Page 19 of Hold Him Like Gravity

Rico finished his coffee, gave an eager Evander one more scratch, then made his way to the door.

“Just show up whenever you’re better,” he said as he stepped into the hallway.

“I will,” I said.

And as I closed the door, I was kind of having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he was so casually walking away from ten grand of his own money. After losing a grand or so out of the cash drawer as well.

The man had to be rolling in it to act like it was nothing.

He didn’t dress like a wealthy man. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him in anything more formal than dark wash jeans and a black t-shirt or button-up.

Though, yeah, that watch he had on his wrist? If that was real, it probably cost upward of fifteen or twenty grand.

If he was willing to spend that much on an accessory, then the ten grand was probably nothing to him.

Maybe I could sink some of it into my apartment. Get actual end tables. Paint the walls. Find some decor and hang it up. Make this place feel more like home.

A part of me, when I landed here, had been worried that putting down roots only to get them ripped out again was going to be depressing.

But it was starting to be just as depressing to stare at my bare apartment.

The rational part of me wanted to save as much of that money as possible to use as a ‘get out of Dodge’ plan. In case this shit went even more sideways.

My mind flashed back to being on the floor in that office. To the man looming over me, trying to pull my pants off. To the other man grabbing him, making his shirt ride up, showing me a tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

A familiar tattoo.

I guess I knew the first thing I would be doing on my break from work.

Tracking down the bastard who had that tattoo.

CHAPTER SIX

Kick

I stared up at the building, the morning chill sinking in through my long-sleeve tee and hoodie, and mentally added shopping for a new winter jacket to my list of things to do. Winter was coming on fast. Even the early morning sun bathing the city in romantic light wasn’t providing much warmth.

I sighed, seeing a woman about to head out with a stroller, knowing this would be my only chance to get in. Whether I was ready or not.

I rushed up the steps to pull open the door for her, accepting her gratitude even though she was the one technically doing me a favor.

The hallway smelled familiar. The hint of something spicy simmering in a crock pot for an easy dinner after work, cigarette smoke, and the traces of the weed from the night before.

I tamped down the anxiety as it started to grow and forced my legs to carry me over to the elevator, to go in, and to stab my finger into the button for the eighth floor.

I dug for a key I was suddenly glad I hadn’t tossed in the garbage like I’d been planning, then marched down to the door before I could lose my nerve.

I stuck the key in the lock and pushed open the door, then slammed it behind me to announce my presence.

The man who was asleep reclined in his gaming chair at the desk across the room jerked upright, his arms flying out to grab the desk as his brown eyes looked around wildly.

“Where is he?” I demanded as I walked into the apartment.

It was the kind of place you walked into and knew immediately belonged to a guy. No curtains. No framed art on the walls. No throw pillows or rugs. Nothing to make it feel homey. But there were leather recliners, a massive TV, multiple gaming consoles, and two computer set-ups over by the windows that overlooked the back alley.

Hookers like to bring their Johns back there to suck ‘em off where the cops won’t see, I’d been told once.

I hadn’t been able to help but wonder if that was why the desks were set up there. With some voyeuristic urge to witness something like that on a regular basis.

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