I was about to take off my pajama pants when a thump sounded, closer this time.
Definitely not imagined.
My heart began to race, and my palms were clammy as I rubbed them against my pajama pants. Grabbing my robe, I yanked it on and quickly knotted the belt securely. Then, scooping my phone from the dresser, I dialed 911 and held it to my ear.
The line was dead.
What the hell?
I jumped as the clomping of footsteps sounded, but they weren’t sneakers or shoes—they sounded heavy and deliberate, like boots.
Motorcycleboots?
Holding my breath, I tiptoed to the doorway, my ears straining for any sign that alerted me that I was about to be murdered in my own damned apartment. But the only sounds were the loud whirring of the fridge and the faint sound of traffic from the street below.
I exhaled slowly, all rational thought telling me to get a damned grip of myself, but still, I cracked the bedroom door open before creeping out to go check the living room.
That was when I heard the sound of the TV flick on.
I grabbed the baseball bat I kept next to the front door and positioned it high as I hauled ass into the living room, ready to cave in the intruder’s head.
As I rushed through the door, someone plucked the bat out of my hand. With a scream, I turned toward the massive figure, ready to let loose with some of the Krav Maga moves my friend Sophie had taught me. I unleashed a punch that caught the guy’s face, and I let out a yell so piercing that if my neighbor was home, he’d hear it and hopefully call the cops.
The figure turned toward me just as I swung another punch, which he caught in his meaty fist.
“Jesus fuck, sweetheart,” he barked. “You on the rag?”
My mouth fell open, and my body slumped with relief as I recognized Pagan’s brother, Thug. Burning heat rushed through my blood, and I shrieked, “What the fuck are you doing?”
He grinned. “Pagan sent me.”
I looked between him and the door, jerking an angry thumb toward it. “Don’t you fucking knock?”
He dug through his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Boss gave me these.”
My stare rested on them before darting back to his face. “Why?”
His grin widened. “He said you’re not allowed out.”
My eyes bugged out, and I screeched, “What?”
“He flew me down to make sure you keep your ass in tonight. Prez says if you give me any lip, I can gag ya.”
I pushed up onto my toes until I was in his face, balled my hands into fists, and yelled, “Get the fuckout!”
He chuckled. “Babe. What’s with the bitchy?”
“Bitchy?” I shrieked. “You let yourself into my apartment without so much as a phone call and frightened the life out of me. I thought I was going to get murdered.”
“Wouldn’t hurt ya,” he assured me. “Well, I may have to gag ya, but that would be a last resort. Depends if you keep yellin’ at me. I can't deal with that shit all night. It’ll upset my equilibrium.”
I let out a huff and stomped back to my bedroom. Grabbing my phone, I stabbed at it, raising it to my ear.
Still dead.
I growled my frustration and trampled back to the lounge, holding it up. “What’s happened to my cell?”
Thug leaned against the breakfast bar, his smug grin still plastered on his face as he tracked my every move. “Pagan cut it off.”
