I poured myself an orange juice, which I deliberately left on the counter, then went to the cupboard and took out the Froot Loops. I stuck my hand in the box, pulled out a handful of colorful rings and shoved them in my mouth. “Want some?” I held out the box.
Vic didn’t look up from his iPad. I approached, peering over his shoulder, seeing emails from— He flipped it over, set it down on the kitchen table then got up and went over to the blender he’d been using every morning to make a shake with God knows what mixed in. All I knew was it was green and looked like vomit.
He poured himself another one then grabbed my orange juice, dumped it in the sink and filled my cup with his concoction.
God, so predictable. “Hey. What the fuck?”
“You want to tell me that orange juice doesn’t have vodka in it?”
It did. I’d made sure of it since the first day he came to stay. “What’s a little pick-me-up in the morning? And they say alcohol’s a downer … I totally disagree.”
He slid the cup of green goop along the marble counter toward me. “Drink it. Then have a shower. We’re meeting your parents at the cemetery in an hour.”
I ignored the green stuff and put my hands on my hips. “How about we skip the vomit? Forget the cemetery and my parents and you take off your clothes and join me in the shower.”
I expected shock. Maybe if I was lucky, a mild smirk. I got neither. Actually, I got scary badass with bodies in his closet. I wasn’t brave enough to laugh it off; instead, I faltered and Vic plowed me right over.
“Deck may put up with your crap, but I sure as hell won’t.” Vic approached until he was right in my face and I was backed into the wall. His palms slapped the wall above my head. “You want to fuck, cupcake?” He was quick, grabbing my throat, his fingers bruising. “A quick fuck in the shower? I won’t tell Deck. Shit, he’s too busy getting his ass shot at anyway.”
I reached up and put my hands on top of his, trying to pry his fingers back. I really didn’t want to have to use the knee in the crotch, but I would if he didn’t get his hands off me in two-point-two seconds. “Vic, hands off.”
It took him a second before he abruptly let me go. “Better learn to bite that tongue before some guy doesn’t take his hands off you when you ask.” He pushed away, turned his back then walked back to the kitchen. “Take a fuckin’ shower then we’re going to the cemetery.”
I didn’t say anything. What was there to say really? Except I knew I wouldn’t be taking a shower and we certainly wouldn’t be going anywhere together.CLIMBING OUT A second-story window should have been easy except when there’s only a spindly tree branch to grab hold of and it ends up breaking. I’d never had to escape my own house before. I just hoped Vic would hear the shower running and not get suspicious for at least ten minutes. After that … well, no one would find me until I wanted to be found.
Just me and my pain.
I stopped at Perk Avenue and grabbed the bottle of scotch I kept there for this particular day every year, and then had the cabby drop me off a couple miles from where I was going.
I swear Deck’s men had GPS tracking devices in their heads with the way they could locate people. I had no doubt Vic would be calling every taxi service in the city to see if anyone matched my description.
Of course, I paid off the driver, but that would only go so far. Deck had loads of money. Shit, I couldn’t even begin to guess how much he raked in for locating, killing and torturing the scum of the Earth.
“You sure, lady?” the driver said as he pulled onto the shoulder. “There’s nothing around here.”
I leaned over the seat and passed him a wad of cash. “Yeah. Thanks.” I opened the door. “Good luck with the party.” He and his wife were having twenty kids over this afternoon for his daughter’s fifth birthday.
He laughed. “Good luck to you, too, Goldie.”
I waited until he pulled a U-turn and was out of sight before I crossed the road and went into the bush. It took fifteen minutes before the car pulled up on the side road where I waited. The passenger door flung open and I hopped in.
“Have any trouble?
I shrugged, looking over at the young good-looking guy with tatts inked up his left arm and a piercing in his right brow. Sharp, dark features with greyish-green eyes that drooped in the corners, which made him look sad … or seductive. Both worked.