Page 79 of Heathen

I always knew that there were bad men in the world but coming face-to-face with them in that warehouse made me open my eyes a little to just how the world could be. Honestly, although the threats were there, I was never mistreated by Dima or any of his goons. They never put their hands on me or struck me. I know just how bad things could've been, and I have to count myself lucky that Ellis came along when he did.

I shake my head as I settle into the backseat of the car, giving my driver a quick smile as I try to shove down all thoughts of the last week of my life.

Because we have to cross through one of the busier parts of town to get to Morgan’s house, it takes longer than half an hour to get there.

I complete the ride with yet another smile on my face and bid the driver to have a good day, dipping my head when she says it back as if the words are rote.

I shoulder my bag, hold the neck of the clothes hanger, and make my way to the front door.

I knock, growing a little frustrated in the heat when there's no answer.

I press the doorbell about fifteen times and still get no response.

My irritation only raises my blood pressure so far before I twist the doorknob and shove the damn door open, wincing when it swings back and bumps into the console table she has in her entryway.

I'm relieved when nothing topples to the granite floor and breaks.

As uncomfortable as I felt at my own house, I've always felt more uncomfortable when I visit Morgan’s place. There's a massive contrast between her life and mine, and the opulence of her massive house makes me wonder why she ever befriended me to begin with. It's not that I feel unworthy of being friends with someone the complete polar opposite of myself, but we literally come from two different worlds.

Music blares from somewhere deep inside the house, and I can picture Morgan swaying to the music and singing at the top of her lungs.

I drop my stuff on the small bench before walking toward the music. As close as Morgan and I have become, I haven't spent much time here. I've always felt out of place in a house that has breakable things more expensive than my damn car. I don't know which room she's going to want me to sleep in tonight.

The music grows louder and louder, almost loud enough that I want to cover my ears.

It isn't until I turn the corner, walking past the kitchen toward the area that leads to her backyard that I notice the first drop of blood.

My heart kicks in my chest, my feet coming to a halt as I stare down at the trail of blood. I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to go further and find the source of the blood, but that whisper in my head that urges me to get to safety wins out over any of it. I spin around, rushing back toward the front door as tears spill down my cheeks.

I feel like a coward as I run, but it's not like I have the skills needed to hurt an intruder or save a life.

The music stops suddenly, the only thing missing is the record scratch.

"Where are you going?"

I nearly topple at the sound of Morgan's voice, and she looks shocked when I turn back toward her, a sob on my lips.

"Honey?" she asks, putting down some sort of bottles on the table before rushing toward me. "What's wrong?"

"I saw the bl-blood," I stammer.

"Does it look real?" she asks with a wide smile on her face.

"I thought you were dead."

She tilts her head to the side, confusion drawing her eyebrows together.

"Preparations for this party might kill me, but we aren't there yet. Let's get to work."

Morgan's idea of getting to work is grabbing a chilled bottle of wine and splitting it between two glasses that have no business being as big as they are, but I take it from her with a thank you on my lips.

She chuckles when I guzzle rather than sip the liquid.

"Bad day?"

"The worst," I mutter before policing the words that come out of my mouth.

"Tell me all about it while we get those floating candles hung," she says, and I wonder if we aren't going to end up with her blood spilled on the floor when she climbs the ladder and it wiggles under her weight.

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