"You don't need to see shit. Just—"
I hang up.
Julian's already sitting up, concern etched across his beautiful face. "What's going on?"
"Someone vandalized the pool hall."
"Daniel?"
"Who else?"
"Liza, you can't—"
But I'm already out of bed, yanking jeans from the floor, pulling yesterday's shirt over my head.
"You shouldn't go," Julian says, firmer now. "If he's watching—"
"I have to."
"Why? What are you going to accomplish?"
I don't have a good answer. Just this burning need to see the damage with my own eyes. To face what Daniel's capable of.
Julian follows me to the door, bare-chested, frustration radiating off him. "At least let me come with you."
"No."
"Liza—"
I kiss him hard, silencing the argument. Then I'm gone, keys jangling, heart hammering, leaving him standing in the doorway.
The drive to the pool hall blurs past.
All I can think is:I told you so.
But I won't say it.
I never would.
Damn you, Daniel.
Damn you, Fucker.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The front door hangs off its hinges like a broken jaw, glass all over the dirty, tiled entrance floor.
I stand frozen, taking in the carnage. Red spray paint screams across the walls—words that make my skin crawl; CUNT, PRICK, ASSHOLES. And threats too: WATCH YOUR BACKS!
Framed movie posters lie shattered on the floor; Tom Cruise and Paul Newman stare up at the ceiling with cocky smirks, surrounded by jagged glass.
The pool tables.
Oh, God, the tables. All of them, slashed, green felt torn to ribbons like someone took a blade to them with pure rage.
The bar's destroyed—bottles smashed, liquor pooling on the floor.
Chairs and tables toppled like a hurricane ripped through.
