Page 9 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Seven

Kat

T he Humvee limo slides out of the driveway, making me feel like I’m the Fresh Princess of Elmond Estates. I turn to look over my shoulder at the front door, halfway hoping, halfway dreading, that I’ll see Trent there, watching us pull away.

Chasing down the limo.

But he’s not there.

The window in the partition slides down. “Where to?”

“Corner of Cass and Central Boulevard.”

I watch the driver’s eyebrows furrow in the rear-view. “What’s a girl like you got to do in a place like that ?”

Good question, buddy. But times have been tough and it’s a long freaking story.

“That’s where I live. 450 Central Boulevard. The Treemont.”

His blue eyes dart back at me in the mirror. “But Corporal Reynolds said you’re living here, with him, didn’t he?”

“Well, my landlord doesn’t know that. Yet,” I say, swallowing back the bile in my throat at the thought of him. “And rent won’t pay itself, whether Trent is home or not.”

The driver sniffs, nods. “I hear you. To the Treemont it is, then. Want me to close this window? Or do you want to be able to talk?”

Truthfully, I want to curl up in a ball and let my mind wander back to Trent’s tattoos and the never-ending tent in the front of his pants. But that’s not going to happen. That can’t happen. “Open is fine.”

“So what do you do, Miss Kathryn?”

I snuggle back into the cool leather seats and try to clear my mind of thoughts of Trent, and all his hills and valleys. His chiseled muscles and veins and strength. “I’m an accountant. Book-keeper, really.”

“Is that so? Where?”

At a skeezy little strip club where there’s coke residue on all the bathroom sinks. “Let’s just say it’s not exactly H & R Block. But it pays the bills.”

“Dang. If I knew there were accountants out there that look like you, I’d have been looking forward to Tax Day all this time.”

I know he’s just being nice, but I’m not in the mood. I struggle to muster up a smile, a little laugh. But I can’t stop my mind racing back to Trent. The pictures. The sketches. The look.

God. The look.

The further we get from the house, the less anxious I feel about what happened. But still, a heaviness settles in my heart. I know I’ll have to go back. But I know that when I do, there is something waiting behind the curtain that neither of us is ready to reveal.

I squeeze my thighs together, and scoop my hair over my shoulder, focusing on the cooling whoosh of the air conditioning blowing on my skin, and the low rumbling hum of the engine.

The Humvee moves gracefully down the highway, off the exit, through town. I am so used to my Jeep’s squeaky brakes and worn-out shocks that it’s almost hypnotic, moving through the world so effortlessly like this. Before I know it, we’re rolling up on the Treemont.

“You live here? Seriously? ” Edward asks. We take a right onto Cass Avenue, with its litter-filled gutters and burnt-out trap houses.

“Not because I want to.”

Edward picks up on the edge in my voice. “Understood.”

“And, Trent doesn’t know exactly what the place is like, please don’t tell him. He has enough on his plate right now.” I’m grateful that he drops the topic because there’s so much to explain. And so little I can say.

He nods and maneuvers the limo through the Treemont parking lot with its usual suspects all looking like extras out of The Walking Dead.

“Will you wait here for me? I’ll be like, five minutes max.”

“You’re damned right, I’ll wait,” Edward answers, turning to talk to me through the partition. “Corporal Reynolds would kill me ten different ways to Sunday if I left you alone in a place like this. If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming in after you. As a matter of fact, why don’t I…”

I pop the door open. The oppressive heat radiating up off the pavement seeps into the limo, as does the acrid smell of unemptied dumpsters. “I’m fine, just wait here.”

Three of the regulars are sitting outside the building, bottles covered in brown paper bags in hand. Their bloodshot eyes stay locked on the limo as I hustle past. This isn’t the sort of place to draw attention to yourself, not now, not ever, and certainly not with a ride like that.

I pick up my pace, my dollar store flip-flops snapping, toward the broken buzzing sign that flashes only three letters of the word OFFICE.

My landlord Victor sits inside. He’s got a teardrop tattoo under one eye, a spider web on his elbow, and a four pack a day habit that makes everything around him smell like mentholated hell itself.

He’s got bleach blond hair and these odd silver-blue eyes. He reminds me of Machine Gun Kelly only at Megan Fox’s height.

Oh, and he’s always throwing in Spanish words when he talks. There’s nothing Latino about him but whatever, I’m not here to delve into his cultural appropriation.

“Where the fuck you been, mujer ? Rent’s late.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, which he holds pinched between two fingers like a joint. “Don’t make me put your shit on the curb.”

“I’m so sorry. My brother just got back from…”

He glares at me. “ Cállate . This look like story time at the fucking library, or what? I don’t give a shit about the story. Just give me my fucking money.”

He holds his hand out as he takes a step into me, making me back against the wall, giving me the eye, up and down, up and down, like he’s turned on by my fear and disgust.

I grab the wad of bills from my purse and shove them into his hand. But instead of taking them right away, he runs the back of his knuckle up and down my forearm. Mixed in with the smell of the cigarettes is the stale sharpness of cinnamon gum.

It’s all I can do to stifle a shudder as my gag reflex activates.

“All you gotta do is be nice to me, mujer . You don’t gotta be a fucking genius to understand, right?

Tail like you ain’t common around here. You’re fresh.

” He takes a final drag on his cigarette, and then stubs it out on the wall next to my face.

“If you’re nicer to me? I’ll be nicer to you. Fuckin’ quid pro quo .”

My body recoils. I turn my face away, wondering what’ll happen if I’m forced to knee him in the balls. “Victor. Take the rent money and let me go. ”

“Pushy, pushy,” he snarls, and grabs the wad of cash from my hand. “Fine. You think I give a fuck? Go.”

I scurry away, nearly tripping over the filthy rug in front of the door. But just as I’m about to dart outside, I hear him snap his dirty fingers. “ Mira, mira, cutie. I almost forgot. You had a visitor yesterday.”

I stop in my tracks, clenching my hands into fists as a pulsing starts in my ears. Nobody knows I live here. Nobody here even knows my real name. I turn back over my shoulder. “What visitor?”

He shrugs his shoulders and eases back down into his office chair, which squeals under his weight. “Do I look like fucking Sherlock Holmes to you?”

God, I hate him. “Don’t make me use my mace on you again, Victor.”

That makes him laugh, makes his belly heave. “ ándale . I like a girl that wants a fight, no but for reals, though. He didn’t tell me his name. Dark hair, diamond earring. Sick ass Mercedes with the good tint. Legit bad motherfucker, you feel me?”

Oh god, no . “And?”

“He gave me five hundred to let him into your place.”

I feel the room start to spin around me. “I don’t suppose you said no.”

“What the fuck you think, mujer ?” He takes another drag of his cigarette, long and slow and sinister. “That’s real fucking money. So I said sure.”

I spin back around and stomp toward his messy desk. “You said sure? It’s my apartment, Victor.”

“Yeah, but it’s my fucking building. And you were late on the rent,” he sniffs a little, and rubs his nose, like coke addicts do.

The tendons in my legs lock my knees straight, my stomach turning on itself. “Did he take anything? Did he say anything?”

Victor shakes his head. “Don’t think so. I didn’t babysit him. But he left you this. Gave me another twenty to make sure I handed it to you myself.”

He slides an envelope across his desk.

I snatch it away, ears buzzing, hands trembling, feeling like I’m going to either faint or throw up.

Without another word, I book it to the limo. I don’t go to my place. I don’t worry about my things or my belongings or my clothes. Or, the other thing…

I jump into the back seat of the limo with hands shaking.

“Drive. Fast. Now ,” I manage, looking out the back window.

Edward must see the terror in my eyes, because almost as soon as I’ve said the words, the tires are peeling and we’re barreling toward the highway again.

“You okay?” he asks once we’ve gotten onto Cass Avenue.

No. No. Not even close to okay. “I’m…” I swallow hard to stop my voice trembling, but it’s no use.

I rip open the envelope, slicing a deep papercut into my finger as I do. I hiss in pain, sucking hard on my finger to soothe the sting.

On the page are the words I have been dreading. I read them twice, three times, four times. But the words don’t change. And neither does my terror.

Peek-a-boo. Found you.

Keep that pretty little mouth shut or I’ll be back to shut it for you.

Dusk is falling. Edward tries to make small talk throughout the drive, through the gridlock of rush hour traffic, but I don’t have the energy to keep the conversation going. Eventually, he gets the hint, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

All I have ever wanted is a simple life. I have never asked for much, never expected much. But now I have to get used to the realization that Corsicov Rominovski has found me. Again.

That my shadow has caught up with me.

That the ghost that haunts me has found me at last.

In some ways, it’s a relief. A terrifying relief. Because I knew, one day, this day would come.

And now it has.

I glance down at the note, read the words one final time, and then slip the paper into my purse.

Now, more than ever, I need to put things right with Trent. I have no one else to protect me, nowhere else to turn. But the very thought of him makes my heart swell. A rumbling volcano.

Edward pulls up into the circular drive and I get out, making my way to the front door, which I find unlocked.

The feeling of the knob on my hand, the smell of the new house with its perfect furnishings, it confirms what I have known in my heart since the second I read that note.

Trent and I are going to have to talk.

We cannot be more than brother and sister. Step or no step.

Because right now, I need my brother more than anyone in the world.