Page 20

“I’m gonna miss you too,” I say with sincerity.
Kirsten and I finish packing up my room, and then Zeke’s, before she has to leave for another night of waiting tables at Neon Nights. I hug her tightly before she goes, assuring her we’ll stop by tomorrow before we leave so she can say bye to Zeke, but we both know it’s a lie.
Zeke and I will be leaving tonight, as soon as the last box is stuffed with junk I’ll end up leaving here anyway. At least I’ll have saved the maintenance guy some trouble.
It’s two thirty in the morning before I finally call it quits, tossing the last of the refrigerator’s contents in the trash. I pull the top kitchen drawer out all the way and untape the next license I’ll be using when we get to wherever we’re going.
Abigail Thrasher. That’s who I’ll be now.
I stare at the license a moment, as if I’m trying to figure out who she is. Who I am.
With a shake of my head, I stuff the license into my purse and toss the old one in the trash along with the discarded food. I chuck my purse on the counter and head for the front door. Ms. Gordon is a saint for letting Zeke crash on the couch while I packed. That’s another person I’m going to miss.
My heart pangs, but before I can process it the doorknob to my apartment rattles.
I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes going wide. For a few seconds that feel more like an eternity, I just stand here, mouth agape, frozen like a deer in the headlights. My brain shuts down as I zero in on the door, every muscle in my body tensing.
The metal knob clinks, but doesn’t rattle this time, like something is being inserted, and this is what it takes for me to snap out of it.
I scramble from the living room into my bedroom and fling the door closed behind me. Instincts pull me to my window, and my hands find the locks, but I don’t pull them. We’re on the second floor with no balcony. Maybe I could scoot along the gutter to the fire escape, but it would take too long. Footsteps sound in the next room, and I spin around and hurry into my closet, crouching down behind a box and pressing my back against the wall as tightly as I can as if I have hopes that I could push my way through it.
My eyes frantically search for something I could use as a weapon and I settle on a plastic hanger. As quietly as I can, I break it in two and grasp the piece with the sharper edge, holding it up to my shoulder and dropping the other.
My hand shakes and my breaths come out fast and unsteady. Voices drift under the door, but I can’t distinguish any words.
The bedroom door opens with a creek and I grip the broken plastic until my hand stings. Black boots come across my vision first, and I don’t lift my eyes. I don’t want the man to be able to sense me, not that he won’t find me eventually. I grip the plastic tighter and suck in air through my nose as quietly as I can.
The boots disappear as the man steps farther into the room, and the ruffling of boxes breaks through deafening silence. A crack sounds which I assume is the man’s knees popping as he crouches, and my bed lifts and falls with a thud.
The next logical place for the man to check is the closet.
Slowly, I force myself to stand, sliding my back up the wall and gritting my teeth. This is my best shot at doing any damage with the hanger.
The man’s shuffling feet move toward the closet, and as soon as that black boot comes into my vision, I pounce.
I don’t know what I expect the man’s expression to be. Shock. Anger. Pained. But that isn’t what happens. The hanger comes down into his left shoulder but isn’t sharp enough to penetrate. His face is blank as he glances down and then locks his eyes with mine.
The hanger fell from my hand after I attempted to stab the man, so now I have to rely on my fists. I rear my hand back and the man grabs it before it can make it halfway to him.
“No!” I scream. He slams a hand over my mouth and yanks me toward him. I kick and thrash and he doesn’t seem to even notice as he drags me from the room.
Waiting for us in the living room are three more men.
I search frantically for Colter. My stomach coils at the realization that Iwanthim to be here. Instinctively, I know he wasn’t lying when he said there were worse people I could be dealing with than him. I know who these men are, and my shoulders shake as I scan their olive-toned faces.
One stands out among the rest. Even if he wasn’t wearing a suit while the other three are dressed more casually, the half smile he sports would stick in my mind. It’s relaxed, amused, and his eyes are nearly manic.
He’s the one in charge.
“Quit fighting,” the one holding me says into my ear.
He pinches my nose when I keep struggling despite the command. My lungs begin to burn, and it only makes me panic more. My screams are swallowed up by his palm as I thrash harder.
“Calm. Down,” the man orders again, this time his voice laced with annoyance rather than disinterest.
The one with the smile shrugs. “Let her get it out of her system now.”
My muscles tense with the sound of his voice. I force myself to still and close my eyes against the pain in my chest. My nostrils free and I suck in air, panicked groans pushing against the palm over my mouth with each exhale.