Disorderly

by Grace, Hazel

  Noah dropped me off at my apartment with a yawn and a kiss to my cheek, promising to text me tomorrow. Using the elevator, because I’d had enough exercise for the week, I made it up to my apartment, undressed, and fell right asleep. Finally sensing that I was going in the right direction for the first time in five years.

  Lev and I make the day and a half drive to New York, and I fucking hate it here. Too much noise, too many cars, a shitload of people always in the way. It just confirms that I really am a hillbilly of sorts. Beast supplied three different women named Victoria to us, all born in the same year Lydia gave birth to her child, along with their addresses. Only one happens to live in New York City, and the blunt sitting in the glove compartment has been calling my name for the last two hours we’ve been sitting in traffic.

  “Quick rattling your legs, man, you’re making me anxious,” Levin chides from behind the wheel.

  “Whose great idea was it again to do this?” I mumble as I keep bouncing my leg off the floor board.

  “What do you think is going to happen? She just falls into our laps? Have we ever been that lucky?”

  Facts.

  “How much farther?”

  Levin glances down at his phone. “About ten minutes, but who knows with this traffic jam.” He leans over to open the glove compartment and, instead of grabbing what I want, he pulls out a box of Marlboro Reds and tosses them in my lap. “Get us both one.”

  Opening the box, I pull two kill throats out and hand him over one. “You got a light?”

  Levin leans up, pulling a lighter out of his back pocket, and tosses it over. “So how do we know if this chick is Lydia’s daughter?”

  I put the cigarette in my mouth and fire it up. “You, pretty boy.”

  “Me?” he says in a flat voice.

  “Yep.”

  He holds out his hand for the lighter. “How?”

  I glimpse over at him as I take a long drag, feeling the nicotine run down my throat and into my lungs. “Your charm.”

  Lev narrows his eyes, yanking the lighter from my lap. “I’m not in the mood to woo a fucking woman today.”

  I exhale my smoke slowly. “Not up to the challenge?”

  “Not up period.”

  “That’s not what I’ve been hearin’.”

  “You got your bitch, Flynn, spyin’ on me?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Just all the roadies the other day talking about how small your dick was.”

  Lev barks out in laughter, a sound I haven’t heard since Isla’s death. “Fuckin’ asshole, man.”

  I flip my ashes out the truck window. “It’s all I got. You got anything better?”

  Lev takes a long inhale. “Nope.”

  “Then my plan it is, brother.”

  ___

  Strike one.

  Strike two.

  Now we’re on pitch number three. Lev and I crashed and burned on the first two addresses and we’re on the other side of the state right now for number three. I won’t lie though, watching Levin reel and bait in Victoria number two was worth the whole trip.

  She worked at a bar, blonde, nice ass, flat chest, but all too willing when Lev flashed his pearly whites at her. He made quick work when he took her back out to the alley to pound answers out of her, literally. But her chump boyfriend showed up, jumping Lev from behind, which alleviated me to beat the shit out of him. It was the fragment of letting go of some of my anger that sealed the trip for me. She told us her mother was dead, and that was strike two.

  Driving through a perfect suburban neighborhood, our truck sticks out like a sore thumb. The streetlights guide the way as Lev’s GPS tells us to make a right, his fingers tapping the steering wheel impatiently.

  “What do you want me to do for this one? Climb through her window and expect her to pull her pants down?” Lev scoffs.

  I peer down at the ink inside my forearm of Isla’s tattoo. She’d be telling me to stop this and go home. That I was acting like a psycho idiot and to stop letting Lev feed off me. Thing is, neither one of us would stop until we’ve taken care of this. I never imagined that I’d be planning another murder after Andrew, but the reason why was clear. There was no logic on why Isla had to die.

  None.

  She wasn’t involved in drugs. She spent her time attending night classes at the community college for business and accounting. No boyfriends, just a best friend named Meredith that was a tad flaky. Beast did a background on her as well, to see if she had any priors attached that accidentally came down on our sister, but came up empty-handed.

  The GPS stops us at a single-family ranch with blue shutters, white brick, and various amounts of flowers. The landscaping is perfectly done, illuminated by solar lights. It’s the perfect American dream house.

  Opening the car door, I slide out of the passenger seat.

  “Where are you going?” Lev asks in a whisper-yell.

  Leaning in the car before I close the door, I say, “Going to go knock on the door.”

  Making my way up the cement sidewalk, I hop onto the one-step porch. I don’t hesitate, pushing back the angst that itches underneath my skin, and knock on the navy-blue screen door.

  The door opens a crack before opening fully, displaying an old man with reading glasses and gray hair. He steps closer to the screen door, examining me up and down like the outcast I am in this neighborhood.

  “What can I do for you, son?” he asks me.

  “I’m looking for Victoria.”

  “What for?”

  “She here?”

  He gives me a weak smile. “She's dead, son. Died last week.”

  I shift my weight "Sorry to hear that."

  He nods. "I am, too. We were married for sixty-two years.”

  Strike Three.

  “Thanks."

  I turn to jump off the step before his words stop me. "What are you lookin' for her for?"

  “To thank her for narrowing down my search for me,” I deadpan. Turning on my heel, I hop off the step and make my way to the truck.

  “Son,” the old man bellows through the quiet neighborhood. “There used to be a young girl who lived here when we moved in. She had the same name as my wife, ‘round your age. My wife thought it was a sign for us to move in here.”

  I swing around. “Wouldn’t happen to know where she went, do you?”

  He pushes his glasses up to his face. “No, but her last name was Yunis. She kept repeating it when the house was shown to us. Not sure why I remember it after so long, but she told us to take care of it for her.”

  “Appreciate it, sir. Thanks.” Heading back to the truck, I hop in and begin to text Beast my findings.

  “Not her, huh?” Lev says when I climb back in.

  “No, but we might have a last name.”

  “You home yet?” Paige asks me through my phone as I hit the elevator button to my apartment floor.

  I readjust the recyclable bags around my arms as I balance my phone between my shoulder and ear. “Yep, just now.” Loud music suddenly hits the background of Paige’s surroundings. “Where are you?”

  “Out with John.”

  “Don’t get home too late. Eight A.M. comes mighty early.” The elevator doors open, and I walk in, pressing my floor.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  I stifle a chuckle. “Two drink minimum.”

  She tsks. “Sureee…”

  “And bring me a coffee in the morning.”

  “Um, don’t you have a coffee machine in your apartment?”

  The elevator dings again as I exit.. “Yes, but I like the kind you bring me,” I reply in an obnoxious voice.

  “Oh my God,” Paige groans.

  Fidgeting with my keys, I’m greeted by darkness as I open my door, almost dropping my phone in the process. “ Alright, I love you, best friend,” I singsong.

  “You’re a pain in my ass, best friend,” she singsongs back, muffled by more bass.

  “Go have fun. I’ll see you in the morning.” Placing my bags
on the kitchen island, I flick on a light and start unpacking.

  “Alright. Night, babe.” With that, I hang up the phone, placing my cell on the countertop as I finish putting things away.

  Going into my small bathroom located in my bedroom, I pull my toothbrush out of my seashell cup holder and brush my teeth while starting the water for my shower. I need to wash the contents of today’s work off my body and get my head screwed back on for tomorrow.

  Thankfully, Noah has been around to help keep my focus on what I’m trying to accomplish and what the definition of normal is. A girl interested in a guy who texts her at lunch and when he gets off work. Wyatt and I have physical attraction, but that’s all it is. He’s probably busy with the flavor of the day anyway, and that’s not what I’m about. It’s better this way.

  After my shower, I quickly dry off, throwing on some sweats and an old T-shirt. Throwing my hair up, I saunter into the kitchen to grab a water, the can of Pringles I bought, and my cell.

  That’s when a piece of paper seizes my attention.

  Narrowing my eyes, I reach over for it.

  I know where you are.

  My body ceases to move as the note burns my skin. My eyes frantically search my living room, still hidden by the dark. This can’t be anyone else but the person whose fixation made me run in the opposite direction.

  Jerry.

  When did he leave this?

  Was I in the shower?

  Was he here when I was here?

  Snatching up my cell, I dash for the door, practically pulling it off the hinges. I reach the elevator doors, repeatedly hitting the down button and glancing over my shoulder at my apartment door, which is now open still.

  “Come the fuck on!” I wail, still hitting the button. The elevator finally dings as I rush in, closing the doors as quickly as possible. As soon as I’m downstairs, I bolt for the front door, fumbling with my phone to call Paige, but I can’t stop shaking. The cool night air hits my face, but I’m hot, nervous, and scared as I hit the pavement, toward the bakery.

  No. What if he’s following me?

  I glance over my shoulder, searching around the street for a black SUV like you’d see in the movies. Why did I think I’d ever get away with this? That he’d just leave me alone after I left. It’s been five years, several dodges, and the more time that passed, the more naive I apparently have become. I honestly thought he'd get bored and stop the chase.

  Fuck, didn’t Mom keep him busy enough with her shit?

  Maybe he did more digging for Mom and found out we left Cali. I can’t imagine her being so concerned that she’d send the one person I’ve repetitively said I couldn’t be around.

  My God, she probably did.

  My anger and fear battle against each other to see which one could make me react more.

  Turning the corner of my apartment building, I jump out of my skin at the sound of my name.

  “Rora!” Fear wins, issuing my feet to take off in a sprint for my life.

  Every step that hits the pavement amplifies the blood rushing through my head. Jerry isn’t athletic, neither am I, but I could sure as shit run for my life. He isn’t going to get his hands on me again, I’ll kill the fucker first, smashing his oval head against the concrete over and over again.

  I could knock his glasses off too, he couldn’t see without him. I remember him complaining to Mom about it once when he misplaced them. They were gold-rimmed circle lenses. I remember them perfectly, something someone would wear back in the 1800’s, but he looked educated with them on, innocent and honest. The perfect accessory to hide the real man behind them.

  Rounding another corner, I sprint as hard as I can, trying to put some distance between us. Breathing in, the brisk air makes my chest and throat hurt as I heave loads of it in. I remember my gym teacher in high school telling us that you focus on the finish line and you’d get there faster.

  What a crock of shit.

  A hand clinches my arm and swings me around quickly. It’s then that my future flashes before my eyes.

  Being thrown into a SUV, where Jerry forces himself on me through fits of screaming at me for running from him. His brown eyes laced in fury and lust as his fingers prod into my skin. I can feel his clammy hands linger up my thigh, sending shivers up my spine and knots burrowing in my stomach.

  Fuck that.

  I swing.

  Hard.

  Landing on a cheekbone as I yank my arm from the clenches of the person in front of me.

  “Fuck, Rora.” My vision focuses. Tattoos, black knit cap, deep voice. “The hell are you running from?!”

  No words leave my mouth, my adrenaline is pumping through my body so quickly it’s the only thing I feel right now.

  “Rora, what’s wrong?” Wyatt demands, catching his breath and rubbing his cheek. “Damn it, woman, you have a swing.” He looks me up and down quickly. “Are you okay?”

  Peeping over his shoulder, there isn’t anyone that followed him, and my eyes start to scan the street again. It’s quiet, the sound of crickets chirping, promising me that no else is around.

  He’s around here somewhere, or someone he hired is here.

  Jerry isn’t stupid; he’s cunning and calculated. The crickets are fucking lying, or he paid them off because I was only in that shower for five minutes.

  You can’t fucking pay off crickets. What the hell is wrong with—

  Wyatt shakes me. “Aurora.” His voice is stern, laced with that deep baritone that meshes into my skin, making me shudder. “What the fuck happened?”

  I met his eyes and furrow my brows. “What are you doing here?”

  He glowers at me. “I live here.”

  I rip out of his grasp. I don’t want him to touch me, demanding my brain to ignore the fact that he’s here now, even though I haven't heard or seen him in days. To overlook the butterflies swirling in my stomach right now when they shouldn’t be there at all. Wyatt is not normal. He’s peril covered in tattoos mixed with southern charm, a decoy.

  A decoy.

  My mind throws notions at me that Wyatt is linked to my worst enemy. Why is he out here right now? I haven’t seen him in two weeks and now he shows up like a knight in shining armor, trying to see if I’m okay.

  Yeah, no.

  I wag my finger at him and start to slow back away. “You stay right here,” I tell him. “I have to go.”

  His forehead puckers. “Where?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Aurora, I’m not going to—”

  “What?” My voice cracks as my legs burn from running. “Hurt me?”

  Wyatt holds his hands up in the air. “I just want to—”

  “Talk?” I interrupt, putting some distance between us. “No, I’m good. Don’t follow me.”

  “Well, I can’t just let you leave.” My chest seizes, my hands, my legs, everything has gone completely numb with terror that I don’t believe I can run down this street and away from him.

  “Why?” The sidewalk starts to sway, and I know I’m not walking a straight line backwards, but I’m not stopping. I don’t give a shit how much of a jackass I look like right now.

  “Rora, if you’re drunk—”

  I scoff and shake my head, the cool night air seeping into my skin. “Not drunk.”

  Wyatt takes a step toward the space I’ve provided. “Stop.” It’s a demand, not a request, and one I’m not going to listen to.

  “I don’t need your help. Especially from you.” He flinches at my last word as though I’ve struck him, and my caring conscious feels a little bad. But that conscious is what got me in trouble with Jerry, praying that he’d listen, that he'd stop, that every time I cried he'd care.

  He didn’t care.

  He loved it. Every kick, scream, tear, and plea I directed at Jerry was neglected.

  “Someone hurt you.” It’s a statement, and the black tattoos on his hand tightens as it turns into a fist.

  “I’m not about to explain my life st
ory here,” I quip.

  His eyes are livid, but his gaze never leaves mine. “Fair enough,” he replies in a strained tone. “I’ll walk you home.”

  I nod in the direction of my place. “I know where it is.”

  “I sure as fuck hope so,” he counters. “I’ll follow you then if you can’t be seen with me.”

  I take a deep breath, letting my lungs get a fresh gulp of air. “I don’t need the chivalry right now. I just need you to go.”

  He jams his hands in his jean pockets. “I don’t do chivalry, baby. I just want to make sure you get home safe. Is that too fucking hard?”

  “Sounds like chivalry to me.”

  He mumbles something under his breath and bows his head into his chest.

  It’s now or never.

  And that’s when I turn on me heels and run, if that’s what you’d call it. My feet give out from underneath me, but I catch myself from face-planting into the cracked pavement and scan the street for my escape route.

  Dark alley, lit street, and quiet houses are my three options of losing him. Dark alley isn’t my first option, but it’s the quickest way to lose Wyatt, and I don’t second guess my choice.

  I don’t have the damn time.

  The alley is quiet and damp as I dodge garbage bins and puddles, keeping my focus at the end of it. The sounds of crickets are gone, my heavy breathing the only thing I hear now. Something shuffles in the dumpsters behind me, startling me to turn around, but Wyatt isn’t there.

  Reaching down for my phone, I pull it out of my back pocket, needing to call Paige. I’m not going back to my apartment, no place is safe right now, but at least at the bakery I have large knives. Deciding to keep to the back alleys, I slow down, checking one more time to make sure the coast is clear.

  The alley branches off to go straight or to my right, in the direction of my bakery. Glancing around the corner first, I walk down it, clenching my phone in my hands. The street ahead is lit, and I look both ways before sprinting across it and disappearing into the darkness again. My legs scream at me to rest, prickling and aching to stop for a few minutes, but I neglect them. I’ll rest when I have two knives in my hands and I’m hidden in one of the pantry closets.