Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
I immediately stumble back from his disgusting presence when I catch the way his eyes travel over the length of my body.
I know a look of horrible and unwanted lust when I see it—I deal with that look almost every day when I’m at the club, and now even away from The Scarlet Lounge, I’m being harassed.
“Not so easy to make a good deal when it counts, huh?” Mr. Howard counters my choice of silence.
Of course, he thinks of me as a little girl he can control.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, and you should know better,” I say calmly, crumpling the rent notice in my hand, ready to walk into my apartment for the night. “You don’t get to manipulate people into giving you what you want.”
“You’re the one that works at a strip club,” Mr. Howard says, scoffing. He looks gross and stinky to me, like a bloated, dead fish. “If you had any intelligence, you would have been something in life. Now, look at you, begging for scraps.”
“I’m not the first person you’ve offered this sort of means of payment, am I?” I ask him as I try to focus on the beating of my heart, making sure to keep calm. I don’t like the thought of showing too much emotion in front of him.
I already know the answer to my question before he opens his mouth.
“Everyone always needs a helping hand every once in a while,” my disgusting landlord replies with a short shrug of his pudgy shoulders as if he isn’t casually talking about taking advantage of desperate people like my little brother and me.
“You’re absolutely repulsive,” I fume at him as he turns to leave. I have to turn quickly when he grabs my arm in his greasy fingers for the second time today.
“Don’t touch me,” I tell him angrily, smacking his hand away. I’m taking a page from Eddie’s book. I don’t want to let this man bully me for no reason other than money. “Don’t ever think you can touch me, you pig. Don’t come near my brother or me, ever. I don’t want to see you while I’m around here.”
“Rent is due at the end of the month,” Mr. Howard snaps at me, knowing he still holds all of the cards in this situation. “Don’t let it get behind again.
“And I’ll make the payment like I always do, don’t you worry,” I counter, walking back to pick up my brother’s discarded bag of books. I stop at the door to my apartment, looking back at my landlord as I go ahead and unlock the door with more force than necessary. “How about you go to hell in the meantime?”
I know I slammed the door too loudly behind me, but I can’t seem to contain my rage. It makes my eyes burn, and my head ache. There is just no way I’m going to be able to pay the new rent anytime soon, but there’s also absolutely no way I’m letting Mr. Howard have the upper hand.
I can’t let these people get to me.
Inside the apartment, I realize that the place has been completely ransacked.
The furniture is turned over, and the pictures are covering the floor, glittering tiny shards of glass on the rough wooden floor and across the living room. The fridge is open, topping all our precious food onto the kitchen floor. I can’t breathe.
On the wall, written with what looks like one of my lipsticks, is a message in red.
We know where you live, bitch.
With shaking fingers, I find the number on my phone, dialing it quickly and feeling as if my heart is going to beat out of my chest. I’m so overwhelmed.
The relief makes me gasp when the familiar voice answers on the other end.
“Please, can you come pick me up? I’m sorry, I need you.”
Eddie’s voice is like a balm to my fears. “Stay put. I’m coming.”
CHAPTER SIX
Eddie
Once again, Kathleen is in my apartment.
She’s wearing my clothes while hers are in the wash, and I like the sight of it.
This time though, my sisters are gone, and her little brother is yawning on the couch, tucked under the blankets and watching some happy sort of cartoon.
“I really don’t know how to thank you for this,” Kathleen whispers.
We’re standing in the kitchen, and from the apartment's open plan, I can see that Stevie is almost asleep in the living room. Behind us, the coffee gurgles in the pot, filling quickly with my favorite fragrant, dark Colombian coffee.
I fill a mug for Kathleen, handing it over. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. We should be calling the police, though. Or at least your landlord, to let him know.”
“No,” Kathleen says quickly and then clears her throat. Her cheeks grow red, and she looks angry for a moment. “No, I’m not contacting him for anything.”