Chapter 8
eight
Bang
Bang
Bang
My hand instinctively finds my pistol on the nightstand as I sit straight up in bed. Ragged breaths escape my lungs as I try to shake the sleep from my mind. It’s rare sleep finds me at all these days, so I’m not sure if the sound came from my dreams or not.
Bang
Bang
Bang
Bang
No, not a fucking dream at all. I climb out of bed, my gun trained on the doorway.
This apartment is so small, it’s not as if there are many places for an intruder to hide.
And most intruders don’t knock on the fucking door at two in the morning.
Leaning my shoulder against the door, I glance through the peephole and see the object of my every nightmare.
The vixen who haunts my mind. What the hell is she doing here?
Dropping my pistol on the kitchen island, I crack the door open only enough to push my head through.
She stands in the small hallway, one hand white-knuckling a bag slung over her shoulder and a large black dog on a leash in the other.
Vanessa is always a large presence, her energy encompassing any space she enters.
She is the most unwelcome distraction, especially at this time of night.
We both stare silently at each other for several long seconds. Her face a mixture of discomfort and trepidation, mine one of indifference. She looks down at her dog, a tall black Doberman whose eyes are laser focused on me. He looks mean as hell, but it’s been decades since I was afraid of beasts.
“Was there a fire?” I ask, my tone flat and unamused.
Her eyes narrow into slits, anger boiling deep within her dark irises. Her fist clenches around the leather of the dog leash, which only makes me smirk. There’s just something about riling her up. It’s more entertainment than I’ve had in years.
“No, asshole. There wasn’t a fire. Despite my better judgement, I need help.
Even though every single intelligent bone in my body screamed at me to stay the fuck away from you, I clearly didn’t listen.
Because I don’t want to bring trouble into my friend’s lives or into their homes.
Especially near their families. Rory trusts you, so some stupid, fucked up part of me felt like maybe I could too.
But obviously that was a wasted brain cell.
” She tugs the leash, turning on her heel to leave.
Something squeezes in my chest. Something like…
empathy? No. I don’t fucking care about her.
But I do care about Rory and Breaker, and I can’t deny they have done so much for me.
Between Breaker and Helo deep diving into the shitshow that is currently my family business, and Rory’s constant comedic relief making the worst days feel a little bit lighter, I almost feel like I have friends here.
“Wait. Come in.” I hold the door open, and she hesitates for only a moment before ducking under my arm, her dog trailing inside behind her.
Staring into the hallway, I take a deep breath and wonder what the fuck I’m doing. I can’t afford to bring her into the mess that is my life right now. Hell, I can barely keep my shit straight, much less help anyone else. I don’t even like her enough to offer my help willingly.
Shutting the door, I watch her taking in my space for the first time. There’s very little here. It’s not as if I really had time to pack for a lavish vacation. I threw my essentials into a bag, took what Matteo had already prepared for me, and got the fuck out of town while I still could.
“I really love what you’ve done with the place,” she says, her tone flat and sarcastic.
“If you’re going to be a bitch, allow me to show you back to the door.” I gesture, and her shoulders tighten.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s been a long night. Really, I…appreciate you letting me in.” She acts as if it’s almost painful for her to choke out those words, and I smirk. Fucking drama queen.
“Who is this?” I ask, taking a step towards her dog.
She backs up a little, putting her body between him and I protectively. He leans around her, just as curious about me as I am about him. Call me soft, but I love animals. He stretches his neck, sniffing the air in my direction, and I reach out towards him.
“He’s very skittish around strangers. Especially strange men.” She hammers home the last part, making sure I know how she feels about me.
“Really? Doesn’t seem like it.” I tell her, leaning against the kitchen island, letting her hold him back. He whines, looking up at her. “You don’t have to keep him leashed. There’s nothing in this apartment he can damage.”
She seems shocked by that response. As if she expected me to tell her to keep her mutt chained up in the basement or something.
I may be cruel to those who deserve it, but never to an animal.
She looks at me unsure, down at him, and back to me again.
But my features don’t change. I’m reluctant to welcome her into my space, but him? He’s welcome anytime.
“If you’re sure,” she says softly, unclipping his leash slowly.
He shakes his full body, walking towards me tentatively.
Stopping about a foot away, he stretches his neck as far as he can, sniffing my hand as if he’s deciding if I’m worthy or not.
He looks up at me, dark brown eyes buried in a sea of inky black fur, and his eyes narrow.
Mutual recognition ignites in us both, predator sensing predator.
He takes another step forward, and I stand to my full height.
“Sit,” I command, and he obeys. Vanessa makes a squeaking sound behind us, but she doesn’t comment.
“Down.” He lies all the way down, and Vanessa’s brows raise in surprise.
“He never listens to anyone. Me, occasionally. When he feels like it, maybe. But never anyone else. What did you do to my dog?” She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her perfect tits up, and I shrug.
“He recognizes who the alpha is in this house.” I reply, and she rolls her eyes. “What’s his name?”
“Doug,” she says with a smile, and I look at her like she's fucking insane. Because she is. Who names their dog Doug?
“I swear you get weirder the more I learn about you.” I turn to walk into the kitchen, and Doug stands, following behind me.
“Thank you, I take that as a compliment!” She shouts across the small room, dropping onto the tan leather couch. She laughs for a moment, then suddenly looks around, confused.
“Wait, where did this come from? This unit was fully furnished! This isn’t my couch!
What happened to the black linen couch that was here?
And the side tables! What the hell?” She jumps up, rushing around the space, looking at all the furniture I’ve replaced over the past few weeks.
“This dining table is completely different! I had a cute little white one! This is so…dark and…modern…”
She sneers, walking back towards the bedroom, but I don’t stop her. Instead, I stand in the kitchen, petting Doug and chugging a glass of water. She was bound to find out at some point. I was hoping it would be after I left, but here we are.
“What have you done?! There wasn’t anything wrong with my furniture, you pompous assface!
I just bought some of this stuff!” She charges back into the kitchen, stopping inches from my face.
Her spicy scent, a mixture of cinnamon, vanilla, and coffee, surrounds me, clouding my mind for only a moment, but I shake it away.
“That shit was old. It needed replacing.” I don’t feel it needs more explanation than that, but the anger in her eyes says otherwise.
“The couch smelled like weed, the bed frame was broken in three places, and two of the dining chairs didn’t match.
I am accustomed to a certain lifestyle, Ms. Diaz.
I wasn’t going to live beneath that because of your pride. ”
“That shit was mine, Sebastard! You don’t get to just decide someone else’s belongings are garbage and throw them out!” Her voice gets higher and higher, almost a screech, as she points her black manicured nail in my direction.
“Are you forgetting whose home you’re standing in right now, little girl? Get your fucking hands out of my face, Vanessa!” I snap back at her, stepping forward with authority. She retreats back into the living room, not running, but putting space between her and I.
“I pay fucking rent here. I don’t complain about the fact I'm taking cold showers daily, or that the smell of your over roasted coffee beans is so overwhelming it gives me a fucking migraine, daily. I mind my own business, Vanessa. I didn’t ask you, the person responsible for this apartment, to replace the furniture, even though Breaker told me it was your brother who left this place in such disarray.
” I charge forward until her legs hit the couch.
She has nowhere left to retreat. For once, she almost looks afraid.
“Listen, I didn’t-” she snaps, but I cut her off.
“Shut up. Don’t waste your fucking breath with whatever bullshit you’ve got to say.
I didn’t ask you to bring your sassy, judgmental ass to my fucking door in the middle of the night, Vanessa, but here we are.
You are more than welcome to keep this furniture whenever I leave.
Hell, maybe you could even charge a little more to the next tenant and actually get the fucking plumbing fixed.
So, I think the words you’re looking for are thank you, Sebastian, and I appreciate your kindness, Sebastian.
I’m not really interested in hearing anything else from you tonight.
” Taking one step closer to her, she shuffles, tripping and falling backwards onto the couch with a huff.
“Estúpido imbécil.” she mumbles under her breath, barely loud enough to be heard. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looks away from me, her chin stuck up in the air. So fucking defiant it hurts. I wish that didn’t turn me on.
“Excuse me?” I ask, cocking a brow. She replies with another eye roll. “Very well. There are blankets in the hall closet, Ms. Diaz. We can discuss your reason for barging into my apartment in the morning. Don’t worry, the new couch is very comfortable.”
I don’t give her the satisfaction of having the last word. Instead, I pick my pistol up from the kitchen counter and stalk back to my bedroom. Doug follows me halfway down the hallway before I give him a stern look.
“Stay.” I tell him, pointing back towards Vanessa. He looks back, glancing at me once more before curling up at the end of the hallway. She gives me a final shocked look, like the interaction between her dog and I is truly out of this world.
“Goodnight, Ms. Diaz.” I kick the door closed, stride across my bedroom, and sit on the edge of my bed. Setting my pistol on the nightstand, I drag my hands across my face.
Why the fuck would I invite this demon into my home so willingly?
Opening the drawer of the nightstand, I set my pistol next to the one thing I made sure to bring from home.
My fingers trace the edge of the resin, my heart rate calming instantly.
I want to go home. I’m tired of running, tired of hiding.
But will I ever really be done? Part of me feels like I’ve been hiding behind falsehoods my entire life.
People in my family are like actors who never leave the stage.
Always performing, even if no one is watching.
Some people wear masks for so long, when they finally peel them back, there’s nothing left underneath but the echoes of who they were once meant to be.