Page 4 of Barbed Wire Hearts

I get out of my car and grab my few grocery bags before climbing the stairs. I move quickly, unlocking my door in record time and throwing my groceries inside just before I deadbolt the door. Not even a minute later, there’s a knock on the door and I flinch, my eyes going wide.

I don’t answer the door. I don’t even move toward it. My instincts scream at me that this is getting out of hand, that I need to call the cops. This is too much like stalking now.

“Kate?” Josh calls through the door. “I really need to talk to you. If you’d just hear me out?—”

“I’m going to call the police,” I threaten. I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Leave me alone!”

“Why won’t you listen to me?” he snarls. “You always were a fucking bitch!”

“I’m calling the cops,” I say, unlocking my phone and hovering my finger over the button. I can call and they’ll send an officer out. I’ll consider putting in for a restraining order but honestly, it’s just a piece of paper. It won’t do anything really. Not if he’s persistent.

“Fine. Have it your way,” he spits. He punctuates his words with a kick at the door before I hear him start descending the stairs. I still keep my hand over the button for a few minutes before I relax.

“For fuck’s sake,” I rasp, suddenly worried. Whatever trouble he’s found himself in must be bad, but it’s still not my business. It’s certainly not my job to bail him out. I just want him to leave me alone.

I glance over and take in William where he sits watching the door, his tail swishing side to side.

“Exes,” I say, shaking my head. “You better thank the stars you’re fixed and don’t have any yourself, William. They’re nothing but trouble.”

He trails along after me as I carry the groceries into the kitchen, eager to play in the brown paper bag once I empty it. The mint chocolate chip ice cream doesn’t quite taste right when I dig into it that night.

ChapterTwo

Kate

My extensive list of projects for work mocks me as I slowly make my way through them. Working in tech makes it possible for me to work from home half my days, which means I get to “clock in” wearing yoga pants and an oversized hoodie without trouble. I think that’s my favorite part of my job, the freedom. I get unlimited paid vacation, health benefits, and as long as I do my work and go in for meetings, they give me no trouble. I could email them right now, explain that I need a mental health vacation, and it would be approved as long as there were no pressing matters. It makes me so comfortable that the option is there that I don’t feel the need to in the first place. It’s the kind of healthy work environment most people dream of and I’m so happy I found it when I did.

I’m marking off the last item on my list when a brisk knock on the door nearly makes me fall out of my office chair. Immediate anxiety fills me. If it’s Josh again, I’m definitely calling the cops. I’ve never known him to be this persistent, but I hadn’t really known him I suppose. I certainly hadn’t known he’d cheat on me and steal all my money, so why would I expect to know how he’d act in this weird situation.

When the knock comes again, I stand and smooth down my mess of hair. I haven’t brushed it yet. No one was going to see me, so I’d left it until later. I’m not dressed for company at all, but maybe it won’t matter if I don’t have to open the door.

My pulse jumps when the knock comes yet again, a little more agitated. Whoever is on the other side, they’re tired of waiting. I prepare myself to see Josh when I look through the peephole, but I’m relieved to realize quickly it’s not him. Instead, I see two men in suits, both of them shifting in annoyance. They’re both impeccably dressed, the suits clearly tailored for their frames and more expensive than any suit off a rack. Confused, I slip my pocketknife from my side table and clench it in my hand before I crack open the door. I leave the deadbolt chain in place so I can only open it about four inches, but it’s enough to get a good look at the guys.

“Can I help you?” I ask, looking between them, trying to figure out who they are.

“You Kate?” the one on the right asks. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses despite the overcast sky, but the left one has his eyes uncovered. That one doesn’t say a word, but he looks at me with icy eyes in a way that makes my skin crawl. The urge to slam the door in their face is strong.

“Who’s asking?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on them. I have no idea who they are. Are they here to serve me with court papers? If they are, they won’t get any information out of me. I know how this goes thanks to tv shows. What if they’re bill collectors here to collect on the medical debt from a trip to the ER that did nothing for me five years ago? Admit nothing. Reveal nothing. They won’t catch me fessing up to no bills. But why would the agency send men like these? The tattoos peering over the edge of their suits don’t really make them look like the kind of people that come to collect medical bills.

They look at each other before the right one focuses back on me. “You could say we’re friends of your boyfriend.”

“I have no boyfriend. You have the wrong apartment,” I say, prepared to close the door.

“Your boyfriend, Josh?” he interrupts before I can close it. “Josh Holiday.”

I freeze. “Ex,” I correct. “He hasn’t been my boyfriend in over a year.”

The left one tilts his head. “He says otherwise,” he finally says, as if he had to weigh his words before he spoke them. His voice is deeper than his buddy’s, more gravelly.

“Well, he can fuck right off right along with whatever business you have with him,” I tell them and then I try to close the door, done with the conversation. Josh’s business isn’t my business and I’m not going to get wrapped up in it. I go to push the door shut. . .

Only to find a boot in the doorjamb.

Baring my teeth at the idiot with his foot in my door, I say, “I suggest you move your foot.”

“Or what?” Leftie asks menacingly.

“I’m calling the cops,” I warn, my fingers tight on the pocketknife as I flip it open, preparing for violence just in case. Always gotta be prepared.

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