The door opened and she stiffened as Vince smiled down at her.
God. This bastard.
How had she not seen his car outside? What was he even doing here?
“Well, look who is here, it’s the little bitch,” he sang.
“You’re deranged, you know that? There’s something wrong with you.”
He smirked and leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah? Deranged, huh? You know, you should be nicer to me.”
“Why would I want to do that?” she asked.
Maya knew that you should never show fear to a bully. That it would just spur them on. That they would use any weakness to pounce.
And Vince had shown that he was willing to do that.
Maya had thought about her run-in with him the other night and she had come to the realization that he wouldn’t have taken her back to the station. Her father wouldn’t have been happy about that. And Vince wouldn’t upset her father.
Which meant he’d had something else in mind. It was hard to know if Vince had preplanned what he was going to do with her or if he’d just been winging it.
But she now realized just how lucky she was that he hadn’t gotten her into that car.
She shouldn’t even be alone with this asshole, although she had to hope that someone in the house would come to her rescue if she yelled out.
How had he managed to become a cop? How did he fool other people into thinking that he was sane?
Maya had to be very careful here.
She really wished she hadn’t chickened out yesterday when she’d attempted to go to Callahan Security.
Maybe they would have refused to help her. Or, more likely, she couldn’t afford their fees.
But at least it would have felt like she’d tried.
“How am I deranged, sweet Maya?” Vince purred.
Why was no one else coming out? Hadn’t they heard the doorbell?
“How? Look what you did to me!” She drew up the sleeve of her sweater to show him the bruising on her arm. It looked terrible. She actually thought it looked worse than it actually felt.
But instead of showing any sign of remorse or regret, a strange sort of hunger filled Vince’s face.
Oh God.
This was worse than she’d thought. Nausea bubbled in her stomach. He was taking pleasure in her pain.
No . . . in the pain that he’d caused her.
As quickly as that look entered his face, it disappeared.
Had she imagined it?
Maybe she was overreacting. She was tired. She hadn’t slept.
“Did you spray paint my garage door?” she blurted out.
It probably wasn’t wise. But Maya wasn’t known for being wise. She was known for being rash, impatient, and annoying.
