My heart jumped. Then immediately sank with guilt.
Prime. Of course he’d shown up. He probably had some sixth sense about me being here. And now I’d have to explain why I’d come without telling him. Why I’d deliberately gone behind his back after he’d been so clear about wanting to keep me safe.
“I’m sorry,” I called out, not looking up from the dough I was rolling. My voice was apologetic, already preparing my excuse. “I know you said you wanted to bring me, but it was late and I didn’t want to bother you. I figured I could just handle one night on my own and?—”
Footsteps. Slower than Prime’s usual confident stride.
Something felt off.
“I promise I was going to text you when I got here,” I continued, nervous energy making me ramble. “I just didn’t want to wake you up or make you feel like you had to come all the way out here just for me. You’ve already done so much and I?—”
“I always knew you were sneaking in here.”
My blood went cold.
That wasn’t Prime’s voice.
I spun around and there he was. Larry. Standing in the doorway, blocking my exit, a smile on his face that made my skin crawl.
“Larry.” My voice came out barely above a whisper. The apology I’d been preparing for Prime died in my throat. “I can explain. I was going to tell you?—”
“Were you?” He moved closer, his eyes scanning the kitchen, lingering on the rolls cooling on the racks. “Because it seems like you’ve been doing this for a while now. Using my kitchen. My equipment. Making money off my resources.”
“I’m sorry. I should have asked. I’ll pay you?—”
“Oh, I don’t want your money, Zahara.” He stepped closer. Too close. “I don’t mind you using the kitchen. Hell, I think it’s smart. Entrepreneurial.”
He was standing right in front of me now. Close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“I just wish you would’ve said something. We could’ve worked out an arrangement.” His eyes traveled down my body. “A mutually beneficial arrangement.”
I stepped back. Hit the counter. Nowhere to go.
“What kind of arrangement?” I asked, though I already knew. Already felt sick.
“Well…” He reached out, his finger trailing down my arm. “If you want to use my kitchen for free, I think it’s only fair I get a taste of what you’re making.”
His meaning was clear. The innuendo thick enough to choke on.
“I’ll pay rent,” I said quickly. “Whatever you want. Just name a price.”
“I’m naming it.” His hand moved to my waist. “I always wanted some of your cinnamon roll, Zahara. And tonight, I’m finally gonna get a bite.”
I tried to dodge around him but he grabbed my arm, yanking me back.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, his voice hardening. “Don’t act like you didn’t know this was coming. Walking around here in those tight jeans. Bending over. Teasing me.”
“I never?—”
“Shut up.” He pulled me against him, his other hand fisting in my coils. “You’re gonna give me what I want. Or I’m calling the cops. Reporting you for breaking and entering. Theft. You’ll lose your son while you’re sitting in jail.”
Terror flooded through me. “Please. Please don’t—” He crushed his mouth against mine. Wet. Sloppy. Tasting like whiskey and cigarettes and desperation. I tried to pull away but his grip was iron. His tongue forcing its way into my mouth while I gagged.
No. No, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
I brought my knee up hard, connecting with his baby dick.
He howled, releasing me, stumbling back.
