My shower was cold. Not because I needed one after waking up the next morning with thoughts of X pummeling my brain all night in my restless sleep. Well, I guess I could’ve needed a cold shower—especially when I thought about the way he’d held me to him, taking charge at the end of that lap dance. Shit, that was hot. But bad. Very, very bad. I couldn’t entangle myself in those strong, sexy limbs. Especially not right now. Besides, the whole stealing from him situation would’ve nipped that in the bud.
But no, my shower was cold because my stupid water heater was broken again. I could call my slimy landlord, but I didn’t particularly desire to be within a mile of him—especially when I was relatively positive he had a court order that decreed he couldn’t be within two-hundred-and-fifty feet of a school. That guy just radiated creep—practically oozing out of his very large pores.
I stepped out of my cold and unsatisfying shower and wrapped my threadbare towel around my body, fingering the hem of it and wishing it was something plush. Something like X would no doubt have. I’d wager money his gym towels had cost more than all the furniture in my apartment.
As I was wrapping a robe around me, I heard a noise that was distinctly not a sound from a neighboring apartment. Someone was definitely in my apartment.
My blood ran colder than the temperature of the shower and I searched my bathroom for some kind of weapon—anything that would do. But all I had were some bottles of cheap shampoo and a toothbrush.
I eyed the back of the toilet cover, and tested it with my hands for a second. It was heavy, and a little bit awkward, but it’d do.
I creeped my door open, cursing at the creak it made, and stuck my head out the door, looking around. I could only make out a shadow in the kitchen, and heard the slam of a utensil drawer. Whoever was in my apartment wasn’t here to rob me, that was for sure.
With my wet hair still dripping down my face, I rubbed at it with the sleeve of my robe as I made my way around the wall that separated my bathroom and bedroom from the rest of my tiny apartment.
“Ron,” I said, half-relieved and half-worried. On the one hand, knowing who it was going through my apartment gave me a small bit of comfort. But then, remembering who that person was, brought the anxiety back to the forefront.
“Where’s my money, Luce?”
I didn’t glance at the bookcase, dilapidated as it was, in the corner of the living room. I’d hidden the watch behind a few dusty encyclopedias I’d stolen from the dumpster. No one looked at encyclopedias, especially not ones that were from the eighties. It was the perfect hiding spot. I could give him the watch, but I’d rather give him the money—knowing him, he’d want to keep the watch and still squeeze his money out of me.
“If you let me get dressed, I can go get it for you.”
He shook his head, frowning. “Nah, see, I don’t think you have it. In all our years together, I’ve never known you to tell me the truth.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling suddenly more vulnerable in just my robe-wrapped body. “I’m serious this time. I have it, but I need to get dressed to get it.”
It was as if he just realized I was practically naked apart from the terry cloth that covered me. His gaze moved up and down my body, and I had to steel myself from leaning away from him even though he was a dozen feet away. “Nice look,” he commented, and he had a look in his eyes that told me he wouldn’t get out of here easily.
Moving quickly, I stepped to my door and swung it open. He wouldn’t do anything to me with an audience—as pathetic as that audience was. A few kids played with chalk in the parking lot below my building, and one woman in a folded lawn chair had two cigarettes in her mouth, her eyes glued to her phone. She didn’t see me, but I waved to her as if we were best friends, just so Ronald would think I had someone out there who actually gave a shit about me.
“Get out,” I said, turning to Ronald.
He didn’t move even an inch.
“My parole officer could drop by at any second, and if you’re here, I could get into big trouble.”
“And that’s my problem how?” He moved a few feet closer to me, but made no move like he was going to leave.
“If I go back to prison, you won’t get your money.”
“I don’t think I’ll get my money from you anyway.” He touched the lapel of my robe and that time I did wrench away from him, recoiling from his slimy touch.
“You will. Don’t be a pain in the ass. I can meet you at our old spot in two hours, cash in hand.”
“If you think I’m leaving, you’re stupider than you let on.” He chuckled, and the sound made my stomach boil. “I hid a little present in your apartment. Not for you, of course. But for your PO. All it’ll take is one quick, anonymous phone call, and they’ll be on your ass in a second.”
“Fuck off, Ron.” I hid the fear in my voice as I pushed him away, but being that he was at least twice my weight, he didn’t budge an inch. His hand came up and grazed along my chin and I turned my head away, backing into the apartment. I tried to imagine just where he’d hide whatever he planted, but Ron was a crazy mother fucker. He could be lying for all I knew.
I blindly reached out and gripped the island that connected my tiny kitchen to the rest of the apartment. If I could get to the kitchen, I could grab a knife.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, stalking toward me and then pinning me against the wall. The island pressed against my back as I tried to flatten myself to it, to keep him from getting any closer. Bile climbed up my throat as his scent assaulted me.
“Lucy?”
The sound of X’s voice gave me a little bit of comfort and I searched him out over Ron’s shoulder. What was he doing here? I didn’t have time to think about that, not when Ron turned to look at him.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, and I took my chance to dip under the arms he’d caged me in with and spin into the kitchen.
Before I could make it all the way into the room, he grabbed the sash of my robe and yanked me to him. I turned my head just as his came close and I made a face. “Let go of me,” I told him, willing my voice to be strong.
His hand squeezed harder on my sash and I slapped at it, trying to free myself. I was half a dozen feet from my knife block.
“You heard her,” X said, after moving further into the room. He was still a safe distance away, but Ron was between us. “Let her go.”
Ron turned to look at X, and I knew from the place where it was biting into my hip that Ron was carrying a gun. Trying to diffuse the situation, I said, “Don’t worry, I can handle him. I’ve done it enough by now.” I gave him a smile that meant to reassure him, but his brows were drawn together as he stared a hole into Ron’s back.
“But seriously, Ron. Let go.” I pushed against him, tried to get just a breath away from him, but he slammed me back into the counter.
Spots appeared in front of my eyes and the sharp burst of pain against my spine caused my mouth to open, but no sound came out. Fuck, that hurt. So much that it was like I couldn’t get enough air for a second. I blinked, swallowed, and searched the knife block again. Still a handful of feet away.
“Come on,” I said, but my voice was weak. I swallowed and pushed on him again.
Ron, probably sensing that he was outnumbered, grabbed me by the throat and turned to X. “Come any closer and I’ll snap her neck.” To demonstrate his strength, he squeezed and the force of it nearly popped my eyes out of my head.
I clawed at his hands and he let up for a second. I tried to speak, to say anything to get him to let go of me, but he wasn’t ready to yet, and I couldn’t find my voice. I punched at his chest, and he squeezed again, lifting me a few inches off the ground this time. I would black out, I knew—his grip was just too strong.
He loosened his grip again and my breath sawed in as I gripped the counter behind me, to keep me standing. It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened me like this, but it was the first time he’d done it in long enough that I’d forgotten what it felt like to be lightheaded, for all your strength to deteriorate that quickly.
I tried to speak, but I couldn’t—my voice was too weak from my throat being crushed.
I made eye contact with X, who was alternating looking from Ron and me, his hands in a clenched fist. When his eyes landed on mine again, I mouthed, “No,” hoping he’d understand that punching Ron would do nothing.
X took a step forward anyway, and Ron panicked, pushing me into the kitchen and squeezing even harder on my neck than before. Panic sprinted through me and I clawed at his hands, then his face, then around me for something to hit him with, but my hands came up empty and my vision was going and I felt myself losing consciousness.
I could hear a yell and just before my eyes closed, I heard a loud thud. Immediately, the hand on my neck let go completely and Ron fell against me, his sweaty, slimy body pressing me into the counter.
I had barely enough time to react to the pressure being off my neck and being shifted to my body before X pulled Ron off me. I watched, in slow motion, as Ron fell like a limp noodle to my feet.
My eyes met X’s, and it was then that I saw he was holding my only valuable possession—an antique cast iron pan I kept on my stove. He looked bewildered as he stared at Ron on the floor and then at his own hand.
“You hit him?” I tried to say, but my voice was scratchy, and not fully back. I turned to the sink and scooped water in my hands, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened as I sipped the water and then splashed my face. “Fuck,” I said, coughing as I braced my arms on the sink. I could still feel his body at my feet, which made me worry that he’d come to any second and grab me again.
After rubbing the cool water along my neck, where Ron had held me, I turned around and faced X. He was still holding the cast iron pan and hadn’t moved at all. I moved around until I was next to the fridge, away from Ron’s potential grasp, and crouched down. He was completely still. I couldn’t even see his chest heaving.
Dread filled me as I cautiously reached two fingers forward and placed them to his neck.
It only took a few seconds for me to realize there was no heartbeat. “Oh, fuck.” My head shot to X. “You killed him,” I whispered.
“What? No I didn’t.” X backed up, all the way until he was out of the kitchen and against the wall. “That’s not right. You’re not a doctor.”
He was stammering as I slowly rose to standing. “I don’t need to be a doctor to know when someone doesn’t have a pulse.” It shocked me that I could be the calm one in this situation, while he was the one freaking out.
“No.” He shook his head and stalked away, toward the door and then back again. The door was still wide open, and I had enough thought then to close it, not wanting anyone to witness anything else that had just happened.
I leaned against the door, thinking. “He’s definitely dead. You can check if you don’t believe me.” I pushed off the door and walked to the island counter, peering in. “Look, his chest isn’t even moving.”
“I’m not going to look!” X exclaimed, throwing his hand in the air and looking at me like I was crazy for even suggesting it.
“Well, don’t take my word for it—see for yourself.”
“I don’t believe that.” He shook his head, pacing. “No, no, no.”
This was my first time witnessing X less than composed. I marveled that I could be the sane, calm, rational one right now. But, I supposed, at least one of us was. “I mean, he’s definitely dead.” I held up a hand.
“No.”
A laugh burst from my lips—something that I knew was more from nerves and shock, and I stepped around the island to the threshold of the kitchen. “You can deny it all you want, but unless we’re about to see the beginning of The Walking Dead in my kitchen, he’s definitely not coming back.”
He looked at me, eyes narrowed, like he was pissed off at me.
“Don’t look at me. You’re the one who did it. Why’d you kill him?” Instantly, I shook my head, trying to find my senses—because I wasn’t blaming him. I was struggling to process the fact that a dead man was laying at my feet. “I mean, thank you. He was going to kill me.” I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the shock leave me incrementally. “So, yeah. You did what you had to do, you know?”
He pushed his hands into his hair and then rapidly let it go, leaving a hundred strands in disarray. “Why did I kill him? Like I did it on purpose? I didn’t mean to kill him. It just happened. He just—fuck. Is he really dead?”
“Dead as dead gets.”
He paced again, and I moved to stop him. But before I could reach him, a knock sounded on my door, causing us both to stop and stare at it.