“Jethro,” a muffled voice says. “Forgot my keys.”
The infamous Jethro? Curious in spite of myself, I crack the door open—and it flies into my face, throwing me backward. I barely catch myself not to fall.
Blake stands at the door, grinning. “Gotcha,” he says.
Oh shit. I look around for a weapon, anything, and I see a heavy ashtray on the coffee table. I stumble over and lift it, weighing it in my hand.
“Don’t come closer,” I warn. I raise the ashtray.
He starts laughing. “Don’t be such a stupid bitch, little Evie. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Anger and fear clog my throat. “Then go.”
“Why? I just came in. Won’t you offer me a drink?” He steps closer and my grip on the ashtray tightens. “Won’t you offer me hospitality? Don’t I deserve it more than the bums you call your friends?”
“Shut up.” I want to smash his hated face in. “Leave, Blake. Now.”
“This isn’t your apartment, and Joel isn’t here to tell me to go, so…” He shrugs.
What a douchebag. “I’m not staying here to listen to your bullshit. I’m calling Joel. He’ll tell you to leave me alone.”
“Will he now? Joel thinks the best of me, and why shouldn’t he? I’m only looking out for you.”
“Looking out? You had Seth beaten up. He’s lucky he’s alive. Did you take part in it, or did you send your buddies to keep your own hands clean?”
He tsks. “Seth. Who cares about him? I warned you, baby. Told you to stay away from those streetbums. My buddy Alex lent me a hand, but honestly? I enjoyed kicking the shit out of Seth. I hope he pisses blood for days.”
I gasp, a chill going up my spine. I expected it, but hearing it from his lips, seeing his satisfied face in front of me, is terrifying.
“Just go,” I plead.
“I look out for you,” he mutters, stepping closer still. “I even asked Alex to keep tabs on you when you work from across the street.”
Shit. “I don’t need your help.”
“You need it. You just can’t stop hanging out with these bums. I gave that stupid motherfucker a hands-on warning to keep away from you. He won’t be bothering you again.”
I shake my head, confused. “Seth? You talking about Seth?”
“Seth is out of the picture already.” He snorts as if he said something funny. “You think I don’t watch you? I don’t see you with him? That blond dickbag you hang out with. You’re probably convinced he’s your boyfriend and that he’ll take care of you. Well, he won’t.”
I don’t want to understand what he’s saying. “You make no sense.”
“Micah. That’s his name, isn’t it? Pansy-ass name. Pansy-face. Dirty streetbum.”
“What’s Micah got to do with this? He’s not—”
“Homeless. But he was a few months ago. You looked after him, didn’t you? Called the ambulance for him when he was sick.”
Oh no. Oh God. The ashtray drops from my hand and hits the thick carpet with a dull thump. It was him? All those times I thought he reminded me of someone, all those times I heard him cough and thought of the young man I lost… that I thought I lost.
It was him. Why didn’t he tell me?
Why would he? People like to put the dark days of their lives behind them, not talk about them. And today he was trying to tell me something over coffee…
“Blake.” I try to make my voice strong. “You can’t hurt Micah.”
“Can’t I?” He winks.