I’m getting a new neighbor, meaning the car currently parkedhalfway over my space isn’t temporary at all. It’s a permanent fixture, but if he thinks he’s going to be parking like that every day, he’s about to learn one hell of a lesson about being a considerate neighbor. And yes, I’m assuming it’s a guy, because only a man could possibly park with that much arrogance.
Ugh. I already hate him.
Making my way down the corridor, I pass by the open door of apartment 305, and without a single ounce of shame or hesitation, I slow my pace and gaze straight into my neighbor’s home. The layout is exactly the same as mine, just flipped. But I knew that. I know every little detail about this building. How many floors, the layouts of each individual apartment, where the emergency exits are, and of course, I know every detail about the people who reside here. Just like Betty, my old neighbor. She lived in that very apartment for the last thirty years, right up until her children moved her out and dumped her in an old people’s home. Though I really don’t understand why. Betty was killing it in that apartment. She was loving life and more than capable of handling herself until her kids decided they knew what was best for the mom they never visited.
Fuck, it’s been weeks, and I’m still mad about it.
Peering into 305, I see nothing but the movers dumping heavy furniture on the hardwood floors, only to scratch them as they start pushing the furniture up against the wall. And despite the Audi parked in my space, I see no sign of its new owner.
Damn. If I had the energy, I’d march straight through that doorand deal with the situation myself, but I suppose it can wait until tomorrow. It’s been way too long since I last slept. The flight to France was spent researching my target and pinpointing his location, and the flight back . . . Well, let’s just say turbulence is a bitch. Nobody in their right mind could sleep through that shit.
I’m beyond exhausted, and the last thing I need is to deal with my new neighbor.
Letting out a sigh, I keep my ass moving while digging into my bag to find my keys, and before I know it, I’m crashing through my door and collapsing onto my couch.
My head lolls against the backrest, and I quickly fall into a deep, much-needed sleep. Hours later, I wake up to my pitch-black apartment and the heavy, repetitive sound of the new neighbor’s headboard slamming against my wall. His deep groans reverberate against my eardrums, and my eyes go wide.
“Oh fuck. Yes, Daddy!” a woman cries. “I’ve been such a bad girl. Spank me.Spank me.YES! OH GOD, YES! HARDER!”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Out of all the people who could have moved in next door, I get lumped with Sir Fucks A Lot and his horny girlfriend, Miss Bend Me Over And Choke Me Until I Scream.
Just my fucking luck.
***
CHAPTER 2
KIARA
Thump. Thump. Thump. Groan.
Fuck me. This is not happening.
The fuckfest next door rages on and is driving me crazy. It’s been going on for over an hour. Who needs to fuck that long? What’s wrong with a quickie in the kitchen followed by a movie with no volume? That’s the brilliance of subtitles. Hell, what’s wrong with just a little consideration for your neighbors? I mean, shit. If you want to fuck loud enough to wake the dead for over an hour, then apartment living is not for you. Go buy a property where you can fuck your little heart out.
I’ve spent the past hour trying to ignore it, but let’s be honest, my ability to focus isn’t great. I’ve attempted to pull my laptop out and work on my blog, and that didn’t go well, so Ifigured I’d take an everything shower, and by the time I was done, the fuckfest next door would be over. But nope. I’m not that lucky.
Instead, I lay on my bed, my pillow squished over my head, tossing and turning as the woman next door groans and pants while getting absolutely run through. I mean, whoever this arrogant bastard is, he’s really giving her everything she’s asking for. He sounds thorough. Inconsiderate, but thorough, and really, that’s all a woman could ever ask for, right? A man who can put in the effort and get her across the finish line. Though to be fair, he’s already gotten her over the finish line at least eight times, assuming I didn’t miss any during my shower.
Feeling absolutely helpless, I put my AirPods in, crank my music as high as it’ll go, and stare up at the dark ceiling, doing absolutely everything I can to drown out the noise from next door.
Is this my life now?
My home is supposed to be my happy place. It’s supposed to bring me peace and comfort, but right now, it’s bringing nothing but overwhelming frustration. Would it be wrong to go over there and silence them permanently? Potentially, but fuck, it’d feel good. At least, for a little while. I’d feel like a piece of shit come morning. Just because I have a tendency to kill people doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. I have good morals. I smile and wave at my neighbors. I always pay my rent on time. I even feed Mrs. Macy’s cat, Ollie, when she visits her grandson every few months. So killing people while experiencing one of life’s greatest pleasures isn’t exactly my vibe, but I’m getting close to crossing that line.
If I have to hear one more “Yes, harder!” I think I’m going to scream.
“Oh, fuck,” a man’s deep groans come through the wall of my bedroom just as the picture frame above my bed falls to the ground, shattering the glass on my floorboards. “Take it. Just like that.”
Arghhhhhhh.
I squish my pillow tighter over my head and scream.
This isn’t normal.
“That’s my good little whore,” he grunts.
