“Inside, now! You're not going anywhere until I get some answers,” he says in such an authoritative voice that I’m already moving through their entryway before I know it.
Damn, he’s scary. I mean I’ve dealt with worse but I’m not turning my back on this guy. He lets go of my wrist once he gets me inside the house, more like trapped so he can keep me in his line of sight. He helps- who I’m assuming is his wife- off the floor, placing an arm around her waist as he walks her into their huge living room with me trailing after them at a safe distance. This guy practically screams wealth and power, down to his Italian loafers and his slicked back salt and pepper hair. I swear this guy even walks like an officer, never taking his gaze off me. I’ve known what to look for, having to when you grow up in a compound of murderers and thieves, but what puzzles me is how this guy can afford a house like this on a police salary. Maybe his wife is the rich one? My internal thoughts come to a stop when I realize they are both staring at me, waiting to speak from their position on the large sectional white couch that takes up half the room. I’m almost scared to touch anything. I’ve never seen a floor so clean that my reflection shows off the surface, I’m used to floors with blood stained into the wood and body fluids I’d rather not think about.
“So yeah, Doris sent me to this address. Do you know her?” I ask the fainting wifey warily and there she goes again holding her pearls.
“Sweetbutt,” she whispers under her breath in a daze and blinks rapidly at my slow nod.
What is wrong with this lady?
“H-how old are you?” She stumbles over her words like she’s drunk, maybe she is and I’m wrong about the drugs.
“Just turned eighteen yesterday,” I tell her, eyeing her for any crazy movements like she might go psycho on my ass and pull a gun.
It takes me a second to realize that I am now an adult, it feels like a lifetime has passed when in reality it’s only been a few days since I left the compound.
Forgetting one’s birthday is a normal thing unless you had an Uncle Rig in your life who treasured each one like you’d die tomorrow. I forgot it was my birthday yesterday and what a way to celebrate, I mean I guess freedom isn’t the worst thing for a gift. Could be the reason Payne decided to giftmeto Cruz.
She starts hyperventilating, clenching her husband's hand, and starts to sway on the couch.
“Look at her eyes, Ted, look. It’s my Till.” She passes out again on the spot across her husband's lap but he hardly notices because he’s staring me down with suspicion that hasn’t stopped since I stepped into the house.
He’s looking at me like I’m a bug beneath his shoe or he’s about to whip out a forty caliber glock on me and send me swimming with the fishes. The whiplash between cop and godfather is giving me a headache. Does he not notice his wife passed out on his lap? I bet he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing here.
I can’t believe it either buddy because I have no clue what’s going on and why she called me her Till like Uncle Rig used to do. Ted seems to shake himself and scoops his wife up into his arms as he stands but stops to look down at me.
“I’m going to lay her down. This is a shock for her and I think it would be best if you stay here until she’s feeling better because I’m sure you both want some answers. Make yourself at home but don’t fucking steal anything,” he warns and I can hear more of the threat under his words, telling me that he has his eye on me if I try anything.
He strides out of the room with his shoes tapping on the marble floor until I can’t hear him anymore once he disappears somewhere in the maze of their over the top large mansion. I scoff under my breath.
As if I’d steal from this house, I wouldn’t make it past the front door. Everything looks heavy as hell and breakable. Being left alone gives me a chance to really look around because everything just happened too fast to really take in my surroundings. Spinning in a circle, the living room is floor to ceiling windows that overlook the valley and city lights in the distance. It’s unbelievable, breathtaking, and kind of freaks me out. I’ve never been in a place like this. Ted did say to make myself at home which is weird to tell a complete stranger, but whatever. I have an itch to explore and by how my stomach is rumbling, it’s leading me right towards the kitchen before I know what I’m doing. When was the last time I ate? Two days ago? My boots are probably leaving scuff marks on the floor from dragging my feet and a trail of puddles since I’m still wet from the rain and shaking from the cold. I walk down a long hallway with dim lighting, the walls displaying framed art probably worth more than this house. My boots keep squeaking, like a wet squishy sound and it reminds me of when just a few days ago I was sneaking around the compound on my tippy toes just so no one comes to investigate the noises. I’ve been walking on my toes for such a long time that I’ve grown used to the silence, so I kick off my shoes along with my gross wet socks, placing them at the entrance of the kitchen.
Oh. My. God.
Is this a kitchen? It’s too damn big and everything gleams that it almost hurts my eyes. I swear the kitchen island could sleep ten people on top of the rose quartz counter. Making my way towards the industrial fridge, I pull the door open, and my mouth waters at all the food inside. I’m having a sandwich, so many choices to not have one. I start grabbing my ingredients when my stomach feels like it’s sticking to my back, noticing the expensive cheese and meats I’m grabbing. My hands are full so I grab the bag of bread with my teeth while bumping the fridge door shut with my butt before dumping everything on the counter with a happy dance.
Just making myself at home, no biggie.
Glancing around, I grab a big knife from the knife block I spy by the chef's grill stove and swirl it between my fingers as I absentmindedly prepare the sandwich of all sandwiches. With the knife poised over the bread to cut in half, the shine of the blade putting me in a memory that takes hold of me.
“Till, stop your whining and throw the knife. You gotta learn sometime how to handle things that are sharp before they cut you out there in the real world.”
Uncle Rig once again takes me behind the junkyard, setting up wooden targets on top of the crushed cars. He’s always teaching me new things, as he likes to call it ‘life lessons’, to survive. Don’t know why knife throwing is something I need to know. He already taught me how to handle a gun at age eight and those are more useful anyway but I probably won’t ever use one. I don’t plan on staying in the club once I’m old enough, I’m going to go to college and meet my future husband there unless Cruz asks me to marry him. I’ll just drag him with me, the guy is always glued to my side anyways. Never far from me.
“Don’t you give me that look. A knife can fly through the air at a speed that is silent and that could save your life. What if I’m not around one day to protect you and you need to defend yourself?”
“Don’t say that, you’ll always be right here with me even when I leave this place.”
“Just throw the damn knife, Till, because this could be a lesson that saves you one day.” He shakes his head and watches me swirl the blade between my fingers with a happy grin full of pride. It comes naturally to me I guess.
“Fine, whatever you say, old man.” The knife is flying through the air before I finish that sentence, my arm tingling from how hard I threw it but damn if I don’t throw my hands in the air when the knife sticks into the wood.
My finger stings all of a sudden, bringing me out of that memory and I glance down to see I cut my knuckle with the knife. A droplet of blood pools, dripping down to my palm and I’m about to set the blade down to stop the bleeding when I hear something that sounds so familiar that my heart skips a beat. Someone is being very fucking quiet, sneaking in the dark and I know it’s not Franco or his wife because I’d be able to hear their heels on the floor. Clenching the knife, I make my way around the island, following the noise of whispering voices coming from the hallway leading to the front door. A doorknob rattles with someone whispering curses on the other side like they're trying to break in.
They found me! It’s too soon, I’m not prepared to end this and I’ll go down fighting before they get their hands on me to drag me back to my death.
My back is plastered to the wall behind me, I swear I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I stick to the edged corner in the dark that is right outside the kitchen doorway. My ears strain for any noise and the faint sounds of footsteps coming down the hall on quiet feet, makes my hand sweaty on the grip of the knife. I try to steady my breathing by inhaling through my mouth and keeping my eyes wide open without blinking, one blink can cost me my life. A tall figure walks by dressed in all black with his boots not making a sound on the marble floors and that’s my cue to come out of my hiding spot. It’s now or never, these polished floors are about to be flowing red with either this fucker or mine’s blood.
Ride or die is a biker saying and this girl is going to ride this blood bath with a fucking grin on my face until I’m dying to survive. I creep up behind him on the pads of my toes, coming out from the dark corner to place the knife against his back right over his kidneys which will leave the Joker bleeding a slow death.
