His eyes drifted down over my body. “I do. All of your lines. But we should keep it civil in the elevator. Someone could get on.” His hands slid around to cup my ass, pulling our hips flush together. He wasn’t following his own advice.
“Don’t care,” I said, nipping at his bottom lip.
The elevator dinged, and Troy gave me a gentle shove as the doors began to slide open. “Behave,” he whispered, straightening his shirt with a smirk that promised retribution later.
We stepped out into the hallway, and I was just reaching for Troy’s hand again when I heard it—yelling, angry and threatening, coming from the direction of our apartments.
“Let me in, you fucking bitch!” The voice was male, slurred but aggressive. “The zoo guy said I’d love that package!”
Troy’s eyes met mine, all traces of playfulness vanishing as our first responder instincts kicked in. We broke into a sprint down the hallway, rounding the corner to find a man pounding on Aimee’s door, his fist connecting with the wood hard enough that I winced at the sound.
“I know you’re in there!” he shouted, kicking the door now. “This is my fucking place!”
Something red and violent surged through me, a protective fury that made my vision narrow to a pinpoint. Before I could think better of it, I closed the distance between us in three long stridesand grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, yanking him away from Aimee’s door.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growled, spinning him around and slamming him against the wall opposite Aimee’s apartment. My forearm pressed against his throat—not hard enough to choke him, but enough to make it clear I wasn’t fucking around.
Troy stepped closer. “Jordan?”
I looked down at the man, realizing that behind the bloodshot eyes and filthy hair, I recognized this guy. He lived in the building. I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
“Get the fuck off me,” he slurred, struggling ineffectively against my grip. “That bitch stole my apartment! And my package.” His body vibrated with twitchy energy beneath my hold as he looked up at me with wide, dilated eyes.
“What the fuck are you on, man?”
Jordan’s eyes darted to the side. “Nothing.”
Troy was by my side, and he stepped closer. “That’s not your apartment,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. I recognized the tone—it was the same one he used with panicked victims during rescues, soothing but firm. “You live one floor down.”
“No. I live in 6B,” Jordan mumbled, some of the fight leaving him as confusion crept into his expression. “Have for years. Can’t tell me any different.”
I eased my pressure on his throat slightly but didn’t let go. “You’re on the wrong floor, genius,” I said, still struggling to control my anger. The thought of this tweaked-out asshole terrifying Aimee made my blood boil. “This is the seventh floor. And that doesn’t explain why you’re calling our neighbor a bitch and trying to kick her door down.”
His eyes widened, a moment of clarity breaking through his drug haze. “I’m on seven? Shit. I thought… I thought… The man in the lobby told me… Fuck, I’m fucked up. Sorry. I’m a little drunk.”
“Just drunk?” Troy asked.
“It’s just some Molly,” he mumbled, then tried to straighten up. “And a couple beers. Look, man, I’m sorry. I got confused.”
Troy’s hand settled on my shoulder, a silent reminder to ease up. “You’re scaring our neighbor,” he said to the man, his voice hardening despite its outward calm. “That’s not okay, regardless of what floor you thought you were on. Talking to women like that is not okay. You hear me?”
I reluctantly released my hold on the guy, stepping back but staying within striking distance. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, watching as he rubbed at his throat where my arm had been. “You’re going to get in that elevator, go down to your actual apartment, and sleep this off. And if I ever hear youpounding on her door or calling her names again, I won’t be as nice.”
“Look, I didn’t mean—”
“Save it,” Troy cut him off. “Just go.”
The man looked like he might protest, but something in Troy’s expression—or maybe mine—made him think better of it. He shuffled toward the elevator, glancing back over his shoulder as if to make sure we weren’t following. I jabbed the down button for him, maintaining eye contact as the doors opened.
“One more thing,” I said as he stepped inside. “We have some cop friends who’d love to hear about your illegal drug use. Keep it under control, man.”
“Fuck you, Troy’s friend. I’m not even that high. And I’d like to see you try. It’s not even illegal,” he muttered.
“Harassing women is, though,” Troy said. “Get some fucking help.” He held Jordan’s gaze until the doors closed, leaving Troy and me alone in the hallway. As soon as he was gone, I turned toward Aimee’s door, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
Troy was already there, his ear pressed against the wood. “Aims?” he called softly. “It’s just us—Troy and Rhett. That guy’s gone. It was Jordan from downstairs being an idiot.”
I moved closer, trying to hear any response from inside. There was a faint sound, and my chest tightened.
