Page 137 of Dream On, Liar

“C’mon. I know that’s pennies for you.”

“Yeah, £500 is pennies for me—that’s why I’m renting a two bed flat with my best friend. You’re so right, Roland.”

He narrowed his gaze, a dark look in his eyes.

My instinct climbed through me as I pressed the side of my phone and the emergency alarm blared through the hallway.

“What the fuck?” He yelled, covering his ears.

“If you don’t leave me, now—I’m gonna let it ring through and connect through 999. I don’t know—or care, why you need the cash. But if you’re that desperate, get another job!”

His glared hardened, before he took a step back and the sound of his footsteps descending reached me. Pulling my phone out quickly, I cancelled the alarm and reached for my keys. Once the loud bang of the main door echoed through the building, I inserted them into the lock and opened my door.

Dumping my bag and the kit once on the floor, I reached for the suitcase and dragged it inside the flat.

The wheels snagged on the raised door way, resisting me like the flat itself had decided to turn against me. I swore under my breath, tugging harder, irritation sharp and useless in my chest.

It was such a small, stupid thing to be fighting with.

A suitcase.

A wooden plank.

Normal life friction, but the exhaustion was already making me crash slowly.

I bent down, fingers tightening around the handle, ready to force it free—

Finally.

Pulling the suitcase in, completely, I moved to shut the door when a foot appeared in the small space left.

Before I could react, the person on the other side pushed it with force. My body went still before my mind caught up as the door slammed back into me.

The impact knocked the air out of my lungs.

I stumbled backwards, my heel catching on nothing, my balance gone before I could even think to fight for it.

The world tilted.

Then he was inside.

Roland.

But not the version of him I’d known before—if I’d ever really known him at all.

This one looked sharpened at the edges, breath coming fast, eyes bright with something ugly and dark. His face wasn’t just angry. It was stripped of anything that made him human.

And in his left hand—

A knife.

My stomach dropped so fast it felt like it hit the floor before I did.

“All I wanted was some cash,” he said, voice tight, shaking with something that wasn’t fear. “They’d be pennies for you. PENNIES! But nooo. You had to be a bitch.”

My throat closed.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out properly. Just air and panic. “Roland…”