Page 59 of Devil in a Tux

“The fuck if I know,” I huffed, as embarrassed as I was pissed. “The super brought in a plumber this morning. I just got back, and this is what I found.”

“The leak you wouldn’t let me help with?”

Shame forced me to look away without answering.

“This is fucking unacceptable.”

“Ya think?” I yelled, quickly regretting my temper. This wasn’t Evan’s fault; it was actually mine for being too proud to accept Evan’s help.

“Where’s your stupid super? This has to be fixed right fucking now.”

I shoved the note at him. “Yelling at him won’t do any good.” Mrs. Bitterman had tried that and gotten an eviction notice the following week for some bogus reason. Maybe going over Zhukov’s head to the landlord about my leak hadn’t been a great idea either. This felt an awful lot like retribution.

“Pack some now, and we’ll get the rest later. You’re coming with me.”

“What? No. I’ll go…” I closed my eyes as I couldn’t finish the sentence because I didn’t know where I could go.

Evan grabbed my shoulder, pulling me out of my stupor. Even in the little light provided by our phones, it was obvious his eyes were as firm as his grip. “You are coming with me if I have to carry you over my shoulder. Got it?”

Reluctantly, I grabbed my only suitcase from the closet and started packing. One thing I’d learned about the Shark of Wall Street from our dates? Once he made up his mind, there was zero payoff in arguing with him. He believed determination was a virtue.

“Do you have more bags?” he asked.

“Sure, my set of matching Louis Vuitton luggage is at the cleaners.”

He didn’t laugh.

I pointed. “Garbage bags are under the sink.”

He helped himself to a trash bag and opened one of my dresser drawers. Of course he had to choose my underwear drawer. He stuffed the bag full of a lot more than a weekend’s worth. “You like cotton?”

“It’s cheap.” Every dollar mattered in my life.

He nodded and moved to the next drawer, my bras. That one he didn’t comment on.

While I packed toiletries from the bathroom, I checked my face in the mirror. This was going to be an epic shiner, another reason to be pissed at Mr. Butt Crack and stupid Zhukov. The closet door hadn’t been open when I’d left this morning.

When we headed downstairs, Albert opened the trunk as soon as he saw what we were carrying.

As I moved toward the car, dyed red hair poking out below a ball cap caught my eye at the corner—it was Pinky, and three of his idiot friends.

I looked away.

“Hey, blondie,” Pinky called.

His voice made me cringe. When I glanced that way again, they were shuffling toward us, his goons following. My lunch threatened to come up.

Albert moved in front of us, and Pinky stopped. I was suddenly glad Evan’s driver was as large as he was.

With a look at Evan, Albert asked, “Want me to…”

Evan gave a quick shake of his head. “Not today.” Then, he pulled my arm, opened the door, and nearly shoved me inside. “Drive,” he ordered Albert as soon as the big man got in.

Pinky watched us drive away with that crooked grin of his. Only when we passed the intersection did I dare breathe again.

“Friend of yours?” Evan asked.

“I talked to the police, and he didn’t like it.” I looked out the window another moment and then asked the obvious question. “Can I stay at your place for the weekend?”

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