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“Elora, what in the world is the fuss abo—” Her husband’s angry march comes to a halt three feet behind his wife.
At five-foot-five, the thin man is even less of a threat to us than his wife. His banana-yellow polo shirt and cream-colored pants make him look soft. Scared. Fragile.
Someone who either Carter or me could easily crunch beneath our boot.
And laugh while we do it.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Carter drawls, aiming his unsettling smile at Elora. “How’d you guess we’d be needing him here?”
They’re silent when he takes a step forward. Carter flips the knife in his hand, high up for Amara’s parents to catch the movement. They fixate on the blade gleaming beneath the overhead lights. Watching the crimson stain Porter left on the tip.
I get hard just from witnessing these assholes’ horror.
“Who are you people?” Case stammers, sidling next to his wife.
Next to her. Not in front of his wife. Not protecting her.
What a goddamn embarrassment.
Carter, ever the psycho, whistles instead of giving them an answer.
“Less than ten minutes,” he reminds me.
“Ten minutes to what?” Case whispers.
“We’re the men who are going to take your building from you.” I don’t beat around the bush. Don’t feel inclined for niceties or being civil with these assholes. “Today.”
“What? This building?” Case has the audacity to act confused. “We own this penthouse, but the rest of the building belongs to—”
“Can you believe these fuckers?” Carter’s psycho smile is aimed at me now. He’s anything but amused, though. A barely contained rage glimmers in his eyes, threatening to detonate any moment. “Next thing you know, they’ll be asking us who Amara is.”
“Amara?” Her mother’s terrified posture changes. She stands taller. Spine erect, hands balled into fists. Cheeks red with annoyance. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“So you do remember that part.” Any trace of humor I had in me dries right the fuck up. “Now let’s drop the dumb act and talk about the shop and apartment she’s been renting from you.”
“The one on the Lower East Side.” Carter stalks over to them, grabs Case by the back of his head, and pins the blade of his knife to his throat. Elora moves to jump Carter. He catches the movement, releasing Case to grab her delicate throat with ease. “As of this moment, it’s ours. Where do we sign?”
Case’s throat bobs. I hear his heartbeat the closer I get. Smell the stink of his sweat. And yet I don’t hear him utter a single word.
He doesn’t threaten us to leave his wife alone or anything else.
Not a peep.
Coward.
“Well?” Carter shakes Elora.
“W-what makes you think we’ll give it to you for free?”
I guess he does have something to say. Too bad we’re getting Amara her shop as a surprise. She would’ve smiled so pretty watching her dipshit father squirm.
“Excuse me?” Carter throws Elora on the floor, using his now free hand to grip Case’s shirt collar. “Was that a no, grandpa?”
He presses the edge of the blade to Case’s skin and nicks it. Blood trickles down to the collar of his polo. He cries out.
Elora finds her courage a second time. She scrambles to her feet, her heels scratching the marble floors. Then she launches herself at Carter.
I’m impressed. She has more balls than her husband does.
