Threat (3 page)

No.
Hell
no. This shit is
not
about to happen.

“But I only go by Threat now,” he says.

I've put up with a lot of shit over the years but this is where I
draw the line. My face burns and my fists clench, two things that
Threat seems to be getting a kick out of. I turn and storm out of the
shop, pulling my cell phone from purse and dialing furiously.

“Hey there champ,” I hear my dad's voice on the other end
when he finally picks up. “Everything all right?”

“No!” I shout into the receiver, my voice breaking with
tears. I hate that I let David fucking Banducci get under my skin
again. He went out of his way to make me beyond miserable for so many
years. After he was kicked out of school, I thought it was over, but
it wasn't—the torment continued. But at least David was gone,
and I would never have to see him again. Or so
I
thought.

“Hey, hey, what's wrong? Weren't you supposed to meet Threat
today?”

I hold my forehead in my hand, attempting to shield my eyes from the
few passerbys. I take a deep, shuddering breath, willing myself not
to cry. I won't give him the satisfaction.

“Hun?” he asks again, sounding concerned.

“Dad it's him! It's that asshole who bullied me since, like,
sixth grade!”

“Huh? What guy? You were bullied?”

Oh God. Does he seriously not remember that? Oh, that's right, I
barely even mentioned it to him. Because I was too embarrassed to
admit it—silly me. I let out a loud, frustrated groan that
sounds more like a growl.

“Hun, calm down, okay? Can you explain what happened?”

“I told you about him once. He tormented me from junior high
through high school, calling me names and getting his dumbass friends
to join in. Dad, he tried to ruin my life!” Tried? He
did
ruin it.

“Lots of people called you names. Which one are you talking
about?”

Thanks for reminding me. “He was the main one. His name was
David Banducci. David and Threat are the same fucking person. You
just married the mother of my bully!”

“Shit, my bad. I didn't know. Like I told you, she didn’t
even tell me she had a son until after.”

As if that makes this situation any better. “Dad
please
tell me you're not going to let him come live with us. This is
serious. I can't live with him!” Even if it's only for the next
two and a half months.

He sighs on the other end. “Well, problem is I already made a
promise to Janet. They've been living apart for a few years and she
really wants a chance to reconnect. Maybe you two could try and find
some common ground?”

“No!”

“Okay, but you haven't tried yet. So how do you know you
can't?”

“Dad, he made my life
hell
,” I reply through
gritted teeth. He doesn’t seem to grasp the severity of this
situation, and it makes me that much more frustrated.

“But that was in middle school. That was a long time ago and
you've both grown up since that. People change. Maybe Threat has
too.”

I can't help but let out a high pitched, bitter laugh. The irony of
the idea that someone who renamed them self “Threat” has
changed is so preposterous it's funny.

“Dad. His name is fucking Threat,” I holler into my
phone.

“I know, I know and I'll admit I was alarmed too, especially
after Janet told me he spent some time in juvi, but—”

My eyes flare. “Juvi? Juvenile hall?!”

He pauses for a moment. “Okay, let's calm down just a bit,
okay?” he says. “Janet says he's a good kid now, he's
cleaned up his act and he's a hard worker. So maybe just give him a
chance. Maybe he has changed...despite the name and all.”

I fall back against the hard stucco wall of some random store I don’t
even know the name of. I take deep breath after deep breath, trying
to calm myself before saying another word. I wanted to try and make
this work, for my dad. But I have to draw the line somewhere.

“I'm under so much stress already with starting school in just
a couple of months.”

“I know hun, and I wish I hadn't sprung all this on you at the
same time.”

“You know, what? It’s fine.” I shrug it off, even
though I know it's not. “I can always just start school early,
and maybe move out until then. Since I'll be leaving soon anyways.”

The other end is silent. “Oh,” my dad finally responds.
He sounds frankly surprised, and a bit hurt. It hurts me to hear him
sound like this.

“It'd be for the best, anyways. Then the three of you can have
the house without me in the way.”

He pauses again before he speaks. “Maybe we should talk about
this in the morning?”

“I doubt I'll feel any differently in the morning.”

“I...I think you need some time to settle down and think about
this first, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” I mumble.

He sighs on the other end. “All right. Good night, honey. I'll
talk to you at some point tomorrow.”

I hang up without saying good bye and I feel like total shit for it.
My dad and I have always gotten along so well and I know how much he
wanted me around this last summer before college. The pain in his
voice was evident, as much as he tried to mask it. Now he thinks I
don't want to spend time with him, and I ruined his honeymoon
too—great. This is all stupid-ass Threat's fault for making me
take out my anger on my dad.

I sniffle and bring my hand up to my cheek, wiping away the single
tear that fell on it.

“You okay?” asks a voice from behind.

You've got to be kidding me. It’s
him
.

I turn and scowl at David, but he looks surprisingly sympathetic? For
him, at least.

“I have nothing to say to you.” I attempt to side step
him but he jumps directly in front, blocking my path.

“Hey look, it was a joke, calling you turtle and all that.”

“And hermit.” That one was his favorite. “And all
the other names you had for me.”

He snickers, but then stops himself when he sees the stern look on my
face. “Yeah, that too. I mean it was years ago I thought you
would have gotten over it by now.”

“Is this supposed to be an apology? Because if it is, you kinda
suck at it.”

Now he looks offended. “Apology for what? Something I did when
I was a kid? Like you never said something hurtful or fucked up as a
kid?”

“Typical,” I mumble as I move to cross the street. “You
really haven't changed at all.”

Of course, Threat follows.

“Says the girl who called me a fucking
troll.
”

“I called you a troglodyte. A mindless troglodyte, because
that's exactly what you were.”

“Yeah and then you called me an idiot in front of everyone for
not knowing what the hell a troglodyte was.”

I turn to him and say, “You
were
an idiot, and you were
a troglodyte, and it looks like at least one of those things hasn't
changed.”

He clutches his chest mockingly. “Oh, you got me. Don't you
think you're being a bit of a hypocrite here?”

“I only called you those names because you made fun of me for
being fat.”

“Hey, I did not make fun of you for being fat!”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Then why else did you tell all
the other 8
^th
grade boys to call me turtle?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders raising up to his chin. “Because
you looked like a God damned turtle.”

Ugh!
I turn from him and pull out my keys. “You're
impossible.”

“You only looked like a turtle because you had that giant back
pack always pulled up to your neck. Plus the glasses and the bangs,
both of which you still have, obviously.” This seriously is not
helping. “But it didn't have anything to do with your weight!”

I glance back at him from over my shoulder. “Right.” I
unlock the car and pull the door open but before I can step inside
Threat's giant ass hand is on the window, slamming it shut. I swear
I'm going to scream.

“Can you move? I have places to be.”

“What, like the library?” he mocks.

“Aw, don't tell me. You still don't know how to read?” I
retort with a fake pout.

His eyes narrow, the cocky grin practically melts off of his face. As
awful as it is, I gloat right in his face. He's always been so touchy
about anyone insulting his intelligence. Why, I'm not sure—there
isn't much of it to slight.

His voice lowers. “I was fucking dyslexic.”

Shit.

Wait, is that even true?

“Yeah, right.”

“You see what I mean? You're just as bad as I was. Difference
is, at least
I
can admit I was a jerk. You still think you're some sort of saint.”

“You were a jerk then, and you're a jerk now,” I reply.
“If you know what's best for you you'll just stay away from my
home and my family.”

His eyes widen and his brows rise. What was I thinking, threatening
someone of his size? There's a vicious intent in the way he stares me
down—it finds it's way under my skin and burrows itself there.

He stalks closer to me, and closer still until I'm backed up against
the car, every muscle in my body tense.

“Well let the games begin then, Leah Parker,” he
whispers. “Because I'm about to make your summer very, very
interesting.”

LEAH

Let the games begin, Leah Parker.

Threat's words linger in my head and it's the last thing I need right
now. Everything about him lives up to his new name. He's not only
physically imposing, but somehow he's managed to creep his way into
my every thought, preoccupying me while I drive and continuing when I
arrive home. I keep replaying that moment over and over in my head.
The way he stalked up to me like a predator. The way his lips curled
when he spoke. The way my name sounded on his tongue.

The way my breathing deepened when he was near
me.

Something
tells me his intentions are darker than those two pools of ink he
uses to bore into me. And some secret part of me wants to know what
it is...

I
force myself to shake it off and ignore him. I don't need to be
distracted right now, not with all I have to do this summer. I have
books to read as prerequisites before school starts in August.
Having
the house to myself for the next week is a pretty decent consolation
prize for all the bullshit I've had to deal with over the past
twenty-four hours. No distractions. I should start on my work but
it's Friday, and I have all of next week for that. Besides, I need to
get my aggression out after learning that David Banducci still
exists, and worse, having to go toe to toe with him.

I change into my yoga pants and sports bra and go a good forty-five
minutes on our elliptical. These days I can channel my feelings into
exercise instead of a pint of ice cream. Most of the time at least.
When I'm done I'm drenched with sweat and could use some rest, so I
grab my e-reader and head for the back yard.

The Jacuzzi is calling me and so is a tall glass of red wine from
Dad's stash. The water is perfectly warm, and I get a good thirty
minutes of reading and relaxation in before I'm disturbed by the loud
revving sound of a motorcycle. I swear this neighborhood is becoming
the pits—first drag racers, then the noisy neighbors down the
street who randomly shoot of fireworks for God knows what reason. And
now this. I groan and try to ignore it, focusing extra hard on my
romance novel. That is, until I hear the alarm trip.

God dammit.
I jump out of the Jacuzzi and race back into the
house, wet feet and all, thinking I accidentally set the motion
sensors again. If that thing goes off for longer than about ninety
seconds my dad is going to get a call and freak out, plus the cops
will come and we'll owe them like two hundred dollars for the trip or
something, which I know my dad doesn't want to pay. He's well off,
but he can be tight and hates spending money on unnecessary things.
So I don't exactly care that I'm tracking water all over his new hard
wood floors right now.

I round the curve through the kitchen, nearly slipping in a puddle of
my own creation, and then come to a halt in the foyer.

And that's when I see him.

There's an intruder in the house.

“How the hell do you turn this shit off?” Threat says.

I almost choke when I see him standing there at my front door,
pushing every button on our security system. The door is wide open
and the windows are intact—so how the
hell
did he get
in?

“A little help, maybe?” he shouts over the alarm.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I shriek. Because,
seriously, invading my personal space like this is not okay. Neither
is breaking into fucking houses.

He covers his ears. “Can you just shut that thing up? It's
going to blow my ear drums!”

I feel my blood pressure rising. I'm going to have to take some of
Dad's pills. In a huff I march over to the door, punch in the code
and listen as the alarm finally dies, thank God. I probably should
just let the cops haul him off to jail, but I can't stand that thing
for a minute longer.

“Thank God, how do you put up with that shit?” he asks.

“Uh, I know the code because I actually live here,” I
reply with a scowl.

He looks down at me, his twisted features instantly straightening.
“Well someone's happy to see me,” he says, his eyes
dropping to my chest.

Shit.
I forgot I'm only wearing a bikini, and a bandeau at
that. It doesn't exactly leave much to the imagination. “Ugh,
stop,” I command him sternly, throwing my arms up over my
chest. “And get
out
of my house.”

“I guess you knew I was coming,” he says, licking his
lips. “And you know exactly how I like a woman: wet and naked.”