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It’s a quick elevator ride. A matter of seconds.
I take a breath before the doors open and gather myself. The twins will be home from school already. They’ll need help with homework. Something to eat for dinner. Clean clothes to wear to bed.
Not a worried, quiet older sister.
I lift my chin as the elevator doors open, put on a fake-it-’til-you-make-it-smile, and step into the hall.
A hand clamps down over the smile, pinching my lip to my teeth in a sharp burst of pain. I make a shocked noise into his palm. What the hell? In the hallway? Here?
My uncoordinated struggle against his grip doesn’t make much of a difference. He drags me backward, fifteen feet in the opposite direction of apartment 306. One of my heels catches on the industrial hallway carpet and wrenches my ankle on its way off my foot.
He stops at an alcove. Yanks me into it.
I shout into his palm. I just need one person to open their apartment door. One person to see that this isn’t right. Anybody.
A blow lands on the side of my head. The impact throbs into my brain and for a second I can’t breathe.
It’s terrible, because all my muscles burn cold with adrenaline. I want to run more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but the analytical part of my mind—the one that budgeted for gas-station food on the road and figured out how many nights we could last at the cheapest motel in town—knows there are no options.
I’ll never get the door to 306 unlocked before he catches up with me.
At best, I’ll get my phone out of my purse. He’s not going to let me type in my passcode and make a call.
The police aren’t going to come here in a hurry.
My number one priority is to stay alive no matter what happens in this alcove. Mia and Ben can’t find my dead body out here. They just can’t.
I’ve been pushing against his arm, against his hand, but I stop. As much as I can.
Another hit to the side of my head. My cheek, really.
“Don’t scream,” he says.
I don’t know whether to nod or shake my head, so I just stand perfectly still.
He waits a few seconds, then lifts his hand away from my mouth.
“You owe me fifty thousand dollars.”
My skin pulls tight. The man with the gun. The man who threatened the twins. “My dad said he paid you back. I gave him the money to pay you back.”
“Next time you run errands for your daddy, you might want to deliver the cash yourself. He didn’t give me a goddamn dime. He still owes me.”
“Then I’m not the person you want. He’ll be back soon. When he does, you can talk to him about it.”
“I’ve waited long enough for that prick to come around. You’re going to find the money.” He moves his arm, and I flinch, expecting another hit. But his hand goes around my wrist and then my arm is jammed behind my back. It hurts. Shoulder to wrist. Every muscle and bone and ligament. “You’re going to find itfast.”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t have a choice.” He gives my wrist a shake. “I’ve been watching this place. All kinds of people in and out, fixing things. You know somebody with money.”
“My dad—”
“Left you here.”
“He’s coming back.”
“When?”
