There’s shuffling behind the door, before it’s flung open. The man in front of me scowls, his lips curling, a faint hint of alcohol wafting off of him.
“You –” Floyd doesn’t get another word out before I’m pushing inside, shoving him against the wall, my forearm pinned across his neck.
“You fucking asshole. I should kill you for what you did.”
The motherfucking piece of shit laughs and I see red. Rearing back, I punch him in the face, the satisfaction of the blood that spouts from his nose dulling the pain in my knuckle. I’m not a fighter. I hit Alister once when I was younger, and that ended with a bruise on my shoulder that he sold to my parents as a skateboarding accident.
Floyd rubs his nose, pulling his hand back and staring down at the blood. His eyes show no emotion when he looks back at me, like he’s wearing a mask. He straightens his shirt, adjusting his cuffs, and takes one step forward, his movements composed and eerily calm.
I’m breathing heavily, my legs shaking with the desire to both fight and flee. The stillness in the room sets me on edge, the atmosphere thick with anticipation, like a spark fizzing, waiting to ignite into a full on explosion.
“You should watch yourself, boy,” Floyd says through gritted teeth. “Stay out of my business.”
We’re a similar height, but he has more bulk on his upper body than I do, so I straighten up, widening my stance to appear more intimidating. “Dariusismy business.”
Hetsks. “I figured he ran off to you after hislessonlast night.” The word twists at my insides, my mind fighting off images of Alister using the same word to describe what he did to me.
“I won’t let you hurt him again,” I spit.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Not unless you want him to wave goodbye to all his money and his precious father.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. There isalwaysa choice.” Reaching into my pocket, I produce my phone, going in with my Plan A. I raise it and show it to Floyd. “I have pictures of what you did to him.” I don’t, but Floyd doesn’t need to know that. “You’ll let him and his father go, forget the entire deal, or I’ll show these to everyone. Your family included.”
Floyd grins, then, as though he has not a care in the world, walks over to the drinks cabinet and pours himself a glass of whiskey.
“Let me get this straight.” He sips his drink. “You’re blackmailing me?”
I nod, and he downs the rest of the drink, deposits the glass onto the cabinet top and crosses the room to stand a few feet in front of me. My pulse races, but I refuse to let him see my fear. I know men like him – ones who get off on control. Who treat people like property, bending them to their will. Never again will I give anyone that power over me.
“That’s cute.” Floyd steps into my space, and I stand my ground, clenching my jaw to hide the trembling. “You expect me to believe that you’ll willingly show those photos to people?” He makes this dark, flat sound that could be a chuckle. “And even if you do, do you think they’ll believe my cheating slut of a husband and his boyfriend over me?” He waits for an answer that I don’t give, then drops his voice. “Go on. Do it. See how it ends for all of you.”
The threat is heavy and real and I inwardly curse myself for thinking he wouldn’t call my bluff. But he did. As though in his fucked up reality, he thinks he still has the upper hand and that he’ll still somehow walk away with that inheritance.
“Leave him the fuck alone.”
Closing the space between us, Floyd advances on me, forcing me to retreat until my back hits the wall, and he’s so close I can see the flecks of grey in his blue eyes and smell the liquor on his breath.
“Or what? I hold all the cards here.” Floyd tilts his head, eyes locked on mine. “I suggest you back off and keep your nose out of my business and your dick out ofmyhusband.” His gaze darkens – he expects me to flinch, to back down, but I don’t. I won’t.
I spit in his face, and he recoils in disgust. “Fuck you, asshole.”
Floyd’s nostrils flare as he wipes the saliva from his cheek. I go to step around him, but am caught off guard when he punches me in the stomach. Coughing and wheezing at the impact, I instinctively wrap an arm around myself.
“You saw what I did to Darius when he pushed me.” Floyd punches me in the cheek, his wedding ring catching on the skin. The pain is sharp, heat blooming, followed by the steady trickle of blood. I wipe the back of my hand over it, and Floyd goes in for another hit on my abdomen. This time I’m forced backwards into the wall, my lungs struggling to inflate.
“Do.” His fist connects with my ribs. “Not.” Another punch that lands in the same place, the pain so intense spots dance in my vision. “Push me.” My knees threaten to give out, but I refuse to let him win.
Mustering all the energy I can – which admittedly isn’t much – I lunge forward, circle his waist and throw him backwards. He hits the side table with anoomph, and I raise my fist and slam it into his face. Floyd stumbles backwards and, ignoring the blood in my mouth and the pain blanching across my abdomen, I take another shot at him, this time hitting him in the stomach.
“Fuck!” he yells, flicking out his foot to knock me off balance. I stay upright, but the move has my focus elsewhere and I’m not prepared for the speed with which he advances, shoving me hard into the wall. Before I can react, he lands a jab in my ribs which has a sharp pain ricocheting through my chest. I cough, doubling over. When I straighten, he’s right there, grabbing me around the neck. I grapple at his hands, digging my nails into his skin.
“Should have locked him away until I was done with him,” he snarks. “Thisis why I don’t like people. So much fucking trouble.” I am no match for him physically, but I won’t let him win. I will protect Darius, even if I die trying. Floyd squeezes and a black haze dances around the edges of my vision. I press my nails in harder while trying to get a leg between us.
“Hello. Darius?” another voice says from the front door I left partially open. Floyd’s grip loosens, but he doesn’t let me go. “What’s going on here?”
Darius’s father – My Plan B – walks further into the apartment, his eyes narrowing on the two of us.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Floyd says. He drops his hand and takes three steps away from me. He straightens his shirt and adjusts his cuffs as though he’s standing up after a long meeting. “Why are you here, Ralph?”
