For all I know, she’s dead, and I’m usually okay with that. I have my parents, and Lucy. My sister, especially, is always a comfort.
Except when she’s practically dragging my drunk ass out the door.
I juggle Dio’s carrier and my purse, casting a longing glance up the stairs where I know Cliff’s room waits, empty.
"I’ll text you if he comes home," Lucy promises. "Now out."
Lucy drops me off in front of my apartment with another bottle of wine and a kiss on the cheek.
"Take care of that kitty," she orders, "but take care of you, too."
In true Lucy fashion, she waits outside until I get in and lock up. I wave to her out the front window and she drives off. Sighing, I kick off my boots, then release Dio from his prison. He waddles over to his kitty bed and promptly crashes.
"That’s looking like a fantastic idea," I say.
Fuck the bath, I decide. And, even though another glass of wine sounds heavenly, I really should get up early and actually go to class. Talk to my department head and professors, see what I can do about my internship.
Because Lucy is right. It isn’t too late. I still have time to turn things around. I can still walk across that stage in May.
I tuck the bottle of wine into the refrigerator, knowing that Esther and I will totally make use of it when she gets back. Then I pad into my bedroom for the night, turning off lights as I make my way through the apartment. The only lights I leave on are the porch light and the lamp in the living room. Mostly because I feel bad about leaving Dio in the dark, even though he has night vision.
I undress in the black of my bedroom, trying not to think about what I found the last time I came home to an empty house. But Dio is safe. The locks are changed. My sheets have been thrown out and replaced.
Everything is fine.
Still, I flick on my light, because apparently my pleasant wine drunk has morphed into an all out paranoia. But my room is completely normal. It’s exactly the way I left it. Even the array of makeup across my vanity is the same. It looks like Esther didn’t dip into my stash before she left.
Everything is fine.
Except.
I gasp out loud, skittering back from the vanity as if it’s going to reach out and grab for me. I crash into my bed, grunting in pain as my hip smacks into the wooden frame. Shaking it off, I glance around my room, looking for anything else out of place. Human hearts, maybe. But even the closet door is wide open, the way I left it. A signal of safety.
Still.
The shiny set of keys amidst my makeup glints in the light. I already know which locks they fit into.
Chest rising and falling in rapid breaths, I swallow hard. Glance around for my purse. It’s by the bedroom door, where I dumped it. I cross the room and yank the gun out, screwing in the silencer.
Both my breath and pulse are loud in my ears. I open the door and peek out into the rest of the apartment. Dio’s bell jingles, and I lurch, running in the direction of the sound, gun pointed.
But my kitten is just drinking water from his bowl.
I suck in a deep breath. "Get ahold of yourself, Olivia." Exhaling, I try to be logical. Maybe Esther left her keys because she’s moving in with Donny and didn’t have time to tell me.
My logical explanation has a major flaw: that’s not like Esther at all.
I turn in a slow circle in the kitchen, taking stock. Fear pumps through me, sending pulses of adrenaline into my veins. But I don’t know how to use it. I take another deep breath. The kitchen is in the same exact condition that I left it in.
Maybe I’m just losing it. Esther probably made an extra copy of our keys and left them for me. She was the one to go to Walmart for the copies, after all.
My shoulders sag. I lower the gun. As the adrenaline ebbs, I feel ridiculous. Still, I check the entire apartment. Room by room, I make sure windows are locked. I sweep Esther’s bedroom, then close the door behind her. Then I double check the front door.
Locked.
Feeling a bit paranoid, I head to my bedroom. I pass by Dio sleeping on his back, his tummy rising and falling with each breath.
"Goodnight," I whisper, and slip into my room.
I change into a Mindless Self Indulgence T-shirt and peel back the covers on my bed. Another set of shiny keys rests on my pillow. This time, I flat out scream.
Turning, I snatch the gun from my vanity. Tears prick at my eyes. I gasp for breath, feeling as if my chest is being squeezed. Chills dot my body. Still sucking in sharp breaths, I turn back to the bed.
They’re still there.
A whimper escapes my lips. He’s fucking with me. Probably watching through my window right now and laughing at me. Except my blinds are down, the way I usually keep them. I stare at the window, wondering: If I pull them up or peek through, will I find him standing out in the yard?
"Think, Olivia," I whisper to myself. I can’t let him scare me. If I get hysterical, he wins. I need to flip this around on him. Take back the higher ground.
But I can barely think with my heart pounding in my ears.
My phone vibrates in my bag. I dart across my bedroom and grab it. I don’t recognize the number on the screen. It must be Eli. My thumb slides toward the green button to answer it, but I halt.
I can’t play his game. If I answer it, he’ll just keep playing with me.
I put the phone down on my bed. Then, leaving the light on and the door cracked open, I ease out of my room.
On the balls of my feet, I prowl the apartment. I tuck sleepy Dio into his carrier and close him in Esther’s room. The whole time, I hear my phone vibrating in my bedroom.
Shrouded in shadows, I park myself in a corner of the living room. I drop to a crouch, gun drawn. If he comes in—no, when he comes in—he won’t make it far.
I swallow hard, muscles coiled. My arms aren’t used to being straight out for long, and after only a couple of minutes, they start to fall asleep. I flex my elbows, getting the blood pumping again. But my eyes never leave the door.
In my bedroom, my phone stops ringing.
Every beat of my heart is a hollow echo in my ears. Tears sting my eyes, whether from fatigue or fear, I don’t know. I turn off the safety.
The door knob jiggles, the distinct sound of a key fitting into the lock cutting across the room to me. Even after seeing the spare keys he left for me, hearing it sends shockwaves of nausea through me.
He made copies of my apartment keys.
I picture him sitting in a dim cellar with an old fashioned key-making machine. My parents had one that was my great-grandfather’s. All he had to do was take the blank to my apartment, notch it in the lock, and voila. Chills ripple up and down my spine.
I’ve put too much trust into this world, even after all I’ve seen. Safety is only an illusion. One that I’ve gladly wrapped myself in.
Until now.
Time slows, and I take a long, deep breath in through my nose. As the bottom lock disengages, I form a fast plan.
I’m not an experienced shooter. I won’t be able to hit him while he’s moving. My best bet is to let him come all the way in. Let him think I’m in my bedroom. Follow him. And then close in. There won’t be anywhere for him to run.
The deadbolt clicks.
I snap to attention.
The knob turns, and the door pushes open slowly. It doesn’t even make a sound. I think of all the nights I’ve slept here, oblivious, while he probably came in and watched me. Touched my cat. Fury flashes through me. I lift my chin.
Eli steps inside. In the dark, it’s hard to make out his face, but he isn’t even wearing a ski mask or anything like that. Cocky motherfucker. He glances around, his eyes unadjusted to the dark. His head swivels in the direction of the light peeking out from under my bedroom door. I can’t see it, but I know he’s smiling, that blank clicking spinning in his eyes.
My blood freezes at the thought of it.
He heads toward my door, his footfalls silent. With each
pace, my nerves tighten. If I move too early, he’ll see me and it’ll all be over. But if I’m not fast enough, it’s over anyway.
Eli stops just outside my bedroom. Silhouetted against the light, he looks like a breathing horror movie poster. He stands there for what feels like ages. I don’t know how much he can see inside, but I have a feeling he already knows I’m not in there.
I don’t think I’m going to get another chance.
I sidestep along the wall, then loop around in what I hope is his blind spot. The whole time, I have the gun drawn on him. He might be bigger and faster, but I’ll make sure I at least put a few holes in him before he kills me.
Inching behind him, I take aim at the back of his head. When I’m only a few feet away, he swivels around.
I jump back, stifling the scream in my throat. It comes out as a wheezing gasp. "Don’t move," I say, the gun still trained on him.
I expect him to lunge at me, but he just stands there. Several beats pass. Neither of us move. Eli doesn’t speak.
"What do you want?" I ask, even though I don’t really expect an answer. It’s obvious what he wants.
The living room light flicks on, flooding my vision. I shut my eyes against the burn, taking several steps back. Eli’s laugh skewers me. Jerking my eyes open, I point the gun right at his face.
His hand lowers from the light switch next to my bedroom door. Turning his arms, he exposes his forearms to me, sleeves already rolled up.
Nausea creeps up my throat as my eyes trace the letters of my name that are carved into his flesh. The wounds are still raw, as if he did it only hours ago.
"I love you, Olivia," he breathes. "I want to take your picture."
My stomach curdles. "Sorry, but I’m not into modeling." I’m impressed by how steady my voice is.
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a stack of photos. With one flick of his wrist, he drops them to the floor. They scatter, and I can clearly see the subject.
Dio, sitting on his haunches, big eyes looking into the camera.
Dio, bloody and mangled on my bed.
Me, unlocking my front door, my face turned to the side.
Esther’s slit tires, the Valentine’s message carved into her trunk.
Me, asleep in my bed, curls framing my face.
The air comes out of my lungs in a whoosh.
"I wanted to touch you," Eli says, "brush your hair back. But I was afraid you’d wake up. You look so peaceful when you sleep." The smile that spreads across his face is waxy and off balance, as if someone pinned it into place. "But I really want to shoot you while you’re awake."
He reaches into his back pocket again, pulling out a small black rectangular object. I’ve seen enough movies to know what it is. Before I can squeeze off a round, he pulls the trigger.
Electricity grips me, convulsing through me. Despite how tightly I hold onto it, the gun drops to the floor. I crumple right after it. Shockwaves jerk every nerve and muscle in my body. Blood oozes from my nose. The pain is seemingly never-ending.
Eli looms over me. "Hmn. I may have turned that up too high." Pocketing the taser, he grabs my wrists and drags me into the living room. "We’ll set up a studio right here." His voice is delirious with joy. "Don’t move, sweetheart. I’ll be right back."
I hear the front door open and close. Gasping, I will my muscles to move. It’s life or death here. But they don’t so much as twitch. If I could cry, I would—but there’s no time anyway. I try to wiggle a toe, anything. Nothing happens.
I wish I’d paid more attention during the self-defense class I took as a freshman.
I focus on breathing, bringing oxygen into my paralyzed body. Breathing out the toxins from the electricity. Seconds race by. Eli can’t have much equipment. I’ve got to hurry.
The feeling in my muscles starts to creep back in. Agonizing pain grips me. Gritting my teeth, I raise myself up onto my elbows. I army crawl through the living room, sweat pouring down my face and back. It doesn’t matter. Fuck the pain. If I don’t reach that gun, I’m dead.
I near the gun. It’s only a few feet away.
The front door swings open.
Launching myself forward, I grab the weapon. Eli springs across the living room, a heavy boot kicking at my arm. I squeeze off a round, but it goes wild. The silencer mutes it, but the impact of the bullet into one of Esther’s vases is ear shattering. Glass flies everywhere, shards glittering on the floor. I swing my arms back, using my knees to retreat a few feet. I need room, but Eli reaches for me.
I pull the trigger, embedding a bullet in his hand.
He screams in pain, his other hand gripping his wrist as if the limb is going to fall off and he’d better hold on. As if sensing that I’m aiming again, this time to kill, he dives toward me.
I roll onto my side, skittering out of the way just in time. He crashes into the coffee table. Several candles in heavy jars go flying. One thuds into his shoulder. Groaning, he grabs it and chucks it at me. It slams into my temple.
The room goes gray, spins.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stay here. Blood streams down my forehead, into my eye, cascading down my cheek. I blink away the burning pain.
Eli throws himself at me, his good hand clamping around my ankle. He starts to drag me forward, face red with exertion. "I’m going to break your hands and then carve out your insides," he laughs, "and then I’m going to shoot you. I’m going to shoot you," he grunts over and over.
Bringing up the gun, I take aim at his face. "Fuck that," I force out. I squeeze the trigger. The bullet slams into the space between his eyes, leaving a quiet hole. He jerks back, eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, his grip on my ankle tightens. Then he careens back. Open eyes gape up at the ceiling. He doesn’t move.
Blood seeps into the white carpet.
All at once, my entire body starts shaking. I can’t move or think. All I can see is the puddle of inky red and that perfect entry wound. Then my vision goes gray.
I slap myself, hard. I actually see stars, my cheek stinging from the impact. But it does the trick. Dropping the gun, I cling to the wall, using it to draw myself to my feet. I stagger toward the front door.
Eli left it partially open. I peer out into the night. My apartment complex and neighborhood sit in silence. It’s as if none of this has actually happened. I shut the door and face my living room.
My eyes go instantly to the body on my floor, as if magnetized. It starts to sink in. I’ve just killed a man. There’s a corpse in my apartment.
A sob builds in my throat, but I cut it off. This is no time to cry. I’ve got work to do. I have to get rid of Eli. The problem is, I’ve never done this before. I have no clue what I’m doing. Plus, my arms and legs might as well be spaghetti, thanks to the taser. I need help.
And there’s only one person I can trust.
17
Cliff
The shrill ring of my phone jerks me out of a dead sleep. I sit up in bed, sweating. The club rooms are hot, as if the hormones from downstairs rise, permeating the ceiling that separates the two floors. Swinging my legs over the edge, I get up and crack a window. Cold air rushes in. Heavy lidded, I tip my head back and enjoy the wave.
My phone rings again. Silently cursing Lucy for choosing such a bone shattering ringtone, I scoop it from the nightstand.
The name on the display makes all of the blood drain straight out of my head. Before I even answer, I already know. Something is wrong.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Cliff," she gasps. "Please."
There’s no need for her to say any more.
I pull on clothes as I make my way through the small room, shrugging into my cut almost as an afterthought. I pound down the stairs and fly out the door. It’s as if my body has taken control, leaving my brain in my bed. By the time my head catches up, I’m flying down 63.
I ignore the speed limit and get to Olivia’s in under ten minutes. It’s probably more like five. Practically knocki
ng the motorcycle over, I dismount and break into a run.
The apartment door is unlocked. I push my way in and look around wildly for her. My brain processes the scene in small increments.
Blood on the carpet in the entryway.
Shattered knick knacks strewn across the floor.
Olivia huddled next to her bedroom door, a gash oozing from her temple.
The Glock in her lap.
A man splayed in the center of the living room, a hole between his eyes.
I rock back on my heels, the wind knocked out of my lungs. Memories assault me: another house, another body on the floor, another girl curled into a corner. Shaking them away, I go to her. My hands cup her face, turning her head gently so I can see the wound. "What happened?" The flesh at her temple is split wide open, blood pulsing from within. She’ll need stitches, and it’ll probably scar, but it doesn’t look life threatening.
The chalky pallor of her face is what worries me. Her eyes slide from mine toward the body in the middle of the floor.
Following her gaze, I realize I recognize him. "That’s the guy from the gas station," I say, turning back to her. "Olivia. Tell me what happened."
"What are we going to do with him?" Her voice is eerily calm. Those eyes burn into mine, pupils constricted to tiny pinpricks.
For the first time, I notice the tiny punctures marring her neck, arms, and legs. I take her wrists, holding them up. Her limbs are limp in my grasp. "What the fuck happened, Olivia?"
She gazes down. "Oh, those. I had to yank the barbs out." She laughs. "I don’t know how the fuck I crawled around with those things in."
"Okay." I pull her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her. "You’re in shock. It’s okay." Stroking her hair, I press safety into her.
My mind whirls. Distantly, I think that I may be in shock, too. Again I look at the body. Another gunshot wound pierces the hand curled next to his face. My Olivia did this. Sending her away only dragged her in deeper.
It’s all my fault.
A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1) Page 16
