Chapter Thirteen Goldie #2
My eyes grow wide. Oh my god. The steps I just took backward are regained out of protective instinct until my mind catches up, and I stop short.
What do I do? What the fuck do I do?
“Of course, yeah.” I clear my throat, searching the room but not sure what I’m even looking for, before I grab a T-shirt off the couch and slowly walk step by frightening step toward him.
The sound of rain becomes louder the closer I get, and my eyelids flutter as the sky lights up behind him with lightning.
I open the shirt and extend my arms, feeling every hair prick on the back of my neck. “Come ’ere, baby,” I say, but when I reach her, she suddenly hisses, scratching and fighting, bucking her body and nabbing at his arm with her claws.
“Fuck,” he grunts, throwing her to the ground, and I dive.
My hands fly out to try to catch her, but she’s already on her feet, scratching the floor as she runs to Noah’s room. My knee hits the ground and I gasp, feeling the sting, then catch myself from face-planting as my hand hits the floor.
The cry about to fall from my lips stays wedged in my throat as my breath seeps out like water around pebbles, stuck in my lungs because his hand is on my elbow.
The stranger in my door has got ahold of me. And his grip is too tight to be friendly.
I can’t move or scream, paralyzed by fear as he brings his other hand closer to my face. Do something. Fight. Run.
But all I can manage is to squeeze my eyes closed and try to shakily inch my head away as his rough fingers brush my hair over my ear, grazing my birthmark.
“You really should be more careful. Wouldn’t want to ugly such a pretty face.”
My fear finally snaps into flight, and I push against the floor, scrambling back to stand. I grab the door to force him to let go of my elbow. It sways, but no more than that because his boot’s still butting across the threshold, stopping it.
“I’m fine. See?” I begin to ramble, to buy time before he tries to kill me.
“Thank you. But you should probably get going before the rain gets worse. Wouldn’t want two potential fatalities on my conscience.
Again, thank you for getting my boyfriend’s cat.
He’s on his way home, but I could call him and tell him what you did? ”
I’m aiming for easy and braver than I feel as I pull my phone out and dial Noah, hoping it’ll scare him away. But I can hear the shaking in my voice and see it in my hands.
The ringing echoes around us through the speaker as I hold my phone there for him to see.
Please answer.
It rings again as he stands there, his eyes locked on mine.
Noah, fucking answer.
My heart picks up to an even faster pace as it goes a third time.
But before Noah’s voicemail comes on, the stranger darts out and ends the call, letting his scarred hand linger for a second.
The longest second of my life as I never let my eyes drop from his.
Please fucking leave. Please, god, make him go away.
And like an answered prayer, he slides the tip of his steel-toe boot back across the line but holds me with his words.
“No need for more thanks. You already told me everything I need to hear, Goldie.”
Goldie . . . how did he know?
He raises his hand to his chest slowly, tapping it with his finger, making me look down at my shirt. Fuck. I’m wearing an old tee my sister got me with my name stitched on it.
I blink three times quickly and frown as my hand slides down the door, lining up with the dead bolt, ready to lock it the instant I close the door.
“You make sure to lock your door,” he says with a half smile, his eyes dropping to where I’m secretly touching the cold steel on the other side. He takes another step backward. “There are monsters out.”
All he gets is a nod before I shut it and lock it—all the locks—and then rush to the kitchen window and the back door too.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, turning on the sink and drinking straight from my cupped hand. I hear a meow.
Princess is on her back, rubbing herself over the floor, unfazed and unharmed.
“You know what?” I hiss at her, glancing out the window to ensure he’s gone. “Noah was right. You’re problematic. And if you had a shoe, I’d shit in it right now.”
I sneak to the front door and peer through the peephole—he’s already across the street—before I turn around and let out a relieved breath. My attention turns to my feet as Princess weaves between them, headbutting me. I pick her up just as my phone dings.
Damon: Hey—sorry I can’t pick up. I’m in the meeting. Everything okay?
I want to type No, I was possibly almost massacred, but I look toward the door again. The guy’s gone, and I don’t want to worry him when I know he’s at work. Things are going so good for him, and I don’t want him cutting out just because I never listen to reasonable advice.
Me: All good. Just miss you and I’m ready to blow this joint.
I’ll tell him later.
I lift Princess so we’re little eyes to big eyes as I say, “How about you don’t almost get me killed anymore since I’m the one who buys you the expensive cat food.
” She meows again, and I scowl, adding, “Also, let’s keep this between us.
I have a feeling our boyfriend would be really pissed off if I told him I never locked the door and almost got us skinned and worn by some psycho. ”