Be My Hero (Forbidden Men #3)(27)

I didn't want to think about this anymore. It didn't matter how long I wondered about anything; I wouldn't get any answers. Why was I torturing myself like this?

Reaching out to shut the lid to Tristy's laptop, I paused when a little message box popped up in the bottom right-hand corner of her page.

When I saw it was from Quick Shot, everything inside me went cold. Quick Shot had been one of Tristy's drug buddies back in the day. I'd suspected he might've been her supplier too, but I'd never been sure. Until now.

The message read: hey babe u stil lookin for a hit?

My hands balled into fists and my muscles went so taut Julian shifted restlessly, letting me know he'd fallen asleep.

Counting to ten, I forced myself to breathe deeply and not lose it. Then I set my fingers to the keyboard and mechanically typed: No.

The f*cker replied instantly. wi not? ur ol man kach u?

I assumed kach was idiot-speak for catch, so I answered: Something like that.

Mabe latr then.

Jesus, learn how to spell, you dip shit.

I slammed the laptop shut, startling Julian. Drool ran down the back of my hand as his mouth lost contact with my knuckle.

Blowing out a breath to calm myself, I tossed the laptop onto the couch and eased from the chair. After carrying the baby to my room and settling him gently in his crib, I covered him up and then stood there a moment, watching him sleep before I felt composed enough to confront Tristy.

I shut the door behind me as I stepped into the hallway. After I reached the barred entrance to her room, I waited another moment, trying to keep my shit together.

And then I began to pound on her door.

"Get up, Tristy. We need to talk." I'm sure I was loud enough to wake her, but when she didn't open the door within a minute, I completely lost my temper.

"God dammit," I bellowed, pounding hard enough to rattle the entire doorframe. "I swear I will break this f*cking door down if you don't open it within ten seconds."

Five seconds later, I began to shout, "Ten. Nine. Eight."

The door flew open, and my lovely bride of less than a day glared at me, wearing an old ratty pair of boxer shorts and a too-large T-Shirt covering the fact she hadn't lost any of her baby weight since giving birth.

"What the f*ck is your problem?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes and shoving ratty tangles of red hair out of her face.

"Are you still talking to Quick Shot?" I demanded, folding my arms over my chest.

"What?" she croaked in the middle of a yawn. Dropping her arms to her sides, she muttered a curse. "Jesus Christ. You woke me in the middle of the night to ask that? I thought the f*cking building was on fire."

"Answer the question, Tristy."

"What? No. No, I'm not talking to that shithead anymore. Haven't seen him in months."

I arched an eyebrow. "Really? Is that why the time on the Facebook message you sent him, begging for a dime bag, says four hours ago? Is that why he just f*cking asked if you were still looking?"

Tristy's mouth fell open. She shook her head once before saying, "No . . . wha . . . Wait, what were you doing on my Facebook page?"

Great. Of course, she'd twist this around to make it all my fault. That's what she always did. Gritting my teeth because I felt caught, I muttered, "I was trying to look something up and you were still logged in. Then these messages started popping up and, f*ck! You've been f*cking lying to me." Grabbing handfuls of my hair, I gritted my teeth to keep myself from reaching out to shake her. "Damn it. I've been busting my ass to keep you clean and safe, and you do this? With Quick Shot? The dick who left you abandoned in an alley the last time you overdosed?"

If it hadn't been for a complete stranger calling the cops, who'd in turn called an ambulance and rushed her to the hospital, she'd probably be dead right now.

"Keeping me safe?" Tristy snorted and folded her arms over her chest. "You've been keeping me prisoner is what you've been doing. I've been trapped in this goddamn apartment for—"

"You have not been trapped. You know damn good and well you can do whatever the f*ck you like. You're free to come and go as you please."

Tris snorted and rolled her eyes. "As if I could go anywhere with a baby strapped to my hip. I have no freedom. No—"

"You got yourself knocked up. And if you ever need a break from Julian, I'll find you a f*cking babysitter. Damn it, Tris. This is no reason to go to Quick Shot for f*cking drugs!"

"It's what I know, okay. Those people, that life, that's what I know. Who I am. And you're trying to change me. Turn me into something I'm not. Into her."

I gritted my teeth and glanced away when she mentioned Tinker Bell. I regretted the night we'd gotten drunk together and I'd spilled everything to her about Madam LeFrey and the glimpses she'd given me. She'd never forgotten, never let me live it down.

"I'm not trying to change—"

A pounding on the front door of the apartment interrupted me. "Police. Open up."

I closed my eyes and hissed out a breath. Of course, someone had called the cops on us. The walls in this building were paper-thin. Someone probably heard me every time I sneezed.

Fuck.

"Are there any drugs in my apartment?" I asked quietly. "Don't lie to me, Tris."