Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jade

My heartbeat was punching against my ribcage as I crept down the hall.

I suddenly regretted the second dinner I’d eaten at my friends’ place as it moved back up my throat, my mind conjuring up endless images of horrible things I might see.

Like my neighbor dead on the floor of his living room, never having a chance to even try to run away.

I stopped just outside of the door, pausing to take a deep breath as I listened for a moment.

Hearing nothing, I used my elbow to push open the apartment door.

It was dark inside, save for the glow of his TV screensaver, casting the space in pink and purple glow.

Using the back of my hand, I flicked on the overhead light.

My gaze went first to the desk setup near the windows. Three separate monitors, two gaming systems, a desk covered in energy drinks, chip and candy wrappers, and a collection of what looked like fidget toys.

The chair was turned over on the floor and a pair of white gaming headphones were on the ground next to it.

None of those things were what had a gasp catching in my throat, though.

No.

That would be because of the big dried puddle of blood in the center of the floor.

There was a strange whining noise in the apartment and it took me an embarrassingly long moment to realize it was coming from me.

The dinner that had been making its way up my throat threatened to find its way out, and I had to focus on taking a few slow, deep breaths to fight it back down.

I sidestepped the puddle of blood, pressing my back against the cabinets straight out of the seventies, but these ones were a faded yellow color compared to my sage green ones.

I followed the counters to the edge of the kitchen, then snaked my way down the hall. I checked out the bathroom, finding nothing, then made my way toward the only bedroom.

It was similar to mine. The layout of the closet and the windows making it so the bed had to be on the same wall with the feet facing the door.

Unlike my room, though, the walls were the same bland white they’d been when I’d moved in. And his bed was covered in nothing but a flat sheet with one pillow and one throw blanket. No nightstands or decor and just a small dresser across from the bed with a large TV sitting on top of it.

The closet door was half-open, the floor covered in a pile of dirty clothes.

No man.

Living or dead.

But the blood…

“The fuck you want from me?” a voice said from the hallway.

Close. Way too close.

Like it was coming in here.

Where I definitely didn’t belong.

I mean, if it was the tenant, I could just… say I saw the door opened, that I was worried, that I wanted to make sure he was alright.

But then I heard something else that made my blood run cold.

A second voice.

Then a third.

My mind flashed back to the encounter by the dumpster. Four men. And the ones who’d exited the building after the altercation the other night. Four.

This wasn’t the tenant.

These were the men responsible for the blood on the floor in the other room.

Panic surged, making my heartbeat hammer, my blood rush through my veins, and my stomach roil.

I glanced to the closet as I heard noises in the other room.

Cabinet doors slamming, drawers being overturned.

They were looking for something.

And it was only a matter of time before they came this way.

I glanced at the closet, the most logical place to hide. But also the most likely place they were going to look for something next.

That just left the bed.

This guy’s one was much closer to the ground than mine was. Too low, really, for hiding.

But what choice did I have?

There was a crash from the other room, making me press my lips together to keep any sounds from escaping as I slowly lowered myself onto the floor, flattening onto my belly, then starting to wiggle my way under the bed.

The bars scraped across my back, snagging the material of my skirt, making me need to reach back to yank it free to keep moving. I slid up as close to the top of the bed against the wall as possible so that if someone reached under the bed to feel around, their hands were less likely to come in contact with me.

My whole body was shaking as I heard footsteps make their way into the bathroom, emptying out the cabinet under the sink.

They were coming here next.

And what would happen if they found me?

Would I be another bloodstain on the floor? Another body carried right out the front door?

How long would it be before someone missed me? Before they would even think to look for foul play?

Why hadn’t I told anyone about my suspicions? Lily, at least? So someone would suspect someone coming for me if I went missing?

It was too late for that now, though, as I heard another set of footsteps making their way into the bedroom.

I pulled my hand up, pressing it hard over my mouth to keep any sounds muffled as I focused on breathing slow and deep so it couldn’t be heard.

Sweat was trickling down my neck and spine, wetting through my shirt in moments as the drawers of the dresser were overturned, the contents scattering all across the floor, a pair of boxers sliding halfway under the bed with me.

“Nothing,” the man said as another set of footsteps moved into the room.

“Check the closet,” said the other as he moved over toward the bed, whipping off the sheet and tossing the pillow to the ground.

There was a moment of nothing, then a loud ripping sound.

It took me a second to place it. But when I did, the anxiety tripped into overdrive as I worried he might split the mattress down to the bottom. Which would expose my hiding spot through the slats of the bed’s platform.

The cutting stopped, though, and the bed jiggled as he, I assumed, dug around into the foam mattress.

Looking for… I don’t know what.

There was a thunk across the room. Maybe a shoe hitting the wall from the man rummaging through the closet.

“Anything?” the man directly above me asked.

“Just stinkin’ laundry,” the other guy answered.

“Fuck,” the other one snapped as he suddenly lowered down in on the side of the bed, his arm reaching around under.

I wanted to curl smaller, but I was terrified of being heard or of making the bed move.

So I just stayed as still as possible, not even daring to breathe as I seriously worried I was going to pee myself out of fear.

The man’s hand grabbed the boxers, the only thing under the bed save for dust and balls of hair.

He pulled it out and with a disgusted grunt, tossed it back to the ground.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” he said.

“But T said—“

“Fucking T wants to look, he can come do it himself,” he snarled before stomping out of the room and down the hall.

With a sigh, the other guy seemed to follow behind.

Footsteps moved through the living room, then there was the click of the door.

I didn’t move.

I barely breathed.

My whole body was shaking violently, hard enough to make the bed rattle with me.

But I couldn’t make myself move. Not yet.

What if they came back?

If they saw me?

If they knew I’d heard their voices? Knew they worked for some guy named T?

I stayed there, trying to breathe deeply so I didn’t hyperventilate, listening to the neighbors on the other side of the wall who were having a screaming match over the husband turning off his location on his phone. The neighbors above had a child trying—with not much success—to learn to play something on a flute.

Doors out in the hallway opened and closed, making my whole body jerk each time as I tried to count to sixty slowly.

Once.

Twice.

Ten times.

When I was at fifteen, feeling that no one would hang in the hallway for that long where they didn’t belong in case they might be overseen, I slowly started to slide out from under the bed.

Just my head at first, looking around, some paranoid part of me sure that someone was going to rush back in, grab me, and strangle me to death.

To be fair, my own fear seemed to be doing a sufficient job of that.

By the time I got onto wobbly legs, I was feeling lightheaded from the adrenaline surging through my system.

But I had to move.

I had to get out of there.

Down the hall, into the elevator, then into my own apartment. Where I was—relatively—safe.

I wiped the back of my arm across my sweaty brow then inched my way back out of the bedroom, my back hugging the wall.

I stopped at the end of the hallway, glancing into the living room. Seeing nothing, I moved forward, stopping only when I saw a big butcher’s knife sitting on the floor.

I wasn’t really even thinking very clearly as I reached for it, holding it tightly in my palm as I made my way to the door, then as I peered out into the hallway.

Seeing no one, I carefully slid the knife into the waistband of my skirt, then made my way out of the apartment as quietly as possible.

My nerves jangled together as I waited for the elevator, my head on a swivel, looking for anyone who might be hanging around waiting for me to exit the apartment.

There was no one, though.

And when the elevator doors opened, there was no one inside to see me as I collapsed back against the wall, gasping for breath and clutching my slamming chest where my heart seemed seconds away from breaking out of the confines of my ribcage.

The elevator dinged too soon for me to pull myself back together. So after a quick glance to make sure no one unsavory was hanging around, I grabbed for my key hanging from a coiled band on my wrist and ran to my apartment.

My hands shook so badly that I dropped my key twice before it finally went in, unlocked, and let me inside.

I slammed the door behind me, sliding the lock, deadbolt, and chain, then reaching for the little doorstopper thing that had an alarm on it if the door was pushed open, and shoved that in for good measure.

Pulling the knife out of my skirt, I held it high as I moved through my apartment, flicking on every light and looking in every possible hiding spot before I finally collapsed down on the floor of my bathroom and let the sob that had been building escape me.

I couldn’t say how long I sat there crying, it being the only outlet for my fear and adrenaline. But by the time I pulled myself back off of the floor, my face was raw from the tears and my eyelids were puffy.

I made my way back out into the living room, creeping over to the windows to glance outside.

There weren’t a lot of working lights outside of the building at night. So while I could see a bunch of people hanging around, it was impossible to tell if any of them were the men from the apartment, or if they were just the usual shady characters that were always out at night.

Paranoia had me yanking my curtains shut, not wanting anyone to be able to look up and see me.

I was suddenly glad that the building didn’t have fire escapes. It had been something that worried me when I toured the place. But the super had insisted that the stairwells were built to, I don’t know, prevent fire from going down them or something. And that fire escapes in a building like this would only encourage break-ins and other crimes.

Feeling shaky as the adrenaline drained, I moved to sit down on my couch, wrapping my blanket tightly around myself and setting the knife on the cushion just to my side.

I didn’t sleep.

I didn’t turn on the TV or some music.

I just sat there staring at the door, terrified that someone was going to come and kick it down for the whole night.

Then into the morning, the light started to slice through the corners of the curtains where they didn’t quite kiss the walls.

I think at that point, I was completely zoned out, lost in my own mind. Because I didn’t hear the comings and goings of my neighbors at all.

It wasn’t until there was a loud knock on my own door that I was shocked out of it, nearly falling off the couch in the process.

“Jade, open up. I’ve got bagels,” a familiar voice called.

I didn’t stop to think about how I was still in my ripped clothes from the night before, how I was likely covered in filth from being under the bed, that I probably had evidence of crying and lack of sleep all over my face.

All I could think of was that Levee was a big, strong guy. Someone who felt safe.

And I really, really wanted to feel safe again.

So I flew at the door, disengaging the alarmed doorstop, then sliding the locks, and throwing the door open.

Then there he was.

I just barely resisted the urge to throw my arms around him and drag him inside.