He looked at them and shook his head, pushing them back at me. “Fakes.”
I looked down at the slips. When Trish had told me the rent was paid, I never looked at the slips. She put them in the drawer with the others. Now, as I studied them, I could see Terry wasn’t lying. These were copies.
“Where did the money go?” I mumbled.
He shrugged. “She gave it to someone else.”
I fought down my sense of panic. “There has to be something I can do.” I swallowed my revulsion at asking Terry for anything, but I had no choice. “Trish screwed me over, Terry. She took off with everything I owned and cleaned me out. Plus, I lost my job. Surely, you can give me a little time to figure things out.”
A predatory light sparked in his eyes and he came closer, his eyes traveling up and down my body, this time not bothering to disguise his interest. “I could let you pay off what you owe the same way your roomie did.”
“Wh-what?”
“She paid your rent the last couple of months on her back.” He winked lewdly. “And her knees.”
I took a step back, shaking my head wildly. “No.”
He smiled. It was cold and cruel. “I bet you’re a hellcat in bed, aren’t you?” He reached out and grabbed a piece of my hair, pulling on it sharply. “Redheads are known for their tempers. I’d like to see you all riled up and fighting me.” He paused, licking his lips. “I like it when they fight.”
My stomach turned at his words. I slapped away his hand, disgusted. “Unless you want your balls in your throat, I suggest you step back. I said no. Get out.”
His expression never faded—if anything, it got colder. “Give me what I want, and you get to keep your apartment for another month.” He sneered at me. “If you’re good, maybe longer.”
I wanted to gag. But instead, I tilted my head and studied him as if considering his generous “offer.” I stepped forward and laid my hand on top of his, casting my eyes downward. His grunt of satisfaction became a howl of pain as I roughly bent back his fingers. I took advantage of his discomfort and gripped his arm upward, bending it at an awkward angle I knew would be painful. I frog-marched him over to my door, pushing him out.
“I’d rather be homeless.”
I slammed the door shut and locked it, fuming. I slid the chain in place with a loud snap. I could hear him cursing and muttering on the other side of the closed door.
I walked away, only to swing around when the door unlocked and Terry’s ugly face appeared through the opening allowed by the chain.
“You forget, bitch. I have a key that gets me in anytime I want.”
He slammed the door before I could move.
For a moment, I stood, anxiety sinking into my chest. He was right. He could get in anytime. There had been times after my first roommate, Rhonda, moved out, I thought someone had been in the apartment while I wasn’t home, but I could never prove it. My next roommate, Trish, worked from home, and she denied he’d ever bothered her.
Terry lifted the mail slot of the old-fashioned door. “You have until the end of the month. Either pay up what you owe plus an extra month, or you’re out of here.”
The mail slot slammed with a loud metallic noise, and his heavy footsteps echoed in the hall.
The end of the month was in a week. I owed three-months’ worth of back rent now. I slid down the wall, pulling on my hair in worry.
I looked around the small apartment. I had lived here for two years. When Rhonda had gotten married, I had advertised and found a new person to split the bills. Trish seemed great at first. She liked to cook, she was fun to be around, and I felt as if I had found a new friend. When I confessed to finding the landlord a little unnerving, and that Rhonda had always dealt with him, Trish insisted she be the one to pay the rent every month, saying she “didn’t want me uncomfortable,” and she “could handle him.” She’d made a point of showing me she put the receipt in the drawer the first month, and I never gave it a second thought after that.
Until I came home one day two weeks ago to find she’d hacked in to my accounts, stolen all my money, racked up some charges on my credit card, taken anything of value I owned, and disappeared.
Literally.
It was as if she had never existed. Which, it turned out, she hadn’t. When I went to the police to file a report, I discovered I had been scammed. There was no such person as Trish Gordon. She was good. The numbers I had called to check out her references no longer existed. The names on her application were all fake. She was a pro, and I had fallen for her friendly, helpful act—hook, line, and sinker.