by Lola Taylor
Her date with Scott was tonight, in approximately two hours. She’d already showered and done her hair, nails, and makeup, just because she was anxious and couldn’t help obsessing over every single microscopic detail. Because of this, the process of getting ready had taken twice as long.
Just thinking about tonight made the wine she’d drunk earlier threaten to come back up.
Nerves wracked her body. Why the hell did she agree to do this?
Take it easy, her subconscious said. You’re going on a date, not being shipped off to war.
Amy groaned and fell backward onto the bed. She threw her arm over her eyes, shielding them from the overhead light.
She wasn’t ready for this. Not now, not ever.
It didn’t matter that two years had passed. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel Michael’s arms wrapped around her, could still smell the cool, minty cologne he wore. In her dreams, she heard his voice.
The pain was still fresh, too. The night she’d found out his darkest secret, the one that sent her perfect world spiraling straight to hell.
January 14, 2013.
The day Michael Stone, formerly known as Michael Lewis, was murdered.
Her throat closed up as her heart pounded harder. Fear ran in icy currents down her veins.
She shouldn’t have any reason to be afraid now. Nathan was across the country, under close watch of his parole officer. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. He hadn’t tried contacting her since he had gotten out of prison.
So why was she still so afraid?
Her therapist’s words came back to her. Work through the fear. Don’t let it, or the past, control you.
Recognizing that she was getting caught up in the past—and thus, that paralyzing fear that refused to release her—Amy forced herself to sit up and shake her head. Sweat had started to bead on her forehead and just underneath her eyes, making her face feel oily.
“Great,” she muttered with a long sigh.
Hi, Scott. I decided to sport the crack whore look tonight. Sexy, huh?
Not wanting to let her makeup run, she hopped up from bed and padded into the bathroom to spruce up her makeup. Coming back out to the bedroom, she’d done a quick round of “eeny, meeny, miny, moe” and tugged on the black underwear set, when there was a loud screeching noise from outside.
What on earth?
She went to one of the bedroom windows, the one with the lovely view of the garbage-riddled alley below, and looked down.
It was hard to tell, considering it was getting dark, but there appeared to be four teenage boys standing there. She recognized them. They lived in the next-door building, and they were all little shits. They’d woken her up one morning, putting graffiti on the side of her building with crude artwork. She also saw them picking on smaller kids and stealing their things.
Her blood boiled when she saw the source of the screeching.
It was a tiny kitten, solid black with white boots.
And the kids were apparently trying to light its fur on fire.
Shock made her immobile for a second. A flash of movement from the building across from her caught her eye; someone had looked out the window and had drawn their blinds.
Un-freaking-believable. They weren’t even going to help a poor, defenseless kitten.
Her nails dug into the windowsill. Like hell she was going to just stand around and ignore it.
Knotting her robe, she slipped on some flip-flops, snatched her keys off the counter and an aluminum baseball bat from the living room corner, and hauled ass down to the alley.
The poor kitten’s tortured wails seemed twice as loud out here.
An elderly couple walked by the alley, not even turning their heads to the noise.
Seriously, what the hell was wrong with people? Didn’t anybody have the guts anymore at least to attempt to do the right thing?
She sprinted around the corner and lifted the bat. “Hey, assholes!”
They were all gathered around the kitten, snickering. One held it up by the tail, its little bloodied paws flailing about, while another held the lighter directly under its face.
Bile rose in her throat at the smell of singed fur, along with a heaping of rage.
Her fists shook around the bat, making her knuckles turn white. It took every ounce of control she had not to charge them and beat the living hell out of every single one of them.
They all looked up at her—and laughed.
“What are you doing, bitch?” The boy’s voice was still high-pitched; he must not have undergone puberty yet.
Already off to a great start in life. Where the hell were these kids’ parents?
She probably didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
“Put him down,” she barked. Her anger made her voice strong.
“Or you’ll what? Club us?” one sneered.
“If that’s what it takes,” she hissed, never backing down.
The boys behind him whistled low and snickered. “Kitten’s got claws,” the tallest boy said, the one who held the kitty by the tail.
“Last warning,” she growled.
The boys shook their heads. One of them rolled his eyes and muttered, “Dumb bitch.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Suit yourself.”
She swung.
Whap!
“OW!” The tip of the bat nailed the tall kid on the wrist. His fingers flew open, and the kitten dropped to the ground. After it landed on all fours, it scampered to a nearby Dumpster.
The other three boys’ jaws dropped as they stared at their howling comrade. He clutched at his hand, and tears formed in his eyes. “Bitch!” he screamed. “You frickin’ broke my wrist!”
“Serves you right, for what you did to that poor kitten!” She hefted the bat. “Who’s next?”
The others froze and gazed at her warily. The tall boy seethed, starting toward her, but one of the boys pulled at his arm. “Let’s go, man. Bitch is fucking crazy.”
“That’s right!” she yelled as they ran away toward the opposite end of the alley. “Remember that the next time one of you little punks decides to mug somebody or abuse an animal! I’M WATCHING YOU!”
Her screams echoed down the alley, chasing the boys as they disappeared from view.
She waited a few seconds, breathing hard, before she lowered the bat.
The wind picked up at her back, and she heard the scrape of an aluminum can as it skittered across the sidewalk.
She instinctively looked over her shoulder in the direction of the sound.
Her heart stopped.
There, under the streetlamp, stood a tall, lean figure in a dark hoodie and jeans. Some kind of symbol was on the chest of the hoodie. It was hard to make out details from across the street in the low lighting, but his hair looked spiky. It would have been a little less creepy if his hair color had been anything other than red.
No, auburn. Just like Nathan’s.
But that was impossible. Nathan was in New York, a whole country away. His parole officer said he’d been to therapy and hadn’t violated the terms of his restraining order. That meant staying the hell away from her and her family.
See, Amy? It can’t be Nathan.
A group of giggling teenage girls raced past him to a nearby bus stop. He didn’t even move out of their way or flinch.
Instead, he continued to stare at Amy. His lips slowly spread into a wide smile.
Something glinted from his bottom lip…a lip ring?
The fear she’d felt earlier returned, making her blood run cold.
Nathan had had a lip ring, too, in that exact same spot. Or was it on his upper lip? She had to be drawing her own connections again. Her therapist had said when dealing with trauma, especially the fear of being stalked, that it was easy to see threats where there weren’t any, leading to paranoia.
But this…this fear was palpable. Reasonable.
Deep down in her bones, she had the sense this man wanted to hurt her.
&nb
sp; Run.
She blinked as the bus rolled in front of her and blocked the man from view. The girls climbed on, and a moment later, the bus drove off.
With a heavy dose of apprehension, Amy’s eyes lifted to the spot directly across from her, over on the other side of the street.
Her breath left her.
The man was gone.
A tiny, scratchy meow floated up from her feet.
Crap, that’s right. She’d forgotten the reason she’d come out here in the first place.
As she cast one last look over her shoulder, she knelt to the kitten that rubbed up against her legs. “Hi, little fella,” she cooed as she rubbed his back. She had a little flashlight on her keychain ring. Shining it on the kitten’s head, her heart squeezed as she spied a patch of singed fur and blistered skin. It had to be in pain, but the little kitten’s purr motor ran up a storm.
“Animal lover, I take it?”
She yelped and turned. Scott stood at the mouth of the alley, a brown paper bag full of groceries in one arm and a gallon of milk in the other.
As if it would calm her galloping heart, she placed a hand to her chest and heaved a heavy sigh. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He raised a brow. “I can tell. Everything all right?” He approached her as he spoke.
The kitten trotted up to him and meowed.
He smiled. “Hey there, cutie. Sorry, I can’t pet you. My hands are a bit full.”
Amy went into the story of how she heard the kitten crying for help and had raced outside like a lunatic to save it.
Scott was laughing by the time she’d finished. “Good, I hope you did break that punk’s hand. Teach him not to mess with defenseless creatures. I swear, those kids are gonna end up in juvie or worse.”
The kitten wove in and out of Amy’s legs, purring the whole time and arching its back.
She glanced at her watch. Her conscience tugged at her. Biting her lip, she said, “Do you mind if we postpone our date until a little later tonight? They burned this little guy, and I’d feel guilty just leaving him here to possibly get infected.” She shuddered. “Or leaving him at their mercy, if they decide to come back and finish what they started.”
Anger burned in Scott’s eyes. “Like hell we’re letting that happen, right?”
She smiled. “Really? You don’t mind pushing the date back so I can take him to the vet?”
“Nah. I need to do more good deeds. Build up my good karma and all that.” He winked. “Come on. I know of a place nearby we can take him. You have a cat carrier?”
She winced. “No.”
“S’kay. I think I have one stashed away in the Lost and Found section in the office. A lot of people leave, trying to escape paying late rent, and they leave behind a lot of shit. You’d be surprised, sometimes, what they forget, or don’t care, to take with them. I’ve gotten nice watches, sixty-inch televisions, CD collections…”
She scooped up the kitten and walked with him to the front of the building. “Wow. Sounds like a waste.”
“Yeah. I’m sure grateful for it, though.” He grinned. “I’ve furnished half my apartment with all their unclaimed stuff.”
She playfully shoved him. “I’m sure you are very grateful.”
Once inside the building, they stopped by the office to get the cat carrier, and then he walked her to her apartment.
“I’m going to go put this up”—he hefted up the groceries—“then I’ll drive us to the animal clinic.”
“Sounds good.” She shifted her weight. “You sure you don’t mind going with me? You don’t have to.”
“I don’t mind,” he said instantly. “But I’d say later, you owe me a kiss.”
He winked and left, leaving Amy standing there, her face hotter than the sun.
A kiss. Something so simple and sweet. A gesture most adults who’d regularly dated probably didn’t place too much emphasis on.
Except, she wasn’t like most adults. She had a dark past.
And she knew from experience a kiss could be the equivalent of aiming a gun at her heart and pulling the trigger.
THAT EVENING AND nearly two hundred dollars later, the kitten had received veterinary care, a microchip, and a whole heaping of love. All the staff at the animal hospital had fallen in love with the kitten, showering him with sympathies, kisses, and hugs.
The vet assured Amy and Scott the kitten—a little boy Amy had named “Braveheart”—had suffered no permanent damage, other than that to his coat. The fur on his head would probably never grow right, because the boys had singed the hair follicles. He may even have a bald spot the rest of his life.
Asshole kids.
True to his word, Scott drove her and the now-bandaged-up kitten to and from the vet. They stopped by a dollar store to buy a litter box, some litter, and other kitty essentials, before they headed back to the apartment. Once settled in Amy’s apartment, the little guy made himself right at home. He purred and purred and followed Amy around, taking the opportunity to brush up on her legs when she was standing still. She already loved him to pieces.
So. Freaking. Cute.
Her sister would love him. She made a mental note to text her a picture later.
Wanting to be polite, she’d offered Scott a drink when they got back to her place. They both stood in the kitchen, sipping on ice water and soda. “So, you know,” he said casually, “this building has a strict no-pets policy. Granted, people still try to sneak them in…”
Amy choked on her water. After a coughing fit that had her eyes burning, she wheezed, “Are you serious? There’s a freaking no-pets policy?”
Panic set in. What would she do with the little guy? She couldn’t send him to the pound, most likely to be euthanized. She didn’t know anyone who could take him. Becca was allergic to cats. And sending him back onto the streets seemed cruel and would most likely end up in the kitten’s execution, should those boys seek revenge.
Scott chuckled. Her eyes snapped to him, seeing that mischievous sparkle she saw earlier.
“What are you laughing at?” Amy said, distraught. “This is horrible!”
Scott calmly finished off his soda and deposited the can in the garbage bin. He backed toward the door. “I’m going to go finish getting ready, then I’ll be over here to pick you up in fifteen minutes for our date.” His eyes darted to the kitten and back to her. “It’ll be the first time I’ve seen you all day.”
Amy quickly caught on. Just to make sure she heard him straight, she said casually, “So you never saw me in the alley.”
“No.”
“And you never saw a kitten.”
“What kitten?”
Her face broke out into a wide smile.
And just like that, she felt herself falling for him.
Scott tapped the side of Amy’s half-empty mug. “I’m so ahead of you right now.” He raised his frothy glass and downed the rest of his beer before he pitched a dart at the board in front of them. For at least the tenth time that night, the dart struck dead center. Amy had teased him that his darts were rigged. “I’m, like, two glasses ahead of you, and I’m just getting fuzzed.”
Amy snorted as he went to pull his darts out of the board. “You mean ‘buzzed’? And yeah, I’m not buying that for a second.” She frowned. “It’s not fair. Your aim seems to be improving the more intoxicated you get, while mine’s going down.”
He pretended to fling an air dart. “All in the wrist, baby.”
She laughed. “You’re a dork.”
The bar they were in was a dive, no doubt: scratched-up, checkered flooring from the seventies, an old jukebox that barely lit up anymore, tables and chairs with broken legs, and about a gazillion motorcycle pictures plastered to the walls. Motorcycle parts hung from the ceiling, the chrome glittering in the dim lighting.
They were about half a block away from the apartment. Not wanting to leave the injured kitten alone for too long, they’d opted to stay fairly close. She’d almost told him that she d
idn’t feel like going. Ultimately, she knew that would have been an excuse to chicken out. But once she was here and riding a little alcohol high…she was actually enjoying herself. Scott was surprisingly easy to talk to. Just like he’d promised, he’d kept the date casual. They’d played pool for about an hour and had been playing darts for the past forty-five minutes or so. It almost felt like hanging out with a friend.
A very sexy friend she’d like to ride.
Scott held up his glass. “Hey, Jimmy!” he called over his shoulder. “Get me another, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man behind the counter said with a grin and a shake of his head.
Amy smiled gently and sipped her beer. Her tolerance had gone way down since her drinking binge right after the incident. It had taken six whole months to finally give up drinking, after an intervention from Becca and her family. “So, how long have you worked here?” she asked politely. She tossed another dart at the dartboard. The tip hit the thing at an angle and bounced off into a nearby trash bin.
Scott went to retrieve her wayward darts. “Eh, on and off for about the past six months.” He shrugged as he handed them to her. “Bartending isn’t my dream job, but it’s good supplementary income. It gets pretty crowded on the weekends, which is the only time I work, so tips are good.”
Amy nodded. “Let me see if I got this right: you work business days at the apartment, work construction during the weekend days, and you bartend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night?”
“Yup.”
“That’s…impressive. I wish I had that kind of work ethic.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the dartboard. “It’s not easy.”
“I’ll bet.” She wondered why he had to work so many jobs. Did he have bad debt? Oh God, what if he had a gambling habit, or a drug addiction, and needed the money to fund it?
“I have a lot of bills,” he said with a sigh. “Leftover from an ex of mine.”
That sucked, but at least it wasn’t about gambling or drugs. “Oh?”
Jimmy brought over another glass and took away the old one. Scott’s posture seemed noticeably tenser than before. “Yeah. I was her sponsor. Well, sort of. I tried to be, but neither of us belonged to any groups, so it was never official or anything. Not that I’m much better. She had a shitty childhood, and I took pity on her. She didn’t have much, was living on the streets, actually. She’d gotten in deep with a few bad people. I felt sorry for her, so I loaned her some money to help get her on her feet. Turns out she was just blowing it on drugs.”
