Page 20 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Sixteen

Kat

H e goes with me but he isn’t happy about it.

He pulls angrily into the parking lot, with the Humvee’s wheels crunching over Styrofoam fast-food containers and old soda bottles and much, much worse.

“Get in and get out, you hear me? If anything happens to you, Trent won’t just re-break my leg.

He’ll take my head right off my goddamned shoulders.

I’ll be here, engine running, waiting for you to come out.

I’ll keep my eyes on the office make sure that shit-lord doesn’t come back out. ”

Edward’s worry isn’t my problem. Not right now. I glance quickly at the flickering OFFICE sign that really says “F IC”, with its dusty, faded blinds down as always, but watching close for a thick, dirty finger to spread the yellowed plastic louvers to have a look at what’s going on outside.

But the louvers stay shut. Time to seize my chance. Without a word to Edward, I pop open the door and book it inside, holding my breath as I pass through the filthy entrance area. Up the steps and down the hall, with my butter knife in hand.

I slip my key into the lock, say a mini-prayer, and turn the key.

The door swings open and I blow out a breath of relief as I step inside the empty space.

It’s cool in the apartment, with the shades shut and the AC blowing. I lock the door behind me and tiptoe across the faded carpet into the bathroom.

My heart races as I balance myself on the unsteady lid of the toilet. On tip toes, I reach up and use the tip of the butter knife to loosen the two screws in the rusty, chipped vent.

Within seconds, I’ve got the little box and I’m fastening the vent back into place. And I think I’m home free until I hear the sound of the door creak.

“Ayyyy, where you at, mujer ? I was next door, heard your door close.”

Damn it. I try to tuck the box under my arm, next to my breasts, but I’m not wearing enough clothes to hide it. This stupid yellow dress. If only I were in a hoodie, then I really would be home free.

Coming out of the bathroom, Victor stands there with a Red Bull in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He glances at the butter knife and then flicks his chin at the box. He’s not an idiot. And I’m pretty sure he’s the kind of guy that has hidden secret stuff in vents for most of his life.

“Forget something?”

“This is still my place until Friday. I paid you, didn’t I?”

Victor takes a long drag on his cigarette. “ Pues , sure. But still surprised to see you. Those two fucking gringo assholes yesterday said you wouldn’t be back. But here you are.”

“Yeah? Want me to give them a call? Have a nice little reunion? We can stop by the ER to get your broken nose set afterwards. How’s that sound? ”

Victor’s eyes shimmer, and he smiles a little. “Gonna miss your spunk, mujer .”

“Take care of yourself, Victor,” I say, and head for the door.

“But wait, do me a favor. Tell all your guys to leave this place the fuck alone, sabes ?”

I spin around to face him. I’ve known Victor a long time. His English isn’t perfect but he most definitely knows the difference between both and all. “ All my guys?”

He nods. “Those two soldiers yesterday, right, and that fucking Russian who leaves you love letters.”

My breath gets caught in my throat. Bile tickles my esophagus. “Did he come back?”

Victor nods, patting down his pockets, and produces another white folded letter. “Left you this. What the fuck do I look like, the postman? Por favor .”

For a long second, I just stare at the folded note in Victor’s thick, dirty fingers. What if I don’t read it? What happens then? If someone threatens you but you don’t read the threat, did it happen at all?

But the not knowing would be worse than the knowing. I know that for sure.

I slowly take the note from his fingers and keep it safe and hidden in my palm. “He won’t bother you anymore either. I promise.”

As fast as I can move now, I book it back down the steps and outside.

Edward is still in the Humvee with the engine running. It must be clear enough that I’m panicked because as soon as he sees me, he leans across and pops open the passenger’s side door.

“Switch plates my ass,” Edward says, and guns it out of the parking lot .

I don’t answer. I don’t say a word. A tiny, fleeting whisper of relief comes over me as we swing out of the parking lot and the locks click automatically.

Pushing my hands against my belly, I try to keep the knots inside from tightening, trying desperately to stop myself from puking my yogurt all over everything.

I count to ten, breathing in. Hold for ten, and then breathe out for ten. It helps…but only barely. Because the little note in my palm feels about as dangerous as a scorpion.

When Edward depresses the accelerator to get on the highway, checking over his left shoulder for traffic, I take my chance and unfold the note.

The paper shakes as I turn it over. And then I read the words. Once. Twice. Three times.

This isn’t over. I’m having fun now.

I suck in a panicked breath and the world spins around me. Spins and spins until I’m nearly sick with it.

I shove the paper into my purse and look outside, at the boarded-up, burned-out houses below the highway bridges as they whiz past.

“You good?”

My heart is in my throat and my pulse is racing. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

“I gotta tell you, Kat. You need to tell Trent we came down here. I don’t feel right lying to him. I’m sure you don’t either.”

I bite my lip hard, trying to calm my nerves, and press my hand on my belly again to untie the knot that seems to be always pulling itself tighter.

“Yes, for sure. I’ll tell him,” I manage to say. But I have no intention of doing that. None at all.