugging.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Fifteen,” he said, puffing up his puny, skinny little kid chest as I tried not to smile.
He’d probably grow up to be good looking. He had good bone structure and dark green eyes. But he was so damn scrawny that he looked like a strong wind might blow him over. The baggy clothes hanging off of him weren’t exactly helping either.
“You have a name?” I asked.
“My friends call me Spike,” he claimed, chin lifting.
“No, they don’t,” I snorted. “Give me an actual name, kid.”
“Joel.”
“Alright, Joel. I’m gonna make you an offer,” I said, moving back out into the living area to close the door to the hallway, but not before doing a paranoid sweep of it first.
“I’m listening.”
“You sit your ass in that hallway, what? Pretty much from the minute you get home until two or three in the morning?”
“About that,” he agreed.
“If I give you my number, can I pay you to keep an eye on my place, and text me if you ever see someone coming to my door?”
“How much we talking?”
“More than you got now,” I said, but I was smiling. What can I say? I liked rough-around-the-edges people with a little bit of greed and hunger for more. Reminded me a lot of myself when I was young. “Two-fifty a week,” I offered.
