Chapter 5 #2
Well, maybe there’s an eensie sliver of worry. But I think that stems from an overall feeling of unease, and not from who Jester is, specifically.
“I’m fine,” I reply. “Go ahead.”
Once Micah leaves the room, Jester rests his arms on the glossy wooden table and smiles at me. In a low, conspiratorial tone, he says, “I didn’t hide anything. Sometimes it’s more fun not to, knowing that Knight will search anyway. But don’t tell him that.”
“Okay.” I can’t say I mind the idea of spending time in the kitchen with Micah, laughing together as we search for whatever Micah thinks Jester hid. “I won’t say anything. Not right away, at least.”
He nods approvingly. “I knew I’d like you. With you staying here, I bet we could come up with a great prank to play on Knight. He’ll never suspect you.”
“I’m not sure about playing a prank,” I begin.
“Are you trying to drag Ruby into your ridiculous pranks?” Rogue asks as he comes into the room. Micah and two other dark-haired men follow behind him. Without giving Jester a chance to answer, Rogue lifts his chin at me and adds, “Hey, Ruby. How are you doing?”
I know Rogue from last night, since he showed up at my apartment and was the one guarding my room at the hospital. Not only is he the founder slash owner of Fox at least not exactly. It’s just that he told me where he worked, and I was curious…
“It’s fine, Ruby.” Micah rubs my arm. “Of course you’d look up F&F after I mentioned it. I would have been surprised if you hadn’t.”
Rogue nods approvingly. “Absolutely. Better to be informed than not.” He pauses. “We don’t usually all show up to a potential client meeting. But Knight wanted us all to meet—”
Micah clears his throat. “Anyway.” He glances at me. “How about if you start by going over the events of last night. I know you already told me and the police. But sometimes people remember details they didn’t initially.”
My chest squeezes. I knew this was coming. And I understand why. If I’m going to let Micah’s friends help me, which I’m increasingly seeing the value of doing, they need to hear my story and be able to ask me questions about it.
“Take your time,” Micah adds quietly. His thumb brushes across my forearm, warming my chilled skin. “There’s no rush.”
But I’d really rather not drag this out any longer than necessary. So, with a deep breath and a heavy exhale, I say, “When I first walked into my apartment, the first thing I noticed was that the light didn’t work.”
And from there, I launch into the rest of it.
The certainty that the bulb in the living room had just blown.
The unease when the other light wouldn’t come on.
Taking out my phone to use the flashlight, still convinced my apartment was safe. That because the door had been locked, I had to be alone in there.
My voice shakes a little as I talk, and my hands go clammy beneath the table. But I focus on recalling the minutiae of the minutes before the attack—if I noticed any strange sounds, a piece of furniture out of place, or an unfamiliar smell that didn’t belong there.
I do pretty well until I get to the actual attack. Then my heart starts to race. As hard as I try to distance myself from it, to remind myself that I’m in Micah’s condo and no one can hurt me, I keep getting drawn back into the terror of last night.
As I talk, I can feel the man’s hands around my neck. I feel his weight pinning me down. His scent hits my nose—an unpleasant blend of pine and coffee and deodorant.
My lungs strain for air when I talk about those desperate moments before Micah began to kick at my door. With tears in my eyes, I tell them how I thought I was going to die. And how I barely believed it when my attacker let me go.
“I wasn’t sure,” I say in a small, wobbly voice that sounds nothing like my own, “even when I saw Micah leaning over me. I wasn’t sure if it was real. If he was real. Or if I was dying, and it was just some weird hallucination.”
“Ruby.” Micah clasps my hand beneath the table. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” I glance up from the wooden grain of the table to look at him. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. You didn’t attack me. You kicked down the door and saved me. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
His pained gaze meets mine. “I’m sorry you went through that. And I’m sorry I didn’t walk you upstairs. I should have. Assuming you were safe… it was stupid.”