“Quite a few reasons. Things are going on, things you don’t know about.”
I instantly shoot back, “What things?”
“I can’t tell you that.” He shakes his head very slightly. “Things. Bad things. Things that shouldn’t be happening. It seems like someone’s…” He evades again, shaking his head. His gaze flits up, toward the ceiling, then abruptly falls. “Just trust me on this, okay? Bad shit. Bad for us. I think that guy has something to do with it.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about or if it’s possible Liam does have anything to do with it, and I’m aggravated by the vagueness. “Well, if you can’t tell me anything, why should I tell you anything?”
“How did you even happen across this guy? He approached you, I assume?”
I stand, shaking my head. “If you can’t tell me—”
He stands too, grabbing my arm and jerking me back, but this time not in a forced show of aggression. Desperation seeps out of him.
“How did he fucking find you?”
I get chills again, trying to break his grasp, but his words are actually starting to get to me.
Liam didn’t come out of nowhere, and he isn’t the one who approached me, but what is Raj doing that he’s so worried about me finding out about? That warranted having me followed home, to make sure… what had Liam said? That I didn’t report back to Pietro?
What would I report back to Pietro for?
“What kind of stuff is going wrong?” I ask again.
Frustration etched plainly on his face, he swears again, but this time it smells of surrender. “I can’t… Some stuff was stolen.”
“Stuff?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not just that either, it’s… that guy doesn’t fight like a normal guy. He doesn’t fight like a civilian,” he says pointedly.
My eyes roll of their own volition. “I wouldn’t call him throwing you off the bed and stepping on your throat a fight, Paul.”
His face reddens. “Not that night. Before that, before I knew who he was. The night at the bar.”
Now I frown. I don’t mean to, I probably shouldn’t have, but I don’t know what he’s talking about and I’m caught unawares. He immediately registers that and starts nodding in a knowing way that makes me immediately regret the slip.
“He didn’t tell you. You don’t know.”
“What?” I snap, defensive.
“Remember when I came home with the black eye? He was at the bar that night. When I went outside to leave, he picked a fight with me.”
I smirk and though I want to remark on how Liam sure didn’t look like he’d been in a fight, I hold my tongue.
My smirk doesn’t bother him though and he says, “Tell me something, Annabelle. If the guy’s into you, what was he doing following me?”
I quickly try to reconcile the timeline in my mind, but I lose days a lot and I’m not immediately sure when that happened. Doesn’t slow my reply though.
“Hm, I don’t know, do you think it might have something to do with the fact that I have an abusive partner? He probably wanted to punch you in the face for hurting me.”
It pisses Paul off and I have no idea if that’s true, but it does sound nice in my head.
“Wake the fuck up, Annabelle,” he practically spits. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He’s using you to get to us.”
The junkyard comes to mind again and though my mind almost never sides with Paul, doubt creeps in. Is it even remotely possible Paul’s right? Frankly, if Liam did want to use me to hurt Paul or my stepfather, I’d probably let him. That would bring me joy, too. But the idea of him fooling me into it certainly rubs the wrong way.
“What do you think he stole?” I ask.
“That’s not the point.” He’s getting worked up, for real this time. Apprehension grips me but I ignore it. “Don’t you fucking get it, Annabelle? He’s using you. He doesn’t care about you! You don’t mean shit to him.”