Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

He wasn’t lying when he said he enjoyed exercise. The staircase seems to get steeper as we go up. His strides don’t slow, they stay downright chipper. I keep pace silently beside David. Truth is, though, this is about double-speed on my usual staircase habits. Especially in heels. His fingers shift against mine. We’re holding hands. He took my hand at the first step. Maybe that’s why I can’t think of a word to say. Not that I’m fit to pass a talk test.

I breathe in through my lips and out through my nose, trying not to seem so obviously unfit. My palm slips against his. I’m sweating. I feel it beading on my nose, above my lip, in the thigh gap I don’t have.

I’m just not sure I can blame the stairs.

I glance at David.

He glances back.

I look away. The sweat’s building in my armpits. I hold my elbows a little closer to my sides.
Oh god
. At least I wore the black dress. That’s about the only thing I got going for me right now.

We make it up the last of the steps. The black dress and the fact that I definitely
did
remember deodorant, and that I’m wearing one of the expensive perfumes from my yacht stash.

My spine twitches.

I slip my hand from David’s, and step ahead of him to my door. “This is me.”

He reaches the door and stands beside me. He touches a hand to his hair, then pauses as though remembering it’s gelled.

I turn towards him, my back to the door. “Tonight was nice.”

He isn’t panting the way I am, but his nostrils flare softly as though he’s a little breathless too. “You want to do it again?”

My cheeks creep with heat. I open my mouth but my lips just smack back together.

His expression falls.

“Yes,” I say, and take the fingers of one of his hands. “I’d like to do this again.”

His gaze drops to my mouth.

I’m not sure I meant it but I don’t want to shut the door to him just yet. I’m not finished. He reaches with his free hand, touching my face, and drags a strand of hair away that’s stuck on my lip gloss. My lips tingle.

Is my apartment clean?

He watches my mouth.

Of course it’s clean, it’s practically freaking empty. I lean my head back against the door. He shifts closer, lowering his face to mine. My lips open just a bit. He kisses me. My pulse jumps. It’s warm and my body remembers what it’s like to kiss. Knows what to do. He hasn’t really touched me yet and my body responds between my legs.

My heart beats like a sparrow trapped in my chest. I lean into him. My body misses this—wants this warmth. Needs touch. Needs affection.

His lips brush against mine, once, twice, and again deeper.

But my lungs burn. My ducts prickle. These are the wrong lips. My eyes well. I can’t stop it, I’m going to cry. It’s all wrong. The lips, the touch, the affection, all of it wrong. I press my hands against his chest and push. His lips drag from mine, his breathing ragged.

David’s breath washes over my mouth, clean and fresh, but missing something deeper. A flavor I can’t define. The taste of another breath, the taste of a man. The individual flavor of Haithem that can never be matched.

“Sorry,” I say and cover my mouth with my fingers. “I just can’t do this.”

He rubs my arm. “It’s all right, Angelina.”

I swallow and look at him. He’s gone blurry.

“Will you call me?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

It’s a lie. I’m not going to call him.

“I’ll see you next Friday for a lesson?” he says.

“No, that’s the night of my thing.” I blink and my vision clears again.

He smiles. “That’s right, good luck with it.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods and waves, then makes his way back down the stairs. His footsteps hammer all the way down. He must’ve really taken the stairs easy on me on the way up. My belly aches like I missed dinner altogether.

I take out my keys and let myself into my empty apartment.

Haithem

The walls shift, get tighter—cages me.

I stalk from one side of the room to the other. Less steps. Each time I walk the same distance it takes less steps. Now Karim has gone, sterile silence blares. The refrigerator hums and artificial heating whirls. Filtered street light enters the apartment through the windows, from outside where it’s alive. Where people walk in the open air. A car door slams. The wide sweep of glass along the wall reveals the building opposite. White light turns on in the apartment that’s hers. The apartment she’s letting another man inside. I storm to the windows, reaching for the curtain. A bulky shape lingers at the corner of her apartment building. Did Karim not hear what I said? I lean forward.

It’s not Karim.

I scan the street, and catch sight of the vehicle parked a few yards away. Why is the paparazzo still following her? Why’d
this
guy never give up? He slinks towards the front entrance, then waits to the side.

I
know
.

I recognize the way a predator moves. The way a predator hunts. I’ve known ruthless intent. Not the same kind, but hunting is hunting, no matter what your plans for the prey.

David Wong exits the front door. Adrenaline pounds through my blood. The part of me relieved he’s gone gets crushed by the part that screams for him to go back. I see what’s next before it happens. A fat hand catches the door before it closes. He nods to David like someone who’s supposed to be there.

The fucking idiot.

David should know better. How the hell did he survive in the army with no freaking instinct?

She’s alone in her apartment. I’m already reaching for my cell phone, hitting a number on speed dial, running for the door.

Nothing matters except getting to her.

* * *

I lean against the door. One breath in—one breath out. Gets easier every time. My body hums, I’m turned on. Even though he wasn’t the one I wanted, I’m hot. There’s a dark space in my mind, it tells me to message David, and tell him to come back up. This time to let him inside.

The dark place urges me to ignore the feelings holding me back. Forget, just forget everything except for
now
.

Breathe in—breathe out.

I stare up at the patchy ceiling. That dark space beckons, tells me to take this new man to bed. Lose myself with him. That I can handle it if I close my eyes and pretend he’s someone else.

I could do that. I know I could do that.

Close my eyes and picture another face.

The face of the man I still love—will always miss.

The man I long for so badly it’s like every step I take in this new life is like walking on razor blades. But I do, I keep on walking, and walking.

Because there’s no other choice—I must.

I wipe my cheeks. They’re wet, but I don’t begrudge them—this is sad.
I’m sad.
I need a glass of wine. These days, no excuse is required to have one on my own. I’m not sure why it’s never occurred to me before that I don’t need an excuse or permission to be an adult.

To have a drink, or to eat something I enjoy, or to have sex with someone I desire.

The door shakes against my back with the rap of firm knocking.

David.

Haithem’s face flashes in my mind—it hurts so badly in my heart and in my flesh. He’s gone. Haithem is gone and I’m alone. I turn around, press my forehead against the door then turn the handle.

The door slams into my body. My shoes slip on lino. My heart pauses for a beat then races twice as fast. I don’t need to see a face to know the person standing on the other side of the door is not David. Memories swamp me of that night on the yacht. The one with gunshots, knives and death. Haithem’s perfect plan has failed.

They’ve found me.

Now I’ll fight or die.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I jam my foot down in front of the door, and throw my weight against the force pushing against me. My back leg slides, my foot twisting in my pump.
Can’t let him in.
Keeping an intruder out
is
my defense. Better to avoid than engage—that’s what David said.

The door batters against my shoulder.

My mind races, flashing with things I’ve only just learned. Oh god, why did I just start these classes now? The pressure against my shoulder vanishes and the door falls shut. I fumble with the lock.

Force slams against me before I can turn the lock.

I fly backwards, landing in a heap on the floor. A shoe departs my foot, sliding across the ground right into a pair of incoming sneakers. My gaze moves from the sneakers up the body of a stranger.

Too late.

He’s in.

The man shuts the door behind him without looking back. His arms swing by his side. He moves slowly towards me, as though taking his time.

Why isn’t he rushing?

Where’s his gun? If he’s one of Haithem’s enemies, if they’d worked it out, why isn’t he rushing, and where the hell is his gun?

My scar prickles along my back. Or does he prefer a knife? I jerk and propel myself backwards with my feet. My back hits the kitchen counter.

Wouldn’t they just take me?
Somewhere
isolated for interrogation...The muscles around my spine stiffen and I push myself up onto my hands. Haithem was careful. Anything they get from me—and I’m not arrogant enough to think I won’t cave to torture—will not be useful enough to stop things in time.

Haithem’s legacy—his father’s legacy—will survive.

Even if they could not.

“I’ve been watching you, beautiful girl.” His fat cracked tongue flicks over his lips as though he’s seen something tasty. His narrow eyes focus on me.

Beautiful?

The hairs on my arm twitch. Why would he call me that?

His gaze rakes over my body. It’s intimate. Makes me want to take a shower.

I reach for the bench behind me and drag myself to standing, and slowly let the remaining shoe slip off my foot and push my soles to the ground.

His hands move to his pants. My gaze fixes to that place. I can’t help it. Why is he undoing his belt?

It jingles and he leaves it open.

He’s come to kill me, right? To attempt to extract information then kill me. Why else would someone break into my apartment?

“I know your secret,” he says. “I worked it out. It’s why you sent your date away.”

I freeze, every muscle going still. What does he know, and how much does he know? Is this blackmail?

“I don’t have any money.”

It’s true, what little I have couldn’t come close to being considered blackmail money. It’s buy-a-pizza money, or wild-night-at-the-movies-as-long-as-it-is-not-gold-class money. I could offer a few pieces from my wardrobe, there’s a few things in there that I’m sure are a worth a couple grand.

“I’ve been watching,” he says, and takes a step towards me. “I like to watch.”

There’s something low and vile and honest in his voice.

I remember where I’ve seen him. It’s the ears that do it. The way they jut out at that angle. The airport, and in front of my parent’s house. I remember him. He’s paparazzi.

I take him in. He’s middle-aged, his hairline almost transparent up to the back of his head. Neither his pants nor his shirt can control his protruding belly. He’s no mercenary posing as something else.

He’s not pretending
.

Because I believe him—he really does love
watching
.

He slides the entire belt free. The thick brown strap dangles from his hand, the buckle swinging.

My heart does dull thumpy things in my chest and loud banging things in my ears.

I thought after losing so much the worst I had to fear was death. The idea didn’t make me as afraid as it should. This though—the way this creep sways towards me—makes everything in me revolt in horror.

“I know your secret...” he whispers. More than gluttony fills his expression, there’s triumph,
knowing
.

How closely did he watch? How much does he know?

“You liked it didn’t you?” He’s only a few feet away from me now.

My kitchen is bare. Not even a sturdy chair to throw.

I stare at him.

His throat ticks. His chest quivers. I’m not sure if he’s excited or nervous, or if he’s ever done this before. All I have are my two hands. I’ll get one shot and I’ll damn well make it count.

“That’s why you didn’t testify, isn’t it?” He pauses, maybe expecting me to answer.

I watch his Adam’s apple. Let him get even closer.

“You liked being taken didn’t you—that’s why that cop followed you for so long.” The belt buckle swings, just a little, like a pendulum that’s winding down, ready to be hit again. “She’s stopped you know.” His lips spread in a rotten yellow smile. “She stopped following you last month.”

He sways closer. “Are you lonely now there’s no one to hurt you?”

My senses focus in. His words no longer matter. All I see is his throat. My entire being poised for one exact moment.

Just one more step...

I slide my hands up to my belly, then to my chest. Hold them together, innocently, as though I’m simply afraid.

His left foot shuffles forward. “Don’t worry, I’ve come to help—”

Then he’s there, an arm width away. But I’ll be the one to touch
him
first.

I burst into action, thrust with my right hand, put my entire body behind a strike to his throat.

The side of my palm connects with the scaly skin on his neck. I don’t wait for the gasp, just jam my knee into the flesh of his groin, then bring my heel back down on his foot and shove both hands against his chest.

He falls. Backwards, and heavily, thudding against the ground. I run to the front door, yank it open, and scramble into the hallway.

A fist closes in my hair. My head snaps back. Pain slams into my brain. Blinds me. My feet fly off the ground, and a hand closes over my mouth.

I scream into a tobacco-scented palm. Wriggle and writhe and struggle with all I have. He yanks me backwards. I grab the door frame, curling my fingers around the lip of wood. The pads of my fingers slip free.

I go back.

Back inside the apartment, back against the floor. I know what he wants. What comes now. The sick thing is knowing it won’t be difficult

His fingers claw at my thighs. Tangle in my dress.

It’s a strange moment—the moment of defeat.

Someone with more pride than me might be foiled by it. Hang themselves under the weight of their own struggle. Knowing your own limitations is a gift.

I know I’m done.

Know this person fumbling on top of me is bigger and stronger than I am.

I surrender. Do something else instead. Silently call for help. Stop fighting him and move my arms out from between us, let him fiddle with his fly, while I press down on my watch.

I close my eyes. Does this still work? Is anyone still listening? Haithem’s gone and I told Karim to fuck off. Still I push, hold that button down.

I still have faith.

He’d never let me down. I open my eyes. I just need to stall. Only need a little time. I look up at the man above me then use the one thing I have left and slam my forehead as hard as I can into his. My vision splinters. Pain smashes into my skull. The weight on top of me flattens and I see stars.