She opened the door and greeted the landlord. The Tallows came in, followed by two movers.
Alexandra wandered back toward the couch.
Mr. Tallow stopped on his way back to the bedroom. “The couch belongs to my sister. We’re moving it, too.”
The air grew heavy.
Beast didn’t help matters when he spoke. “Could have told her that yesterday.”
Tallow’s eyes sliced to Beast. “With the death of my daughter, it slipped my mind.”
On the one hand, that was undeniably true, but on the other hand, this man was going out of his way to be an asshole.
“We’re sorry to hear about your girl, but there’s no need to be a jerk right now,” Tundra said.
Mr. Tallow went into a stare-down with him.
I sauntered up behind Alexandra and gently put my hands on her shoulders. “Does the lock on your bedroom door work?”
She nodded.
“Good. We’re gonna go to your room, put on our shoes, lock your door and head out.”
She twisted her head and whispered. “I don’t have a key.”
“It’s a knob lock, honey. I can pick it,” I whispered.
She turned back to Mr. Tallow. “I’ll just gather the afghan and throw pillows since those are mine, and we’ll get out of your way.”
While she gathered those things, I sidled up to Beast and shared the plan with him in a low voice.
Beast nodded. “Bedamnsure that door locks when you close it.”
Chapter twenty-one
Those Five Words
Alexandra
Whenclassletouton Monday, I squinted at the late-afternoon sunlight as I hurried out of the main corridor.
I paused on the sidewalk to get myself together and fight off the instant headache. Other students filed past me, and I trudged forward.
Before I made it twenty paces, a black man approached me. He had a huge smile that almost distracted me from the thick gold chains around his neck, and the slouch of his jeans. Something about him said he wasn’t a student, but even as alarm crept up my spine, I had the bizarre sensation that I knew him.
As he drew closer, it hit me. “Nate? What are you doing here?”
I hadn’t seen Nate since New Year’s Eve. He looked rougher around the edges, almost sinister.
In an expert move of fluidity, he had me in what felt like (and probably looked like) an affectionate hold and hustled me into his car at the curb. My instincts said something about this was wrong. By the time I had my fingers wrapped around the door handle to get out, Nate slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors.
“The Sixers want to talk,” he bit out.
My world imploded on those five words.
He started the car and sped toward downtown.
I shook my head. “How do you know that? And why are you taking me to them?”
