Shatter

by Lola Taylor

  “Damn. That’s low.” Amy should know—she had some not so fond memories of being the kid who got picked on.

  “Tell me about it.” Becca’s frown tightened as her eyes narrowed, and then she sighed. She punched the speed dial back on the treadmill until she walked at the same pace as Amy. Which, considering the shape of her aching legs, wasn’t very fast. “I hate to see him acting out like this, but I don’t know what else I can do. I’ve tried hobbies, sports, clubs…nothing sticks.”

  “What about his therapy sessions with his counselor?”

  “You know, I’m not sure, considering he doesn’t freaking go to any.”

  Amy’s heart twisted for her friend. She was trying really hard. Despite her being only twelve years older than her brother, she did a damned better job at the “mom” thing than most older women could. The kid was damned lucky to have her. Now, if only he would realize that.

  “It’ll be all right,” Amy said encouragingly. “Don’t give up trying to get through to him. Some kids take awhile to see you’re only trying to help.”

  Becca gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Ames.” She stared at Amy’s legs and then her arms and chest. “Jeez, that stuff isn’t coming off, is it?”

  True to the promise on the can’s label, the paint really was water-resistant. And sweat-and soap-resistant, apparently.

  Becca looked as though she could use a distraction to take her mind off her brother. She was constantly worrying about him, and Amy was used to being her sounding board.

  With a deep breath, Amy explained everything about the encounter with Mr. Sexy, right up to her cleaning the entire flipping stairwell.

  The story had the desired effect—Becca was nearly in tears by the end, she laughed so hard.

  Hey, at least she was laughing. That made Amy smile and a warm glow fill her chest.

  “Oh. My. God. I have to meet this guy.” Becca dabbed at her eyes with the towel she’d brought.

  Her own eyes stung from sweat, too, but Amy dotted her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

  Classy.

  Black splotches marred her shirt afterward. Oh, that’s right. She’d actually worn mascara today.

  Today, she had given a damn because she was rebooting her life.

  So much for that.

  On second thought, she smiled at her shirt. The fact she even wore mascara at all was a small victory. For the longest time, she’d forgone makeup, cute clothes, and doing her hair. Nothing mattered after what she’d gone through. It all seemed so…petty.

  But now, it seemed normal. Though she had a long way to go, some small part of her had healed in those two years, and it craved normalcy.

  Maybe I really am starting over. Maybe things are finally getting better.

  She firmly squashed down her hope, afraid it was too good to be true.

  Just as her therapist had encouraged, she had to resist the urge not to care because it was familiar and “taking the easy way out.”

  Happy people didn’t understand it, and good for them. After going through hell, there was a certain numbness that could take over. A survival mode. Because it was easier to feel nothing than to feel all that damned pain. She’d hurt for too long, to the point it had almost destroyed her.

  When you’d gone to the edge of the abyss and nearly fallen in, seeing the light, any light, was like an addiction.

  “Amy? Did you hear me?”

  “What?” Amy’s head snapped around; a nerve in her neck caught. She winced and reached up to rub it out.

  A mischievous sparkle shone in Becca’s eyes as she slowly smiled. “Oh my God. I was right.”

  Amy blinked. “Right about what?”

  “You’re hot for him, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m hot for who?”

  “Mr. Sexy, your building manager.”

  “I…I did not call him that.”

  “Oh, you most certainly did. Throughout your whole story.”

  Holy shit. Amy’s face heated. She stopped her treadmill and stood there, panting. Even just thinking about him made her blood boil, and she’d be a fool if she thought the slickness in her freshly changed panties was due entirely to her very light workout.

  Her gut wrenched. It was happening again. She was dangerously attracted to a male, and last time, that had so not ended well.

  “I…I need to get home.” Amy’s voice shook as she got ready to leave.

  Becca stopped her treadmill and caught hold of her arm. Her voice was gentle, understanding. “Don’t be afraid to fall in love again.”

  Amy swallowed hard. It felt as though she’d swallowed a rock. “I…I can’t go through that again,” she whispered.

  “You also can’t be alone for the rest of your life.”

  Amy took a deep, resolved breath. “Sometimes alone is the safest place to be.” She smiled at her friend, knowing the motion was halfhearted. She was exhausted. “Thanks for working out with me. Guess I needed to relieve some stress after all.”

  Becca beamed. “Anytime. I’ll always be here if you need me.”

  Amy squeezed her hand. “Thanks, girl. You’re the best.”

  After bidding her best friend goodbye in the parking lot, Amy got in her car and drove home.

  The parking garage gave her the creeps, so she parked along the curb. It wasn’t exactly safe either, but hey, her car could get jacked anywhere. And this block, though old, was reputed as being safe.

  That fact comforted her as she walked inside—and nearly slammed into the chest of a very tall, and very drunk, man.

  “Jesus!” he slurred. He staggered backward and gripped the doorframe of his apartment. The door hung open behind him. Loud music and voices drifted out, along with a stout breeze of beer and marijuana.

  Great. This guy was clearly going to be the “asshole neighbor,” the one who partied at all hours and didn’t give a damn about the people around him.

  She gritted her teeth, ready to chew him out. In no mood for bullshit, she opened her mouth when he spoke first.

  “Hey,” he drawled. His eyes sort of zeroed in on her. “You’re that sexy-ass fox I saw mopping up the stairwell. The new maid.”

  Maid? “I’m sorry, but one, this isn’t the Hilton; two, I’m not a maid; and three, you need to shut your party down before I call the cops. Some people are trying to sleep.”

  He laughed. “Cops ain’t gonna do shit, girl. You’re tripping if you think they’re going to come to this side of town.”

  She blinked. Leave it to her to believe everything she read on the Internet. The building’s high ratings were probably skewed by fake ones.

  Whatever it takes to make a buck, she thought, not without irritation. They should advertise: “Move-in special! Free mugging within a week upon arrival, or your deposit back!”

  His oily gaze slid down her body from head to toe; her skin crawled. A sleazy grin spread across his face. God, had he ever heard of a toothbrush? “You got a nice ass.” He grinned wider.

  Amy snorted. “Wow, your girlfriend is a lucky woman.”

  “Don’t have one of them bitches!” he said proudly.

  Apparently, he didn’t get any exposure to sunlight, because his skin tone could rival Dracula’s. “Imagine that,” Amy grumbled under her breath. Giving him as wide a berth as she could manage, considering the tight hallway quarters, she tried to slip past him. McSleazy had other plans, however, and made that clear by grabbing her arm.

  “Ow!” She tried to jerk her arm free. She could practically feel her bones grinding together. “Let go of me!”

  “No way, doll. You’re too sweet to pass up. You’d be a big hit at my party. We like our women with a little extra meat on their bones.” Sure enough, a whole group of gangsters eyed her from within his smoke-filled apartment.

  Cold sweat broke out over her skin. She’d seen that look, right before everything went to shit two years ago.

  It was the look of a sociopath eyeing his next victim.

  Demons f
rom her past rose up to taunt her, making her feel about as small and strong as a dormouse. “I-I said no,” she said, her voice more feeble than it was before.

  McSleazy yanked her toward the open door. “Come on, girl. Just come on in and have a beer to loosen up some.”

  “I’ll loosen her up!” called one of his boys before he thrust his hips into the air several times. His friends busted out laughing, but Amy didn’t find it funny one bit. In fact, she felt nauseated.

  “Please, let me go.” She fought to control her nerves. Her hand slipped into her purse and fished for her keys.

  “Like to play hard to get, huh?” He reached around with his free hand and felt up her ass. “I like tough girls.”

  That was it. The feeling of him touching her, violating her, made something inside her snap. Anger took over, years’ worth of being pissed off at living in the shadow of what happened to her.

  Dammit, she was sick and tired of feeling threatened all the time.

  She glared at McSleazy. “You like tough girls? Then you’re going to love me.”

  She gripped her keys, yanked them out of her purse and squeezed the little metal bottle attached. Liquid shot out of the can and right into McSleazy’s eyes.

  He screamed and immediately let her go as he clawed at his face. “You—you BITCH! What the fuck is this?”

  Amy grinned. “Pepper spray.” She started up the stairs and then turned and smiled coldly at the creep. “Who’s the bitch now?”

  She ran up the stairs, not wasting a minute of her getaway opportunity. McSleazy’s buddies raced out of the apartment as he howled.

  “Get her!” he screeched. “I’m gonna beat her fucking ass!”

  She raced up the stairs. Footsteps thundered after her, and her heart shot to her throat.

  Just as she was about to clear the last step, someone grabbed her hand and yanked backward. She swore as her keys dropped from her hands. They slid through one of the openings between the stairs, falling to the next landing, right where about three of the guys in the apartment, including the one who made the crude gesture, were.

  None of them looked as happy to see her as they had a moment ago.

  Panic crept in as they closed in on her. The one guy still had hold of her wrist. He went to pull her to him, and she immediately went into self-defense mode.

  Her brain shut off, and her fight-or-flight instinct flipped on. Without thinking, her self-defense training kicked in, and she threw her knee up into the guy’s groin. He groaned, followed by a curse. The moment his grip loosened, she jerked free and stumbled up the stairs.

  She couldn’t get into her own apartment, so she did what any sane person would do—she banged on the next-door neighbor’s door.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Somebody open up! Please!”

  Shouts rang from the stairwell, coming closer.

  Oh God, they were pissed. If murder hadn’t shone in their eyes before, it sure as hell did now.

  Pounding harder, she screamed until her voice was hoarse.

  Someone please help. Oh God, please don’t let me—

  The door swung open so abruptly she nearly fell forward.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” a deep voice—one that made her blood boil with desire—thundered.

  The smell of pine assaulted her nose, alluring and male, much like the half-naked man who stood in front of her. His dark hair dripped, and a towel hung around his shoulders.

  Her voice dried up as she stared at his chest. He looked…unreal, as if all the muscles had been painted on. Tattoos of Celtic knots and other filigree twirled over his skin. A tiny lion head was inked just below his left ear, almost on the side of his neck.

  Yum.

  Holy shit. Mr. Sexy was her freaking next-door neighbor.

  AFTER THE OFFICE incident, in which he’d nearly acted like a caveman by dragging Amy’s sweet ass into the office and ripping her clothes off, Scott had done what any other overly horny man would have done.

  He’d struggled through his mountain of work, waited until Amy was gone, and then hauled ass up to his apartment for a very icy shower.

  His sex didn’t seem to give a damn that the rest of him was freezing. It was still rock-hard.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  Damn.

  Mother—

  Loud banging on his door, along with frantic screams for help, jolted him out of his cussing spree. After he shut the water off, he nearly slipped and busted his ass trying to get out of the shower in such a rush. When said ass-busting was safely deterred, he pulled on some pants and went to the door.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” he demanded.

  His heart stopped. He’d like to think it was the sight of Amy, of her sexy, plump breasts nearly spilling out of her low-cut tank top. But it was probably more the fact she nearly broke his nose when he’d opened the door.

  Yeah, that’s it, bonehead.

  Not so gracefully avoiding her fists, which were still trying to pound on the now open door, he cleared his throat as she stared at him wide-eyed. “What?” he said gruffly, all too aware he was painfully hard now.

  Her mouth flopped open a few times. “I—that is, um—”

  “Hey!”

  They both looked back at the stairs as a group of men approached. They looked pissed. Scott recognized them. He gritted his teeth. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t rent any rooms out to a single college kid. Too many parties, too much illegal shit going on. They were just too much of a liability. Then again, so were a lot of older people. It was amazing how innocent some of them seemed on their applications and background checks, and how they really were to live with.

  Scott grabbed Amy’s wrist and gently pulled her toward his door. “Stay behind me,” he said quietly as he stepped forward and crossed his thick, muscular arms to shield her from view. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  “That bitch fucking assaulted us!” one screeched and pointed a finger straight at Amy, who cringed behind him.

  Scott nearly hauled off and decked the guy right there. His knuckles cracked as he formed fists. The backs of his hands were callused enough from tons of fighting.

  Old habits die hard.

  “I seriously doubt she assaulted you,” he said coolly. “I’d like to know what you did.”

  The guy blinked. “Me?”

  Scott raised a brow. “I could always ask Amy.” He looked at her. “Did these men bother you?”

  Amy stared at them warily. “They tried to pull me into their apartment,” she said after a moment.

  “We were having a party, man!” the guy said. “Bitch said she wanted to come.”

  “No, I didn’t!” Amy yelled. “I wanted you to leave me alone!”

  “So, let me get this straight.” Scott cut the dick off before he could argue. “Not only are you throwing another party, after I explicitly warned you not to last month, but you tried to take this young woman inside against her will? What did you plan on doing with her?”

  Amy turned pale, like, white-as-a-sheet kind of pale. She hugged herself, but not before he detected a tremble in her arms.

  Scott’s brows furrowed.

  “We weren’t gonna do nothin’!” Homeboy said. “Just have some fun with her.”

  That did it. Scott growled, grabbed a fistful of Homeboy’s shirt, and slammed him against the wall so hard a painting fell off. “Listen here, you piece of shit,” he growled in the man’s terrified face, “you’re going to leave this girl alone, and you and your roommates are gonna pack up all your shit tomorrow. Consider yourself evicted.”

  “Evicted?! But-But—”

  “Shut up!” he yelled, slamming his head against the wall again for good measure. “This is the third report I’ve had of you trying to victimize innocent women. And I won’t even get into all the other shit you’ve pulled. You’ve fucked up.” Disgusted, he shoved the man toward his buddies, who caught him before he could fall down the stairs backward. “Now get t
he hell out of my face before I decide to call the cops.”

  “Let’s go, man.” One of the guys pulled him down the stairs. Now out of Scott’s clutches, the man turned and gave him a death glare all the way back down the stairs.

  Scott’s chest heaved as he watched them go. Anger pumped through his veins. The urge to punch something returned, but he firmly shoved it down. He hadn’t paid for all those anger management classes for nothing.

  “Thank you.”

  Her voice was so quiet, he nearly missed it.

  Amy stood next to the wall, hugging herself and shivering.

  No, trembling. She looked terrified. Her head was ducked; wisps of hair hid her gaze from him as she stared at the floor.

  The rage in him instantly died, replaced by concern. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded and looked up. Were those tears in her eyes? Still not looking at him, she said, “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. He never got the chance, thanks to you.”

  “It’s nothing.” He ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “Look, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Especially don’t hesitate to report shit like that.”

  She nodded, not saying anything.

  He looked her over again and glanced at her door. “You get locked out?”

  “When…when they were after me, I dropped my keys on the stairs.”

  Assholes.

  He reached in his pants pocket, took out a ring of keys he always kept on him, and opened up the door. “Wait here and lock the door. I’ll be right back.”

  He went downstairs by himself to retrieve her things, thinking she’d had enough. The poor woman looked ready to jump out of her skin. People didn’t just get that way by accident. Must have gotten that way from the assault, or whatever happened to her.

  Once back upstairs, he knocked, and she cracked open the door. He handed her the keys. “Do you have pepper spray? And a cell phone?”

  “I have pepper spray,” she said, a slight warble to her voice. “And I have a cell, but I left it at home. It ran out of juice, and I don’t have a car charger.”

  “I see.” He pressed his lips together. “You have an Android?”

  “Yes?”

  He went back into his apartment and returned with a cell phone car charger, which he handed to her. “Here. It should work on most Android phones.”