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Panic rises in my chest. “I’ll get you your money.”Fuck knows how, but I have to get it. I’m not going back to Colombia. I can’t. It’s a fate worse than death.
“You sure?”
I grit my teeth and say, “I’m sure, Lucky.”
“There she is,” he says in a sickly soft voice. “The feisty bitch I met in Panama.”
I’ll burst into tears if I stand here for a moment longer. I can feel them swelling behind my eyes already. So I turn on my heels and stalk back down the corridor.
“Welcome back, little runaway,” he heckles after me. “I’ve missed you.”
Dahlia
There’s something wrong, I can feel it. The hairs on my neck stand to attention and goosebumps ripple over my skin the second I approach the apartment.
My suspicions are confirmed when the front door groans open when I push my fingertips against it.
Heart hammering, I creep inside, careful to avoid the third floorboard that creaks when you step on it.
“Hello?” I mumble into the darkness. Nothing. “Billie?” Her bedroom is closest to the front door, so I tap on the door as I pass. When she doesn’t answer, I stick my head inside, immediately hit by the stench of stale weed, and flick on the light. Bongs, grinders, and posters of rock bands aside, it’s empty.
I’m cursing myself for not carrying any type of weapon—not even a fucking can of pepper spray—when I push open my own bedroom door. My heart sinks to my sneakers when I see the mess. Every inch of my bedroom has been overturned. Every drawer is pulled out, and my mattress is propped up against the wall.
“Fuck,” I groan, raking my hands through my hair. “Will I ever catch a fucking break?!” I believed in God for all of three seconds, but that belief has been ripped away again. How can one person be dealt so much shit?! I kick a stray makeup brush with my toe and it rolls across the carpet. My immediate thought is this is a random robbery. Anyone who knows me would also know that I have nothing worth stealing. Hell, I don’t think I ever have two socks that match. I’ll deal with the mess later, right now, I need a beer to settle my nerves.
I stalk towards the kitchen, huffing under my breath when suddenly, a shadowy figure steps out of the living room and blocks my path.
It’s instinctive to scream. It rips from my lungs, bloodcurdling and desperate, until a hand flies to my mouth.
It’s not mine.
“Jesus, you sound like a fucking car alarm.”
My breath catches in my throat.Oh my god. I know that voice. I know that voice!
“You. You’re here,” I gasp, the tensed muscles in my body slowly unclenching. He steps out of the shadows and into the sliver of moonlight. Despite his grim expression, his handsome features take my breath away.
“You’re here too,” he scowls, moving his hand from his lips and running it over his shaved head. “I told you to leave.”
I’m still trying to comprehend what’s happening. Still trying to figure out whether he’s a figment of my imagination or the result of a long-overdue psychotic break. Getting my breath back, I say, “Uh, yeah. I haven’t got around to that yet.”
A roar rips around us. It rattles theIKEAartwork tackled to the wall, and in the kitchen, I can hear the crockery trembling in the cupboards. He purses his lips, glaring at me as we wait for the train to pass.
When we are plunged into silence again, I whisper, “Last train is just after midnight. Starts again at six-am.”
He wants to say something. Thinks the better of it. Instead, he shakes his head, then asks, “Where have you been? I was looking for you.”
I gesture down the hallway, in the direction of my upturned room. “Under my bed?”
Is that a trace of amusement on his lips, or am I still in a state of shock?Either way, it feels good to amuse him.
“What are you doing here?”
The mystery man follows me into my bedroom. As he crosses the threshold, I turn around to face him, studying him under the naked lightbulb swinging above his head. My jaw swings open. His eyes are dark and wild, even more dangerous than usual.
And there’s blood splatter all up his neck.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
