17. Lilah
17
LILAH
I was tired by the time I pulled into the lot in front of my apartment building, but it was a different kind of tired. I was only working one job now instead of three, the stress of juggling multiple jobs replaced by financial stress.
I had two weeks until next month’s rent was due. I wasn’t going to make it — not without pulling from my hard-earned savings — unless I replaced the income I’d lost at the Dive and the motel. I needed to pound the pavement, look for another job or three, but I couldn’t seem to muster the motivation to do anything but drag my ass to Burger Haven and home again.
I knew I was sinking, sinking into the depressive state that had landed me in Oak Hill. It was insidious because it felt a lot like being tired. Like, as tired as I’d ever been in my life. I could convince myself that if I just slept enough, I’d feel better. I’d be able to tackle the job hunt — my finances, my life — tomorrow.
But that wasn’t how it worked. The hole just got deeper and darker.
I knew that firsthand.
The therapy I’d gotten at Oak Hill had helped, but I didn’t have health insurance now and I couldn’t afford to pay for it out of pocket, so I was on my own, feeling like I was walking through waist-deep sludge as I got out of my car.
I’d made it all of two steps when squealing tires sounded behind me.
I turned around in time to see a black Jeep careen into the lot. I stared as it aimed right for me, then jumped back when it stopped on a dime a few feet in front of me.
I just about fell over from shock when Jude and Nolan stepped onto the cracked pavement.
A second later a familiar black Rover pulled into the lot like it was being chased by the devil himself. A second later it squealed to a stop next to the Jeep and Rafe stepped out of the driver’s side.
I’d always thought it was silly when I’d read in a book that someone’s mouth hung open in shock, but I was pretty sure that was what happened to me as I stared at them. “What the…”
“They’re gone,” Rafe said, not to me but to Nolan and Jude.
Jude’s big shoulders sagged with something like relief.
“Fuck,” Nolan said.
“Um, sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but what the actual fuck is happening right now?”
“Vic and one of his men were here,” Nolan said.
My blood ran cold. “ Here at my apartment?”
Nolan nodded.
“They left less than five minutes ago,” Rafe said.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “How do you know that?”
“Because we’ve had the building under surveillance,” he said, stalking past me toward the entrance to my building.
“You’ve what ?”
“Sorry, I know it was a violation of your privacy,” Jude said, removing his gun from inside his camo jacket.
“ Sorry ?” My voice had taken on an edge of hysteria.
“It was for your safety.” Nolan already had his weapon drawn. “Stay here.”
“I’m not staying here,” I said, following them into the building’s vestibule. “What if they come back?”
I had a lot of questions — a lot to say — but now clearly wasn’t the time.
“Stay behind me,” Nolan said.
A month ago, the shadows in the foyer and along the staircase hadn’t bothered me. Back then the biggest threat to my safety had been an eviction notice. But I’d been more than a little edgy since the chase through the woods and my return to the apartment, and it definitely wasn’t better now that I knew Vic had been here.
I moved quietly up the stairs behind the Bastards, surprised by how quickly they ascended, how quietly they moved on the creaky floorboards. Rafe went first, rounding the corner at the halfway point to the second floor, pausing for a split second with his gun raised before continuing upward, Nolan and Jude behind him, like a deadly flock of geese flying in formation.
We reached the second-floor landing and my heart raced when I saw that the door to my apartment was open a crack.
I’d definitely locked it when I’d left for my shift at the restaurant.
The Bastards locked eyes and I had the feeling that they were communicating, that a world of information was passing between them even though they hadn’t said a word.
Nolan looked at me and mouthed the words, Stay here .
I didn’t have time to argue. Rafe kicked the door open and stepped smoothly into my living room, followed by Nolan and Jude. I half expected to hear gunfire from inside, but Nolan returned less than five minutes later.
He slipped his gun into a holster under his parka. “All clear, but?— ”
I didn’t give him time to finish before I pushed past him into my apartment. I got all of three feet before I stopped cold.
The place had been tossed top to bottom.
Deep slashes had been torn through my secondhand sofa, the stuffing emerging like a shock of white hair. The framed pictures I’d found in local thrift stores had been ripped off the wall and thrown on the floor, and my TV — an older model I’d gotten for twenty bucks because a neighbor was moving out of state — was shattered.
My stomach turned and I fought a wave of nausea, then took a step toward the hall.
“You don’t want to do that,” Jude said, blocking my way.
I shoved past him and headed for the bedroom, trying to stay calm, trying to breathe through the pounding of my heart.
It wasn’t good for me, I knew. I’d refilled my meds after my stay at the Bastards’ house, but I’d put my heart through too much stress over the last week.
I gasped when I stepped into my bedroom. It wasn’t that the bed had been slashed like the sofa in the living room. It wasn’t even the fact that all my clothes had been pulled out of my dresser and thrown on the floor, the ones that had been in my closet yanked off hangers and spilling out of my closet.
It was the writing on the wall that sent a thrum of shock through my body.
I stared at the angry red letters spray-painted over my bed: STFU CUNT.