Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

He thought he was a disappointment.

I looked around my small, one-room apartment, the cracked floorboards vibrating under my feet every time someone walked down the hallway outside my door.

The dirty window was covered by a yellowed shade. The sink sat empty, my one dish, one bowl, one cup, and one set of silverware sitting in the dish rack next to it. There was a futon I’d bought at a second-hand store and some cinderblocks with a board on top functioning as the coffee table.

Kai Mori didn’t know how lucky he was. At least he had people to count on, an education, opportunities, and chances.

I didn’t even have a high school diploma.

No money, either, and I could never leave the one person I gave a shit about.

Kai could always rise higher, and I was getting tired of being around him and being reminded that I couldn’t.

I would always live like this.

Jogging up the narrow stairwell, I swung around the railing and continued up to the second floor. Cigarette butts laid squashed into the chipped wooden floors, and I breathed through my mouth to keep the stench of everything else going on in this building from making me gag. It was no picnic growing up with Damon and Gabriel, but I was so thankful my brother took me away from here eleven years ago.

I pounded on my mother’s apartment door, the 3 missing from the two-thirty-two above the peephole. Now just the dark mark of the glue shaped like a three remained.

“Mom!” I called out, pounding with the side of my fist again. “Mom, it’s me!”

We both lived in the same broken-down neighborhood in Meridian City, so walking here took less than ten minutes.

When I moved to town after Damon went off to prison, I could’ve just moved back in with her, I suppose—to combine resources and all—but I didn’t want to, and thankfully, she didn’t ask. She still had a lifestyle that kids could cramp, so…

I needed to talk to her, though. We needed a straight story in case anyone—like Kai—came by to ask about me. Gabriel wasn’t on my birth certificate, and the only other people who knew I was his daughter all worked for him, so my mother was the only weak link. I had to make sure she kept her mouth shut. Kai didn’t need to find out exactly how much leverage he had at his fingertips.

After a minute of no response and no sounds coming from inside, I dug out my stolen key, unlocking the door. Opening it, I took a step in and immediately looked around, taking in the living room in shambles.

“What the hell?” I breathed out, wincing at the smell.

I spotted a man passed out on the couch, one leg hanging off, and closed the door behind me, not worrying about being quiet. He obviously didn’t hear me banging it down a moment ago anyway.

Sticking my keys back in my pocket, I took in the dark, dingy room, the only light coming from whatever was breaching the shades and the tacky, blue velvet curtains. I walked over to the coffee table, sifting through day-old Chinese food containers, cigarettes, and tipped-over beer bottles. I picked up a pipe, the glass clouded from the residue of what had burned inside it. Every muscle tightened as I glared at it, and I shook my head.

Tossing it back down to the table, I glanced at the biker sprawled on the couch with his jeans and belt unfastened. Then, raising my eyes a hair, I glared at the camera sitting on the arm of the sofa. The nice, high-tech kind with an attached microphone.

Fuck her.

Spinning around, I charged for the kitchen table, tipped over one of the chairs, and stomped on one of the legs, breaking it off. Picking it up, I charged down the hallway toward her bedroom, and whipped it open.

The knob slammed into the wall, and I found her with another fucking guy, this one younger and passed out on the bed next to her. Sheets curled around their legs, a lamp laid overturned on the floor, and the rain splattered on the sill from where the window was cracked open. Clothes were scattered everywhere, and the stench of cigarettes hit me like a wave. I fought not to cough.

Turning my eyes right, I spotted the tripod for the camera.

Son of a bitch. I whipped the cane to my right, slamming it into her dresser.

“Get out!” I shouted. “Get the fuck out!”

I pounded the wooden stick again, sending the perfume bottles on her dresser tipping over.

“What the hell?” The man suddenly woke, trying to sit up and rubbing his eyes.

“Get up, asshole!” I raised my foot, stomping it down on the bed. “Get out of here now!”

My mom, her dark hair hanging over one eye, pulled the sheet up and sat up. “What? What’s happening?”

“Shut up,” I growled, raising the stick.