Page 83 of Forty

I could throw a pillow at him. Distract him. Run.

I lunge, but he’s faster than me. He grabs me by the arm, hauls me across the bed, and jams the muzzle under my chin.

“I could blow your face right off.”

I freeze. Every particle in the air, every molecule in my body freezes.

“Your loser brother would walk in, and all he’d see is this hair and a big, bloody hole.”

I slowly raise my hands, palms wide.

Piss trickles down my inner thigh.

I need to get him out of here. I don’t know where Lou is. He could come home at any time.

“You gonna behave?”

I can’t nod. Metal is boring into my chin, clamping my mouth shut.

“Yeah, you’re gonna behave.”

He lowers the gun and backs off. I stay exactly where I am, kneeling on the bed, hands raised.

Carlo does not look well. He’s dressed to the nines as always, but his jacket’s unbuttoned, his shirt’s untucked, and his wingtips are muddy. He’s got stubble, and the whites of his eyes are veined red, the pupils blown huge and black.

He’s high. Coke, probably.

“Where’s my bag?”

It’s in the upstairs bathroom. It’s literally sitting on the floor behind the door. I took it up there to unpack my shampoo, and then I kind of forgot about it. He must have missed it. I know I kept not noticing I’d left it there.

I can’t tell him it’s there. He’ll kill me.

“It’s not here.”

“Where is it?”

Oh, God. Think. Think. I could tell him it’s at Forty’s, but there’s no one there. Why does he even want the bag so bad?

Where would the bag be if it wasn’t here?

“It’s in my car.”

Carlo straightens his arm and levels the gun at my head. “Take me to the car.”

Shit.

“I can’t. It’s not here.”

There’s a click as he cocks the gun. “I heard you drive up. Stop lying, bitch.”

“It’s not my car. It’s an Audi. You can look.”

“Where’s your piece of shit?”

I can’t tell him it’s in the shop. The shop’s closed. No one will be there this time of night.

“It’s at the clubhouse.”

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