Page 61 of Fractured Fear

“I had it handled.”

“Sure you did,” I say, humoring her, but she can read my sarcasm. “Where do you want this?”

She answers with a flat tone, “That table right there is fine.”

When I turn back around, Spencer is gathering her things preparing to leave.

“Don’t leave without me, Princess.” Her nostrils flare at the nickname.

Doesn’t she know the more she reacts, the more I’ll say it?

“How can I forget you? You take up so much fucking space it’s hard to miss you’re here.”

I raise my eyebrows at her in response.

“I can’t with you. It’s been a long day,” Spencer says as she massages her temples.

She turns to leave and I snatch her elbow, drawing her back to my front. I leave a little space so she can’t feel how her closeness affects me.

My jaw clenches. “I meant what I said. Don’t leave without me.”

“It’s not like I’m going far.”

“There you go with that mouth again.”

She throws her arms out to her sides. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.”

I pull her back so she’s behind me. “I go out doors first to check the area. When we go upstairs?—”

“You’re not coming upstairs with me.”

“Don’t argue. You’re not going to win.”

She rolls her eyes and I think about bending her over my knee to teach her a lesson.

“Keep pushing and see what happens.” Her eyes widen at my threat.

Turning away from her, I open the glass door and scan the street. I clock a couple of guys in hoodies and sweats two hundred yards away, huddled together. With the way their heads are bent together glancing up and down the street, I’m betting drug deal.

I also note a few women dressed like they are heading to the club, walking the direction away from us. Gender doesn’t matter, age doesn’t even matter. Evil is evil and evil wears many faces.

Deeming the street temporarily clear, I reach back for Spencer and lead her up to her apartment. On her doorstep is a large box that reads “Flor’s Arrangements.”

“Seems like you got an admirer.”

“If you say so.” Spencer shoulders past me to open the door.

I grab the box for her and haul it inside. It’s lighter than I thought it would be.

When I set the box down on the counter, Spencer is already walking back out of her bedroom in a baggy shirt and a sad excuse for shorts with how tiny they are. My gaze zeroes in on her exposed legs.

Talk about legs for days.

I clear my throat. “You going to open it?”

“I guess?” She shrugs a shoulder and grabs a black kitchen knife. She twirls it in her hand and approaches the box.

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