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What happened next was so absurdly outrageous that I was convinced this whole thing was a dream. That my alarm had gone off at 3:45, and instead of rolling out of bed, I’d hit snooze and fallen back asleep. Because the second I started to make my hasty retreat, Brown Beard exclaimed, “We’ve got a runner!”
Before I could wrap my mind around what that could have meant, Blonde Beard had swung himself over the counter and was charging right at me. We went down hard and fast; me with a startled yelp, Blonde Beard with what could only be described as a barbaric battle cry.
“Gotcha,” my attacker huffed smugly, securing my wrists in front of me before sitting me up. Next thing I knew, I was being cuffed.
“Dude, what the actual fuck? Let me go!”
“I don’t think so,” he said, cheeks pink, eyes wide. “We’re sick and tired of you lot. You won’t even let the man go on his morning runs in peace.”
What the hell was he talking about? “I live here.”
He snorted. “Okay.”
Brown Beard was typing something on his phone.
“I live in this building,” I repeated. “I moved in yesterday.”
But he wouldn’t listen. “Nice try. We’ve heard that one before, though.”
That was when I started to get annoyed. Why did everybody and their mother think I was stalking the man? “Oh my god—here.” I jutted out my hip. “Unit 1102. The key is in my pocket. Take it out.”
The two guards exchanged another look, but Blonde Beard reached into my pocket anyway and took out the keys. He blinked down at them, his forehead scrunching into a harsh frown.
It was my turn to be smug. “Told you. Now let me go before I—”
“Where’d you get these?” he asked, cutting me off.
What language was I speaking? “For the last time,I live here.”
Brown Beard shook his head. “We didn’t receive a notice of a new move-in to that unit. You need to tell us where you got the keys.”
I floundered, trying to come up with an explanation. The fact that I didn’t have Adrien’s contact information didn’t bode well for me. How could I tell them he’d given me the keys when he hadn’t even given me his phone number?
“Um… you can call Adrien,” I tried. “And ask him yourself. My name is Ria Sanchez and I was supposed to meet him down here to go for a run at four.”
Another shared look of skepticism before Blonde Beard said, “All right, ma’am, we’re going to have to ask that you come with us. You’ll need to wait in the back while we get things sorted.”
I shuffled a few inches away from him. “Yeah… no, thank you.”
They could call the cops if they wanted to, but there was no way I’d willingly follow two random men into some back room with my hands cuffed. There was just no way.
“Can you please just let me go?” I asked.
“No can do,” Brown Beard responded. “We’re under strict orders to take these incidents very seriously.”
Whatincident? I was just doing what I’d been told!
But before I could argue with him, Brown Beard held up his phone and looked at his coworker. “He’ll be down in a bit. No cops yet, but he says to hold her ’til he comes.”
And, just like that, I was being hauled to my feet and guided to the back room. I should have kicked and screamed and fought, but I knew it would have been futile. Or maybe even made things worse.
So I clamped my mouth shut and followed them, rage tearing through my veins.
“Wait here,” Blonde Beard ordered before disappearing.
And, once again, I was trapped inside a locked room, forced to wait for Adrien Cloutier.
Too far. This was officially too fucking far. And we were only five hours into day one.
