“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he calls out, his voice bouncing off filthy walls as he moves closer. “She won’t open that door.”
I smile at the voice, non-muffled without the door between us, and glance at Jeremy to see if he understands the man’s comment. His face surprises me. Tense, his back leaving the wall, his posture stiff as he straightens. I have forgotten that he knows Simon, that they have bitched countless times over the package of pills that he delivers monthly.
Simon pauses, a hitch in his step, when he is ten feet away, his eyes warily recognizing Jeremy. “Oh. Hey, man.”
Jeremy says nothing, nodding at him in acknowledgment of the greeting.
The druggie’s gaze jumps left, and stares me up and down, his eyes taking their time. “What—delivery boy bring you to see the freak show?” he cackles. “I’ve got stuff a lot more exciting in my place. If you want…” He steps closer, smiling, and I see Jeremy’s fists clench.
I smile brightly, using the young innocent smile, the one that my clients love, the one that dissolves all tension and puts them all at ease. He moves closer and I jump into action, bringing my knee up quickly, into the soft flesh between his sweatpanted legs, the hard impact causing his eyes to tightly close, his torso doubling over as all air leaves his chest in one brittle exhale. He wheezes and I bring my forearm up, under his chin, and press hard, pushing him back against the wall, my four-inch heels putting us at eye level with each other. “Hi Simon,” I drawl, watching his eyes jump to mine, a hesitant recognition at my voice in their red-rimmed depths. “Welcome to the freak show.”
CHAPTER 4
JEREMY PULLS ME off. Not that it is really necessary. I have no weapon on me. My knee-to-the-crotch move is pretty much the only move I have—and it’s been in my repertoire since middle school, back when a properly timed middle finger was just as argumentatively effective. Had Simon not been surprised, not still been overcome from the assault on his nuts, I wouldn’t have been able to push him back, to get my forearm under his chin and hard against his throat. He was already recovering when Jeremy pulled me off, already gaining his wits and understanding the situation before him. A few seconds later, he would have pushed me off. So I’m glad Jeremy stepped in. Saved my credibility while still letting me feel like a badass.
Jeremy moves before me, glancing at my face. “Are you okay?”
Are you okay? An outside observer would think he was being protective, was asking if I was hurt, or offended, or any other manner of state that would send a knight in shining armor rushing to my aid. But I know what he is asking. He is asking if I am under control. If that show of violence was a spark that will lead to a full-blown forest fire. I feel a buzz of warmth that he understands. That he appreciates what is possible.
I look at Simon, whose expression sits somewhere between incredulity and admiration, most likely in relation to my looks over my barely there ass-kicking abilities. “Nine o’clock?”
He nods, looking down. “Yeah. Sorry about the… Yeah. Nine. I’ll be here.” He stumbles sideways, avoiding the glowering stare of Jeremy, and hurries down the hall, the jingle of keys announcing his arrival at his apartment door.
Jeremy swears under his breath and reaches for my hand, grabs the key ring I loosely hold, and jams the aluminum piece into the lock, twisting and pushing until the knob gives way. Then he pushes open the door and steps inside.
“What happened to good night?” I ask, my feet still in the hall, my arms crossed as I watch him wait, his hand impatiently holding the door open for me.
“Get in, please. Before that piece of shit comes back.”
I grin at his tone, which is more of a growl than enunciated speech, enjoying the pained look on his face and move past him, tossing my bag to the side, enjoying the look of it falling to the floor. I am normal. I go out and come home and toss my purse casually on the floor.
“And stop looking so happy,” he continues. “That punk is dangerous.”
“Happy is not a bad thing. And Simon is harmless. He’s not going to bite the hand that feeds him.”
“He didn’t know what you looked like before.”
I shrug, sitting on my bed, and unstrap my heels, my feet aching. I watch him, facing the door as if he expects it to open, a frown on his face. “Your protectiveness is cute, but I’ll be fine.” More than fine. In fact, I am fingers-crossed hoping Simon will walk back down the hall and knock on my door before he locks me in, will try to talk his way inside. I am suddenly anxious for Jeremy to leave, hoping he will scamper on so that I can unlock my safe, pull out my knives, and have time to sharpen them just in case. I close my eyes, tighten my fists, and try to block out the thoughts. Try to think of something other than how easy it would be to kill my keeper. How easy it would be to throw out the possibilities and take action into my own hands. Walk to Simon’s door instead of hoping he’ll open mine. Put my heels back on and saunter down that hall, my stiletto knife hidden in my purse. He’d open the door. Open the door, welcome me in, and then see what the true meaning of “freak show” was. The freak show would be my redecoration of his apartment with his blood. His skin growing cold under my hands as blood drained from his body. My eyes flip open when I feel a hand on my shoulder, the touch startling me.