Hate so black it scorches my skin burns through me when Justine dips her chin in confirmation of Ms. Aaronson’s question. Just like me, she was scarred by another; just like me, she had her wings clipped; and just like me, she’ll have her revenge.
I’ll make sure of it.
When the tension hissing in the air becomes too much for Justine to bear, she attempts to dart into the bathroom at the back of her living room. I seize her wrist before she gets one step away from me. I’m barely touching her, but I’m confident she can feel the angry current surging through my veins, and the promise it comes with.
We were strangers mere hours ago, but that won’t stop me from protecting her. Friends can become enemies as quickly as a once stranger becomes your everything.
The brave woman in front of me is living proof of this.
“Ahren…” I force out through the anger clutching my throat when she yanks her wrist out of my hold before spinning on her heels and sprinting into the bathroom she was racing for earlier.
The brutal bang of the bathroom door startles Ms. Aaronson enough I’m reminded that Justine’s devastation isn’t solely being witnessed by me.
I hate that.
Acting happy when you’re on the verge of breaking is an admirable strength, but I don’t want Justine to act when she’s around me. The only time she’s been honest with herself today was when her juices were coating my palm. That’s why I’ve been so desperate to get her alone, because I knew I had a better chance of lowering the barriers I’m certain she erected years ago if it was just the two of us.
“Oh, dear. I think I made her upset. I should go check on her.”
Ms. Aaronson’s wobbly strides stop halfway to the bathroom door when I rocket out of my chair to block her with my thumping-with-anger frame.
“I think you’ve done enough.” I didn’t mean for my voice to come out with the fury it did, but I don’t regret it when it replaces the remorse in Ms. Aaronson’s eyes with fear. It stops her from chasing down Justine, and has her at my complete mercy.
Conscious on her earlier threat to call the police, I lower the severity of my tone while bringing out a side of myself I haven’t seen in years: the swooning side.
“Do you know what Justine needs right now?” Ms. Aaronson peers up at me with her big rheumy eyes out in full force. “The type of comfort you can’t get from words. She needs carbs, calories, and c—”
“Chocolate,” Ms. Aaronson interrupts, grinning.
I was going to say cock, but I’ll go with her reply if it ups the ante of her leaving sooner rather than later.
Ms. Aaronson’s pencil thin brow pops up along with her index finger. “And I know the exact thing that’ll bring back the rosy coloring to her cheeks.”
Now I’m one hundred percent certain I should have said cock.
I’m reminded the wrinkles on Ms. Aaronson’s face aren’t lifelines when she says, “Pancakes. Pancakes make everything better.”
I almost dip my chin in agreement, but Ms. Aaronson’s race for the swinging door that leads to Justine’s kitchen stops me.
“Where are you going?”
“To make pancakes, silly.” The ‘S’ of silly whistles through her false teeth.
I race to catch up with her. “Can’t you make them inyourapartment?”
She’s continues for the kitchen, but mercifully, her shuffles are so slow, her dated hearing aids have no issues picking up my question. “Can’t. Got no sugar or eggs.”
“Then I’ll get you some.”
Her tattered dressing gown floats across the floorboards when she spins around to face me. “It’s too late for that. The local grocer is shut.”
I choke out a laugh. “This is Vegas. Nothing iseverclosed in Vegas.”
Her flabby lips twist, but she doesn’t argue with me. It’s for the best. My patience is stretched thin.
“If I can get you the ingredients needed, can you make them in your apartment?”
Why the fuck am I negotiating? She either does what I ask or die.
