Messy Love(92)

Shaking, I walked into the building and climbed the stairs, my mind riveted to Wyatt, to his words, to the emotions I perceived in his eyes and that washed over me, reminded me of what I had felt when we made love.

As I reached my level, I looked down to get my cell phone to call Sophie because I didn’t think I’d be able to endure this waiting game on my own, but right before I unlocked the screen, a presence caught my attention.

I couldn’t explain why my heart sped up so fast it hurt in my chest, or why my blood ran cold through my veins. I stopped there in the middle of the hall and looked up, unsure of why I dreaded doing so.

My eyes first landed on gaunt hands from which veins, blue-green protruded. Those hands were so big that I feared the kind of damage they could do. The bruised knuckles attested to the violence I so easily pictured.

Slowly, I trailed my eyes up and met with a hard face, the kind of face you’d see on someone who leads a hard life. The man’s traits were harsh, carved so deeply his wrinkles hardened his expression that was already downright scary. His mouth with lips I bet had been once full was pursed until the lines around his thin lips created sinister shadows.

His dark eyes finished to chill me to the bones. They spoke of danger and anger, of everything dark that had never touched me but threatened me. And what was worse was that I knew this man. I knew him not because I could see bits and pieces of the man who had stolen my heart in spite of everything, but because I had seen him earlier, not even two hours ago.

I opened my mouth to talk, to say something, to find a way to get to my apartment safely, but my voice was gone. I stood there, gripping my phone tightly, my keys in the other hand and my mouth open as my eyes locked on the man Wyatt feared the most.

“I see you know who I am,’’ the man said and his voice, cavernous, made me take a step back. “Not so fast, cutie.’’

He snagged my forearm tightly. The press of his sweaty fingers in my skin had me cringing, but the pained sound that crept out of my lips wouldn’t catch my neighbors’ attention if they were home.

“Let me go,’’ I mumbled through gritted teeth as I tugged on my arm. The joint in my shoulder protested when he pulled hard once. Tears invaded my eyes. “What do you want?’’

“Tell me one thing, cutie. Do I look like a man who is stupid enough not to keep eyes on my son when I’m not around?’’

I stopped wriggling then. I ceased to breathe too.

He knew. He knew about Wyatt, about Mr. Burton and the cops.

“You should have left Wyatt alone,’’ I whispered and fought my tears because now wasn’t the time. Now, I must be brave and find a way out of this because if he sought me out and knew about the trap that was being set up, then I was in danger and nobody would be looking for me for hours. Everything could happen in hours. It took mere seconds for my parents' car to barrel into a tree and put me in a two-month coma. So hours…

With my chest heaving, I forced my eyes to stay in his, to gauge his intentions, but all I saw was a cold kind of anger.

“You’re a brave little thing, aren’t you? I see why my son is so taken with you.’’

“You know nothing about Wyatt.’’

“Is that right?’’ He snickered then, and the sound sent more chills down my spine. His fingers dug deeper into my forearm. His brittle nails scratched at my flesh, but I held on and didn’t move. At this point, I knew he wouldn’t let me go. I was trapped, at his mercy. “Cutie, I know enough to be sure he’s going to come running once he realizes I have you.’’

“And what are you going to do to him? Don’t you th—‘’

“Shut up,’’ he cut me off harshly. His face was so close to mine his spit hit me on the cheek. This close, I smelt the liquor coming from his mouth, the stale tobacco that seemed to follow him and mostly, I couldn’t escape the hatred in his eyes. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, cutie, and you sure don’t want to know. Now, keep your mouth shut.’’

Before I could take enough breath to scream until my throat was sore, his other hand fell over my mouth and clamped my lips shut so hard I bit my cheeks.

Blood took over the taste in my mouth, and the tears in my eyes fell at last.

***





WYATT


Fucking hell.

That’s all I kept repeating in my head as I sipped a Gatorade pretending that nothing was amiss. That was a joke.

Every-single-thing was amiss, starting with the junkies snorting lines or putting a needle in their veins. Or the smoke from joints that never seemed to leave the place anymore and gave me a permanent headache.

Low-lives dealers from around the city and suburbs grew more restless as my father was still a no-show, thirty minutes after the appointed time.

Today was supposed to be a delivery to some dealers so they could re-stock and go back to their business. It was rare when they were so many at once in the same place, but apparently, that was an important meeting set up by some boss that wouldn't be showing his mug of course.

I didn’t make a lick of sense of that shit, and I didn’t want to anyway. All I wanted was my biological father here so Dad could give the green light to the team on standby.

With the mic they’ve put on me, I had no doubt they had enough to put away the people in my apartment. After all, they kept on throwing left and right how many bucks they’ve made over the week, named drugs and one even talked about knifing someone in an alley.