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Marcus Constantine.
And below that, a phone number.
Chapter 6
I take a cab home when my shift ends.
The cash Marcus left covered their drink bill with well over a hundred dollars leftover as a tip, so I figure, why the hell not?
After almost getting mugged, I’m a little wary of walking anyway. And I’m equally terrified of running into the three men who seem to shadow my every move, even if I doubt they’ll try to steal back the money they just gave me.
It’s close to three o’clock when the cab pulls up in front of my apartment building. I pay the driver and slip out onto the dark street, casting my gaze around carefully. I don’t see any of my stalkers.
But I do see Natalie.
She’s at the top of the steps leading up to our building, her back pressed against the door as some guy shoves his tongue down her throat. She’s moaning like a porn star in a way that’s definitely only for effect, and I grimace as I head up the walk toward the stairs.
It’s been a long fucking night, and she’s the last person I want to deal with right now.
“Is there a reason you can’t do that inside?” I grumble. She’s standing in front of the goddamn door, blocking anyone from entering or exiting.
Natalie wrenches her lips away from the guy, who looks like he’s definitely had a drink or five. When she looks at me, I get a little rush of satisfaction at the bruise that mars her left cheek. It looks like she tried to dab some cover-up on to mask it, but the mottled purple color is visible under the flickering white streetlamps.
“Listen bitch, just because you never get any, it doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t,” she drawls, her voice thick and slurred from alcohol. Malice glints in her slightly glassy eyes.
Guess she’s still mad about getting slapped by a prosthetic hand.
Trotting up the steps, I move to pull the front door open, but she slams her back against it, ripping the handle from my grip.
“Oops.” She giggles, and the guy laughs, even though I’d bet a thousand bucks he has no idea what’s supposed to be so funny.
“Jesus, you’re such a fucking cunt,” I mutter, reaching for the door again.
She steps away from it suddenly, getting up in my face as her stale Miller Lite breath wafts over me, making my nose wrinkle.
“You think you’re so much better than everyone, don’t you?” she hisses. “Like you’re so damn special just because you’ve got a little sob story and a fucking stump.” A cruel smile curves her lips, and her eyes look beady as she squints at me in the darkness. “Well, you’re not. You know why I’m going to a good school and you’re working your ass off just to keep a roof over your head? Because I know how to make people like me. You? You’re just a bitter, sad loner. Nobody likes you, and nobody ever will. Nobody’s on your side.”
I clench my jaw, anger boiling up inside me.
God, I hate this fucking bitch.
I’ve never done shit to her. I’ve never done anything but just exist in the same damn space as her, and that was too much for her self-involved little ego to handle.
Because the way she sees the world, it’s a zero-sum game. Every good thing that happens to someone else is one less good thing that could happen to her.
It’s why she’s a kiss-ass to anyone who can help her get a leg up in the world and a weaselly little bitch to anyone who can’t.
My palm itches to slap her across the face. Give her a matching bruise to go with the one on her left cheek.
But instead, I shift my gaze to the guy she brought home. He’s standing one step down from the top landing, his body swaying slightly like a tree in a strong breeze.
“Word of advice, buddy. Wrap your shit up if you don’t want your dick to rot and fall off. You never know what you might catch in that swamp.” I glance down at his junk pointedly before inclining my head toward Natalie’s crotch.
He blinks, jerking his gaze from me to Natalie, who lets out an irate shriek. I grab the entry door handle and yank it open, smacking the door into her toes and making her stumble back. Then I slip inside and let it close behind me with a thunk.
My footfalls are heavy as I make my way up to the second floor, and my heart pounds out a staccato rhythm to match.
The look on the guy’s face was satisfying as hell, but it doesn’t stop the slow bleed of poison that seeps into my heart.
