I just stare, letting him see the sharp edges honed by a life of violence that I normally keep hidden. The instant he realizes I’m an actual threat, his eyes dart to the side, like he’s gauging the likelihood that he can grab for the doorknob and slip inside before I reach him. “Did she say something to you? It’s… it’s just a fucking joke, okay? We joke around. Jesus Christ. She gives it right back, too—she tell you that? The mouth on her—”
That’s what does it.
I step into the hallway, tucking the curious cat back into the room behind me and letting the door close. In a flash, I’ve got my forearm pressed against his Adam’s apple, and his head hits the wood behind him with a hollow thunk. He makes a choked noise, scrabbling against my grip. Arms and legs flailing, he tries to push back, but I press harder, easily countering his jerky movements. He’s strong with adrenaline, but I’m stronger and I have more training. Plus, it’s hard to fight someone off when you’re panicking and asphyxiating.
I need to be quick so my message lands before he passes out.
“If you ever speak disrespectfully to Madison again, I’ll kill you. In fact, you’re never to speak to her again. Full stop. She never has to see you again. She never has to deal with your sorry bullying arse ever a-fucking-gain. If she enters the hallway, you leave it. If she leaves her flat, you stay inside yours until she’s out that door. Do you understand? Nod your head.”
I’ll take the trembling, jolting movement of his neck and the accompanying gagging sound as a yes.
When I step back, he falls forward, fearfully clutching his throat with both hands as he coughs. He nearly slips on an envelope in an effort to flatten himself against the door and get as far from me as possible. As he’s fighting to refill his lungs, I get into his personal space one more time.
“I’ll be watching,” I murmur, low enough that he has to strain to hear it.
But he did hear it. The look of red-faced terror he shoots me is enough to convince me of that. He ducks into his flat, and I hear a firm deadbolt click that brings a dark smile to my lips.
Forcing myself to make unhurried, casual movements, I pause to double check the name on his mailbox and make my way out. Once I’m back in the quiet stillness of the van, anger slowly melts away, leaving room once again for logic and sense. I groan and scrub my face.
Fuck. What the hell did I just do? I acted like a damn territorial caveman. I made myself memorable to someone who knows Madison in person.
The desire to break his face only grows stronger when I think about how she has to live next to that creep. Good thing I have some time before I’m due for my “date” with Madison. Plenty of time to figure out how to deal with Todd. I’m not so gauche as to murder him just for speaking unkindly—though I could, and I want to—because there are so many more creative ways to destroy someone’s life than just taking it. Plus, dealing with a body is such a fucking hassle.
In the meantime, I just have to hope he doesn’t say anything to her before I can.
She believes she’s seeing Peter tomorrow, but she’s going to get SpyderMan.
I don’t have my speech planned out quite yet. There are a lot of moving parts. And how honest should I even be? The whole story is so unbelievable she might think me insane.
Hiya, you’ll never believe this, but I’m SpyderMan. Yes, that SpyderMan. I’ve been watching your every move for weeks because I’m actually a hitman, and I’ve been sent to kill you. Oh, don’t worry—I’d never hurt you. I’m pretty sure I love you, and also I’d very much like to spend the next 72 hours with my face buried in your cunt. Then we’re going to kill the man who wants you dead. We just need to find him first, and I need your help.
The raw material is there. The execution just needs refining.
A lot of refining.
14
Wesley
Fuck the plan.
Madison gapes, eyes wide as she takes in the cavernous space. All around us, machines blink and whir, singing their siren calls to entice people to spend their coins—or credits now, I suppose, since payments have gone digital. “How is there no one here?” she says softly, like she doesn’t want to be too loud and get us caught in case we’re not actually allowed.
It only took $10,000 to rent out the entirety of Wally’s Wacky Arcade for the night. I didn’t want any prying eyes—no one in the crowd is a potential threat when there’s no crowd to speak of. I looped the cameras, and paid off all staff to be somewhere else. It’s just the two of us.
The caveman in me thrills in having her like this—no one else gets to see the tiny fucking skirt she chose in order to drivemecrazy, or the tight, deeply cut jumper giving me more than a flash of mouthwatering cleavage, or the tights with a few wide holes that make me imagine ripping another one somewhere for convenient access…
Mine.
“I know the owner.” Not strictly a lie—we met recently when I handed him a giant wad of cash.
“And he helps you with your game?” she jokes, grinning at her own pun.
“Only when my reputation for being fun is at stake.”
She laughs. “It’s a little post-apocalyptic,” she remarks, glancing around at the colorful lights, sending warring rounds of music into the air around us. Usually the chatter and laughter of other patrons would drown it out and it wouldn’t seem as discordant. “It’s creepy as fuck.”
Doubt starts worming in—did I miscalculate?—but then I see the smile on her lips. “I love it,” she breathes. “And I love arcade games. How did you know?”
