Page 74 of Under Your Scars

CHAPTER 20

THE ANGEL

When we land in the states, Christian says he needs to go to the office and sends me home with Gavin. He just closed a massive deal for the Mediterranean region, and he wants to make sure he’s tied up all those loose ends. The business stuff bores me to tears, so I didn’t mind his sudden need to run off. I’m out of clean clothes anyways, so heading home for a few days doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.

Gavin drops me off at my apartment, and I walk up the stairs with my suitcase trailing behind me, thumping against each step. When I reach my floor, from across the hall, I see a bright pink sheet of paper on my door. I hurry over to it, frustration and confusion racing through my veins.

EVICTION NOTICE.

Eviction?There’s no way. My lease is in good standing. I’ve always paid my rent on time. I’ve been living here for five years, and I’ve never had any problems with the landlord or the other tenants. I’ve gotten a couple of noise complaints, sure, but it’s not my fault the walls are paper thin.

I immediately rush downstairs and bang my fist on the property manager’s office. A greasy looking man that smells like stale beer begrudgingly opens the door and I shove the paper in his face.

“You’ve made a mistake. This is a mistake!” I seethe, anger pooling in my bloodstream. “I’ve been here five years and suddenly you’re evicting me? Forwhat?”

The man scratches his belly and slow blinks at me like he just woke up from a nap. “Apartment number?”

“Thirty-two.”

The man goes digging through his office for a file and then comes back to the door. “Says here you’ve been behind on your rent for three months. Sorry, sugar, looks like it’s not my problem.”

“That’s not true! None of that is.” I pull out my phone and open my bank account to show that I’ve paid my rent, on time, for the past three months and the money left my account. “See?”

The manager shrugs and holds in a burp. “Not. My. Problem,” he repeats, and then slams the door in my face.

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath and kick the worn-out wooden door. I grit my teeth and let out a guttural groan of anger and stomp away from the office.

I go back upstairs to my apartment, my eyes burning from unshed tears as I slump against my wall and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

I growl at the Silencer without opening my eyes. “Go. Away.”

“But I missed you while you were gone.”

I open my eyes and hope that the glare I’m giving him will cause his brain to melt inside his skull. “Do I look like I care?”

“I see you didn’t appreciate my surprise.”

I freeze. My body goes numb, and I think my fury could demolish nations. “You got meevicted?” I snarl, standing up. I grab one of my purple kitchen knives from the block on my counter and swing at him. He dodges me easily, but I don’t give up. I swing and chase him around my tiny apartment until I’m drenched in sweat and panting. “Come here, you motherfucker.”

He laughs at me as if he’s bored with my attempts to chop him into tiny pieces and flush him down the toilet. “Are you done, angel?”

As a matter of fact, I’mnotdone, and his calm demeanor is pissing me off. I swing again, this time narrowly missing his face. He catches my wrist and twists it until the pain causes me to drop the knife. Then, he wrestles me to the ground as I furiously fight back, clawing at him with my nails hoping to catch some of his DNA.

When he pins me to the ground, I start hollering for help. He clasps his hand over my mouth and growls viciously in my face.

“You just have to make this difficult, don’t you?” he asks, and then takes his red duct tape, plasters it to my cheek and rolls it tightly over my mouth and rips it off the roll in one fluid motion. He tosses the tape and it lands with a thud on the floor, then he sits on my hips to hold me down with his weight.

I scream again, but the tape muffles me. It’s no use, and I can’t fight him anymore either. My body is tired and he’s too strong.

Then, he flips me onto my stomach, and I begin to panic.Holy shit.Holy fuck.He’s going to kill me.

He binds my wrists together with zip ties at the base of my spine, and then binds my ankles together before connecting them to my wrists with a third tie.

The position is painful and awkward and dehumanizing. Humiliating and frustrating. I’m thoroughly immobile. I stop trying to fight and give myself a chance to catch my breath. If I want out of this, if I want tolive, I have to give him what he wants.

He flops down onto his back next to me, takes one of his knives, and starts flipping it into the air above him, seeing how high he can toss it without it impaling himself in the chest. I can practically see my name invisibly etched into the handle of that knife as if it’s been meant for me all along, and this was just one long game of cat and mouse to him.