Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
brONWYN
“Are you sure you’re okay with closing again?”
A small scream leaves my lips as I jump. My hand covers my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. “Holy crap. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry. I thought you heard me. I set that giant box of used games we need to stock on the counter,” my coworker Nate says as he gives me a funny look.
I glance at the box as I focus on my breathing. I need to get a fucking grip. I’ve been on edge since last night. I barely slept, with me rolling over every twenty minutes. Any little noise I heard sent me into a mini panic attack, thinking the man from downstairs was coming back to finish me off.
I’m only twenty-six. I’m too young to die. Especially in a tiny-ass studio above a pizzeria. If there is a man upstairs, I hope he at least lets me get my dream home before he decides to off me.
“No, no.” I shake my head. “It’s me who should be apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t sleep well last night, is all.”
“I told you not to stay up all night playing online,” Nate jokes as he starts taking games out of the box for us to inventory.
I put a fake smile on my face, hoping he doesn’t see through it. There’s absolutely no way I can tell him what happened last night. It sounds like something straight out of a bad horror movie. I don’t think he would believe me if I tried. I know I wouldn’t. “I’ll try not to do it tonight.”
“So…about closing…” Nate trails off as he continues working.
I grab a stack to stock and round the counter. “That’s fine. Are you taking Tory anywhere fun for her birthday?”
“I booked a table at Bella Vita,” he says smugly.
Tory is his new girlfriend. I use that term very lightly.
They haven’t been together long, but it doesn’t surprise me that Nate is pulling out all the stops for her.
He’s a bit of a serial dater. He’ll be all into someone to the point I feel smothered for her for about a month before he gets bored and moves on to the next best thing.
It’s disgusting, but what am I going to do about it?
I let out a low whistle. “Wow. You’re really pulling out the big guns.”
“I think she might be the one. When you need coverage for a date or something, I got you.”
He thinks every single girl is the one.
I snicker. “You’ll be the first to know if that ever happens.”
Dating hasn’t been my strong suit. I’m not sure if it’s a me problem or if the wrong guys just happen to keep finding me.
Whatever it is, I’d like it to stop. Is it so hard to want a guy who’s into a girl who likes to game, works a job that pays just above minimum wage and doesn’t leave the house unless she absolutely has to?
It would be nice if they were also okay with me streaming.
My page isn’t where I want it to be yet, but I’m well on my way.
The end goal is to make that my full-time job.
The last two guys I casually dated didn’t see it that way.
One of them thought it was a cute little hobby, which was demeaning as fuck, and the other one didn’t like how much time I spent online because he thought it should be spent with him. It felt like there was no winning.
The rest of the day passes by with nothing eventful happening, which after last night I’m okay with. I’m a little nervous to walk home by myself. What if he’s waiting for me? He knows where I live now.
These are the thoughts racing through my head on repeat as I walk home. I keep my attention on my path straight ahead because I know if I look around it’s going to make my paranoia even worse. I don’t need my mind playing tricks on me while I’m trying to focus on not dying.
By the time I reach the alley, I’m holding my breath as I peer around the corner looking for any signs of life.
Nothing pops out as I practically run to the metal stairs and race up them before he can dart out from wherever he’s hiding and grab me.
I unlock my door in record time, step inside and lock it even faster.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
I made it.
I shed my clothes and hop in the shower, washing away the twelve-hour workday before changing into a pair of lounge clothes as I try to figure out what I’m going to eat. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in over a month, and I know I ate my last piece of bread yesterday.
My stomach growls as I open my fridge and freeze.
I expected to find it mainly empty as I was fully prepared to drink enough water until I felt full. What I wasn’t expecting was to find my fridge full of cold cuts, cheeses, fruits, and vegetables.
“What the fuck?” I whisper slowly as I look around my studio.
Was someone in my place? Where did all this food come from?
Pounding sounds on my front door, making me jump and scream for the second time today. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest as I stand in front of my fridge with the door open, unable to move.
No one I know would be knocking on my door right now.
The pounding starts again, this time sounding more urgent and loud, making my eyes dart around my apartment as I try to find somewhere to hide. There’s only one way in and out, and whoever is on the other side of the door is blocking my path.
Shit.
I’m stuck.
“Open up! I know you’re in there!” a man yells through the door as he pounds his fist against it again.
I cross the small space of my apartment and take my chances looking through the peephole.
“Shit.” I gasp, my hand covering my mouth as I take a step back.
It’s the man from last night.
I could call the cops, but I’m sure the hand is long gone by now and I doubt they would believe me. It sounds crazy to me. So crazy that I almost think I dreamed it. If anything, it would probably get me committed.
“You know I can hear you, right?”
Shit, shit, shit!
“What do you want?” I ask through the door, hoping he’s fine having a conversation through it and not face to face.
Right now, it’s the only thing saving my ass.
“I want you to open the fucking door.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “No.”
I hear his frustrated sigh as what I assume is his head thumps against the door. “It’s been a long day and I don’t want to do this with you right now. We can pick up this game of cat-and-mouse tomorrow, but right now I need to talk to you.”
“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?” I ask, playing dumb.
I know exactly what he wants to talk to me about. And I have a feeling that conversation will end with my hand being cut off my body while he does god knows what with it.
“Open up the door, Bronwyn,” he orders, his tone sending a chill down.
On command, my body betrays me as I flip open the locks and yank open the door, aiming a glare at him standing in my entryway in another perfectly polished suit with not a single hair out of place. “How do you know my name?”
He crowds my space until I’m left with no choice but to step back or risk being pressed flush against his chest. He takes advantage of the opening and sidesteps me, making his way into my apartment.
He looks massive in my tiny apartment, his large frame taking up most of my living area. He doesn’t look around as he heads toward my futon and sits down, making himself right at home. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
My mouth opens and closes as I stare at him in what can only be summed up as a mix of confusion and shock because what in the hell is going on?
“What would you like to drink?” I find myself asking before I can catch myself.
“I’ll take a bourbon, cara.”
“I don’t think I have bourbon,” I tell him as my brow lowers.
Actually, I know I don’t have bourbon because I don’t drink it. I can’t stand the taste.
“You should check your cabinets. You’d be surprised what you forget you have,” he responds. There’s something in his voice I can’t place.
Not wanting to push any buttons while the man who might be murdering me soon is in my apartment, I do as he asks. I open the cabinet next to the fridge that I use as my makeshift pantry.
Lo and behold, a bottle of Red Breast is staring right at me.
“What the fuck…” I whisper slowly as I reach for it.
I know I didn’t buy this.
This is all way too weird.
An unsettling feeling sets in the pit of my stomach as his voice rumbles throughout my apartment, commanding the space with little effort. “Two fingers neat, please.”
Uhh…
Do I look like a bartender to him?
“Pour it until it’s about an inch deep, cara. No ice,” he answers my unasked question.
On a normal day, I would have told this guy to fuck all the way off, but I’m thinking that’s not the right move here. I think my best bet is to do what he wants, which will please him and then, in turn, make him leave faster, and then I can hope I never see his face again.
So, I do as I’m told. I grab a glass and pour until the whiskey is sitting about an inch high in the glass.
Deciding it’s best for me to stay sober so I have a clear head, I cross the few feet of my studio to where he’s lounging on my small sofa with his arm lazing across the back and hand him his drink.
His lips tip down into a small frown as he takes the glass. “You don’t have any umbrellas?”
I tilt my head to the side in confusion. “Umbrellas?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “You know, those little paper ones they put in your drinks?”
“You want one for your whiskey?” I ask, a little floored. I’ve never seen a grown man want an umbrella in his drink, let alone a straight glass of whiskey.
“It makes it go down smoother.” He shrugs.
“What’s your name?” I ask abruptly, changing the subject. “It’s only fair I know yours since you know mine.”
He says nothing as he takes a sip of his drink while he studies me, his face schooled with an unreadable mask.
“It’s Gio,” he finally answers.
Gio.
It fits him. The dark hair, the dark, tailored suit, the scary commanding energy he emits when he walks into a room.
“Why are you here, Gio?”
We both know why he’s here. I just want to see if he’s man enough to tell me to my face that he’s here to take care of me.
Gio lets out a resigned sigh. “I’m here to come to some sort of arrangement.”
My eyebrow quirks up. An arrangement? A man like him doesn’t exactly seem like he’s in the business of negotiating with people.
“What kind of arrangement?” I ask, crossing my fingers and toes that curiosity doesn’t kill the cat this time.
“The kind that fixes my fuck-up and you don’t talk about what you saw to anyone.”
“And what does that entail?” I ask as I cross my arms, skeptical of what’s going to come out of his mouth next.
“What you walked into should never have happened. And that’s on me. I can admit where I went wrong. However, my boss and I need to make sure you don’t repeat what you saw to anyone.”
Trust me, buddy. I’ve already thought about it, and every scenario I’ve run through my head ends with me being checked into a mental hospital because that’s how fucking crazy I would sound.
“I’m not going to repeat it to anyone.”
“That’s great.” Gio nods, not looking entirely convinced.
“To ensure that though, I’m here to enter into a contract of sorts.
” Gio takes out a white envelope from the interior pocket of his suit jacket.
“Every two weeks you will get $5,000 in exchange for your silence. If you happen to break the agreement, the money will stop and there will be consequences.” He pins me with a hard look.
“Are you trying to pay me off?” I blink at him in shock.
Five thousand dollars is a lot of money. It would change my life in a way that I wouldn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck anymore, and I wouldn’t have to pick up every overtime shift that pops up. I could finally breathe easy. Maybe even save up to buy a little place of my own.
Do I want to be attached to them? They’re clearly into some sketchy shit if they’re trying to pay me off. What if it comes back on me? I’m not cut out for prison. Is taking bribe money illegal? See? I don’t even fucking know.
“Trying? No.” Gio downs the rest of his drink and sets his glass on my thrifted coffee table.
The table rocks slightly from being on uneven legs.
“I will be paying you off. I’m sorry that I didn’t make myself clear earlier, but this isn’t up for negotiation.
You have no other choice but to accept my offer. ”
“Then why did you make it seem like I had one?”
“I was trying to be nice.”
I snort.
Nice would have been to leave me the fuck alone.
“It’s in cash?” I ask, eyeing the envelope.
Gio waves the thick envelope in the air, silently answering my question.
I guess that’s better. If something happens and they come looking for me, cash is a lot harder to trace and doesn’t leave a paper trail.
“I’ll get the same amount every two weeks?”
“Yes.”
I suck in a deep breath. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to something with the devil. “Alright. I have one small request, though,” I say as Gio sets the envelope down on the table and gets up to leave.
His brow raises in my direction. “And what might that be?”
“Can you install a security camera that’s aimed at the stairs leading to my apartment?”
“Why?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.
“This is going to sound crazy, but someone broke into my place and stocked my fridge full of food.” I look at my feet as I nervously try to get out what I need to say.
I feel like I’m under a microscope with the way he’s studying me.
“I don’t know anyone who would do that, and no one close to me has a key. ”
“No one broke in. I stocked your fridge. Have a nice night, Bronwyn,” Gio answers before sauntering out of my apartment without another word, leaving me floored once again.
“What just happened?” I whisper to myself as I look around the room in shock.
I have a feeling I just dove head first into something that’s going to turn my world upside down.