My lips rise. From Baylor, that’s a lot of words.
I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze.
“To be clear, we are talking about my videos with Piper?”
He shrugs. “You are better than you think, even when you are goofing off.”
I try to not roll my eyes just like Piper does. “It’s just a video on a kid’s social media.”
“You heard Quinn, and he’s right, Matt. She’s the portal everyone wants into our lives. Not only that, but it’s important to her.”
“I know.” I give Baylor another squeeze. He worries about everything, all of the time. “Still going back to the farm?”
Baylor hesitates. The hesitation is brief, but I see it.
“For tonight. But maybe on Friday I’ll go out with you all if that’s still the plan.”
Baylor joining us is not rare, exactly, but going out on a Friday is practically unheard of.
“That will still be the plan.”
Chapter 8: Theo
“Watch your step,” the bus driver calls after me as I practically trip over my feet getting down the slick metal steps. He snaps the doors quickly behind me, off to end his route since it’s almost three a.m.
“Thanks.” I catch my leftovers from Black Diamond before they either fall out of the takeout bag or get squished. Black Diamond was too busy for much of a break, and I’m already ready to dig in if I can stay awake long enough. Despite the mishap, my feet barely pick up as I trudge down the sidewalk to the dodgy side of Mirror Lake. Meeting Deny seems like weeks ago, not this morning—well, yesterday morning, since the night is well past midnight.
My building was at one time—like back in the sixties—a residence hall. Rollins College expanded in a different direction, leaving the building under a hill and separated from the rest of campus by a large green space. It got sold off, and now no one would ever believe it was once part of the sprawling, beautiful university. Threadbare carpet and cinderblocks create the small, closet-sized room that was likely considered a private, single-person dorm.
I stare at my door, willing my mind to wake up enough to figure out what I am looking at. Something is wrong.
It’s the latch. I know I locked my room up tight when I left early this morning, but the door is a sliver ajar, the doorknob mechanism present without contacting the doorframe.
I look over my shoulder dubiously at the dark hallway next to my room, curving out of my sight, then stare at the door another minute. Fingers shaking, I press the door open. Before they even make contact, I am shoved hard from behind, practically thrown in.
The light clicks on, bathing everything in a harsh glow. The dresser that came with the room, three drawers of particleboard, lays unrecognizable now in a heap in the corner. I didn’t have much, so little was in there. The thin mattress on the spring platform of the metal cot is ripped off, frame tossed to the side. Even the corners of the threadbare carpet have been pulled back to expose the bare concrete underneath.
I don’t have to look up to the rickety ceiling fan. It must be destroyed because my emergency stash was hidden there—an envelope taped to the top side of the blade, a bank envelope inside with cash. The fan stays on always, and no one could see the envelope even if the blades were still.
Somehow, Deny did because he is standing over me, shaking the white envelope. His face is so close to mine I can smell the earthy scent of the paper money. Deny’s fist connects with my stomach. Pain explodes out, tightening down my muscles against the white-hot flash.
Deny is all muscle, and not fighting back is a good idea. So I protect my phone, the one thing of value I have any connection to. As his meaty hand covers my mouth, the two guys looming in the shadow of the bad hallway light take turns kicking me.
It’s painful and rough, between the kicks and the hard scrape of the carpet. Closing my eyes, I disassociate, something that shouldn’t be so easy. The hot flashes of pain retreat, but don’t stop.
Flashes pop in my mind.Another apartment. Salt Lake. Deny opening the door instead of my key in the lock. My home in tatters behind him. A similar punch to the stomach.
After some indeterminate amount of time, Deny motions for the guys to pause. “You have been holding out on me.”
I blink back into the moment. “Paid you what I owed, and more.”
The hard slap snaps my head back. “Is that right?” he asks, calmly. “Well, the price went up. I told you I own you, Theo. I thought we had come to an understanding earlier today. You can’t pay memorethan you owe because you owe meeverythinguntil Nico says otherwise.”
He slams a fist into my stomach, and all the air leaves my lungs with force. Deny’s hands are in my back pockets, and I dig my feet in and try to scramble out of his way.
“I don’t want your ass.” Sneering in disgust, Deny pulls the phone out of my back pocket. “Look at that. A stack of cash and a new phone. You really are as worthless as Nico said.” He clicks his tongue at me. “We took your job in Salt Lake, pretty boy. We will take this one, too. You don’t have a job, or money, or anything, Theo. Nothing other than what I allow you to have. You owe a debt, son. Until Nico is satisfied, your ass is mine.”
He tosses the phone down on my stomach, followed by his knee, which ignites all the bruises and kicks from his minions. Before I can catch a breath, a knife slides cold and sharp across my chin, the tip resting under my lip ring. He pulls just enough for the fear and adrenaline to kick in.
