by Emilia Finn
I’ve had no fourth-level neighbors for months. I should have caught their pending arrival already, I should have been notified. But no, because I was preparing for dinner with Toby, and paying more attention to Evie and her evil plans to marry me off, now that I’m approaching spinster-aunt status.
“Aw, fuck!”
I jump in my place on the couch at a man’s deep voice. A bellowing roar coming from my hallway.
“Galileo.” I whisper it, but it’s enough to bring my two-hundred-pound dog to my side.
He doesn’t rush to the door like many curious dogs might. Instead, he comes to me, climbs up onto the couch, and settles so his chin rests on my thigh, and his breath comes out on a heavy sigh.
“Good boy.” I run my right hand over his floppy ears and try to relax my breathing.
I was going to eat and go to bed. Instead, I guess I’ll be eating, then making phone calls until I know who’s in my building.
I can’t sleep until I know. I can’t relax, because my subconscious already fucks me on a nightly basis. Throw in uncertainty about strange men, and it would almost be a suicide mission to try to go to sleep without knowing.
“We don’t have to worry,” I tell Galileo. Or at least, that’s my excuse as I climb off my couch and snag my phone.
I tiptoe along the timber floor with bare feet, set my half-eaten candy bar on the counter as I pass, then I press my eye to the peephole and study the door across the hall. Blindly, I reach across my body and tap the button on the side of my watch, three times, three taps.
Just a moment later, I accept the call that comes in.
“Kane?”
“What’s wrong?” His voice is deep, dangerous. It’s not always that way, but I’ve activated my panic alarm. I’ve set him on edge. “You in danger?”
“No,” I whisper, so my breath bounces off the door and hits my chin. “I have a new neighbor. He’s loud.”
“Gimme a sec.”
I listen as he stands – from the sofa? – and makes his way across a room. The sounds of television turn softer as he moves, until finally, he pulls out a squeaking desk chair. “What’s he look like?”
“I don’t know.” I squeeze one eye closed and focus on the open doorway. “I haven’t seen him. I only saw moving boxes, then I heard him.”
“Why didn’t you do this search yourself?” He types at a computer. “You know how.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you.” My voice cracks. “I’m sorry, Kane. I know it’s family night—”
“I didn’t say you’re bothering me,” he interrupts in a firm tone. Firm, but not mean. “I only asked why you didn’t do it yourself when we both know you’re capable.”
“I—” I swallow. “I panicked. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he croons. “I’ve got your back. Okay… Tucker Morris, twenty-nine years old. He’s a mechanic at Ang’s shop. Hmm…” I can almost see the mask of confusion flittering across his face. The scowl that replaces that. “I don’t know why Ang didn’t tell me his guy was moving.” Then his shrug. “Either way, you don’t have to worry about him. He’s good people.”
“Do you know him?” I rasp out. “Like, personally?”
“I do. I’ve met him a million times. Six-four, a hundred and ninety, dark hair worn kinda short. Dark green eyes, thinks he’s funnier than he actually is. He rides a motorcycle, doesn’t own a car that I know of. He’s been Ang’s apprentice since he was like, fifteen or something. He’s always at work, has no criminal record, one sibling, and his folks are deceased.”
“So he’s a drifter?” My pulse quickens. “No family, no attachments, no reason to stick around once he kills his female neighbor in 4A?”
Kane Bishop once held a starring role in my nightmares. He was there when Lisa was killed, and at the time, he called her murderers his friends. They weren’t, of course. But I was sixteen, terrified, and I was being given away as a virgin to gun toting, cocaine snorting, tattoo covered thugs with rough hands and no care for my safety.
Kane was that thug. He would become my captor and the reason I’d cry myself to sleep for years after that night.
Now, he chuckles into my ear and sets me at ease. “He’s not a drifter, and he’s not going to kill anyone. He’s most of the way in love with Ang’s girl, so he’s sticking around in hopes she dumps Ang’s ass and comes searching for him – her one true love, according to word floating around the office.”
“So maybe he already killed Ang,” I murmur. “Maybe that’s his plan, and he made a mess of his old apartment. Maybe that’s why he moved?”
“Maybe,” Kane laughs. “You should ask him.”
“Ask who? Ang, or the neighbor?”
“Either! If Ang is already dead, then your call will go to voicemail. Maybe go straight to the source and ask Chuck.”
“Chuck?” I squeak. “You just said his name is Tucker.”
“It is. He has many names.”
“He’s a murdering drifter, Kane!”
“He is not,” he laughs. “Tucker Morris rhymes with Chuck Norris, so relax. Go knock on his door, take him a plate of cookies or some shit, and introduce yourself. He might be nice.”
“Might? You said you’ve met him.”
“I have. He’s not very nice to me, but that’s because he’s in love with my wife.”
“You said he’s in love with Ang’s wife!”
“He is.” Kane thinks he’s hilarious. “They’re twin sisters. Chuck probably figures eh, same same. Nora…” His voice turns serious. “You need to relax, okay? He’s not going to hurt you. And it would seem he has a thing for blondes, so you could probably take him that plate of cookies and not worry he might hit on you.”
“I’m not taking him cookies,” I hiss.
I push away from my door and nearly trip over Galileo, who’s standing behind my legs. Snatching up my candy bar, I take a noisy bite and try to stave the panic that wants to bubble along my throat.
“I’m safe, right?”
When he doesn’t answer, I whimper, “Kane?”
“You’re safe, honey. You know I will never let you get hurt.”
I say nothing.
“Nora?” he prods. “You know that, don’t you?” He’s not asking. “You’re under Bishop protection, and that’s the best kind.”
I nod, despite the fact he obviously can’t see me. “I know.”
“So trust me. He’s a bit of a goofball. He’s magic with a car engine. His sense of humor tends to turn other people homicidal. But he’s not gonna be a problem for you. Are you gonna be okay now?”
Again, I nod. “I’ll be fine.”
“Want me to come over? I can sit guard for the night, probably even talk to him about keeping the noise down.”
“No, it’s fine.” I swallow to lubricate my throat. “I’m my own hero.”
“Yes you are. You’re capable.”
I keep nodding.
“You wanna come to breakfast tomorrow?” His voice turns gentler. “The girls would love to see you.”
“Um… I can’t tomorrow. Evie already invited me over for breakfast.”
“Dinner, then.” Kane Bishop was once my most feared monster. Now he’s like my father, my brother, my soldier all in one. “Come early, and I’ll take you into the yard for sims. That’ll make you feel better.”
“Okay…”
“Okay. Are you gonna be okay if I hang up now?”
I draw a steadying breath. “I’m fine. Thanks for calling me.”
“Lifetime protection,” he declares on a gentle murmur. “Until the day I die.”
“Don’t die too soon,” I whisper.
“Never. Goodnight, honey. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight. Tell Jess I said thanks.” I know I interrupted movie time with his wife.
He chuckles low in his throat. “Will do.”
When he hangs up, I remain sitting at my kitchen counter and stare at my candy bar. Galileo sits besid
e me, his shoulder resting on my thigh, his eyes staring up into mine as he awaits instructions.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I tell him with faux bravery. “We’re not scared. We’re brave.”
“Aw, fucker!”
I bound off the stool and race across my apartment until I stop in my room with a racing heart. It’s so stupid. So silly that a man with a pottymouth should make me scared in my own home. It’s dumb that I could agree to a dinner date with a stranger tonight, a different man a week ago, and again the week before, and none of those people made me scared.
But a headless voice in my hall sends me into a tailspin that forces me to hit my panic button for the first time in… okay, only a month. But still. It’s been a month!
“No!” the voice shouts. “Stop dropping my shit.”
“Well, carry it your-damn-self,” a second voice snaps back. “Jesus, Chuck. Why are you giving me all the heavy shit?”
“Shit,” I scrunch my eyes closed and whimper. “There are two of them. Two voices, two men, both in a bad mood.”
Sensing my distress, Galileo butts his nose against my hip until I scratch his ears. He bumps me again and again until I take a hint and step away from the wall I’m hiding behind.
A minute later, he bumps me toward my bed.
He sleeps on the floor. Always. Except when he doesn’t.
I climb under my blankets, trying to keep my movements slow, controlled, unhurried, so my heart slows to a normal speed. Then I pat my blankets and let go of some of the fear when Galileo steps up and flops down to become my little spoon.
My kitchen light remains on, but I’m not getting up to switch it off.
Hugging Galileo close against my front, I bury my face in the fur at his shoulder blades, and pray his proximity will help keep my nightmares away.
“Goodnight, buddy.” I slide my hand along his strong neck, and exhale. “Goodnight.”
It’s too bad my nightmares never stay away.
Chuck
Who’s the Real Victim Here?
Waking up in a new apartment – a new bedroom, a new window that leads to a new and different side of town – is disorienting, even for a guy who got a full night’s sleep.
Unfortunately, I’m not that guy.
Bleary-eyed, and with a pounding headache, I wake as the sun streams through the curtains I didn’t close before I finally collapsed into bed.
I had shit to get out of the hallway, boxes to empty out of my friend’s car, furniture to assemble so I could sleep on something other than the floor, which meant I didn’t get to bed until three. Which means, despite the fact I wasn’t out partying last night, it sure feels like I was.
My head pounds, and my throat is desert dry. My stomach rumbles from starvation, so now I fight the good fight between staying in bed to catch a little more sleep, or getting up and filling my stomach before I die.
Turning over and burying my face beneath my pillows, I groan when my alarm sounds on the bedside table. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to do anything but stay right here and sleep. And after that, I wanna clean the pigsty I left when I finally conceded and passed out.
Packing boxes lay everywhere. Packing tape, scrunched and tossed to the floor. Broken plates in my kitchen. No fucking idea where my coffee mugs are.
My alarm silences without me touching it, but a minute later, it starts again and drills into the side of my skull until I swing an arm out and blindly slap at the clock until it stops.
“Shut the fuck up,” I grumble. “Piece of shit.”
I have to be at work today. One hour from now, my ass needs to be dressed, my blood needs to be pumped with caffeine, and I have to be at the garage working on Mrs. Bentley’s… Bentley. Which means I can sleep for fifty more minutes and race to the shop without a shower or breakfast, or I can get the fuck up now, find my coffee mugs, and work on humanizing myself before I have to face other humans.
Both options suck.
My eyes flitter closed without my permission, but my stomach growls and brings them open all over again. I need food more than I need sleep. And I need my paycheck more than I need to revisit my dreams and the busty blonde I saw at the racetracks a week ago.
My lips quirk up into a smile at the memory.
Shoving my blankets off, I roll to the floor and grunt when I land on my hands and knees. Then I climb to my feet – buck-ass naked – and search with my eyes most of the way closed for a pair of sweats to pull on.
I don’t know where shit is, because we dumped boxes last night like it wouldn’t be a pain in the ass today to find clean underwear.
Bringing a hand up, I wipe the crusty shit from my eyes, and slowly crack them wider to take in the mess that is my room. I’m not a clean freak by any stretch of the imagination, but the state I left this place in last night disgusts me. But aha! Pants.
I dive across my room like I’m afraid they’ll come to life and run away, and, stabbing my legs into the holes, I grin like that busty blonde is in front of me again.
Pulling up my sweats and tightening the drawstring, I head out of my room and pretend that the mess that surrounds me isn’t real. It’s a problem for tonight. A problem for future me. Because right-now me needs to find the coffee mugs, and get his ass to work.
Thankfully, last-night-me was smart enough to find my coffee machine and plug that baby in before dropping into bed.
The sound of boiling water helps pull me out of my half-asleep state, and the smell that wafts through the air when the water hits the coffee helps me wake up fully, so by the time I reach my front door and swing it open in search of today’s paper, I’m mostly lucid, and all of the way grinning.
“Aaaagh!” A beautiful brunette woman screams in the doorway to 4A, so her dog, the size of a grown-ass man, raises his hackles and pulls his lips back to reveal sharp, I’m-gonna-rip-your-fuckin’-throat-out teeth.
When I remain frozen in place, he stalks forward slowly, menacingly, until my smile drops away and my bowels liquify.
“Uh…” I take a step back. “Lady? Call him back.”
“No.” She broadens her shoulders, drops them back, and lifts her chin. “No, I’m not going to do that.”
“Er, why the fuck not? Lady!” I’m not ashamed to admit I squeal like a little girl when those teeth snap closer. “Yo! Tell him to quit it.”
“You were loud all night,” she declares. “I don’t know where you come from, Mr. Morris, but bashing furniture around your apartment, and laughing with your friends at two in the damn morning is not acceptable.”
“You…” I risk a glance away from the dog, and lock onto a pair of light brown eyes hidden beneath a baseball cap. Long brown hair dangles in kinked waves and bounces a few inches below her shoulders.
“Did I keep you awake?” I jab a thumb over my shoulder, and take another step back when the dog snaps his teeth. “Errr… I was moving in. I’m sorry. I’ll be quieter tonight.”
“I should hope so,” she replies in her snooty tone. “Today, I have to work on too little sleep, and that’s purely your fault. Perhaps you should learn to be more considerate of others from now on. Galileo.”
One simple fucking word, one simple breath, and she makes the mountainous dog stand down.
“Let’s go,” she commands him.
“How’d you know my name?” I follow her with my eyes as she and Galileo trot down the stairs. “Hey! How’d you know? And where’d you get that dog?”
“None of your business. Times two.” She stops at the next landing and turns back to me. Her eyes scan along my body – not in an ‘oh, he’s shirtless and sexy’ way, but as though she’s cataloging the different ways she can shove explosives inside my body. After a long study, her eyes come back to mine. “Please be considerate of your neighbors from now on. If not, you’ll force me to move. And I really don’t wanna.”
“You’d move because of me?” I frown. “Really? Most folks would make life hell for the annoying one and force them out.”
She shrugs. “I want as little interaction with you as possible. Which means I would be the one to move. Please don’t be noisy past eight at night. Please don’t knock on my door asking for sugar. Please just leave me be, and I promise, I’ll do the same for you.”
My coffee machine sputters to a stop behind me. Transitioning from loud gurgles as the water washes through the ground beans, to a sizzling stop that means it’s time for me to come back to life.
“What about a coffee mug?” I flash a wide grin, because she’s wearing tight jeans, and those alone are enough to push aside the dream I had of the blonde.
Her brows furrow. “What about a coffee mug?”
“Can I borrow one? I can’t find mine.”
“No. You can’t borrow anything of mine. Including my time. Have a nice life, Mr. Morris. Galileo, come.”
“You!”
Bent under the hood of a luxury car I will never be able to afford, I stand tall when Kane Bishop’s deep voice tugs me from my quiet contemplation.
My brain is fuzzy, my thoughts one-track as I work on an engine, and try to stifle my constant yawning.
Three hours of sleep is not enough, and I’m supposed to be racing tonight. But maybe that wouldn’t be smart.
I glance to my right, to Mac as he works on a truck, and his dog – is it a coincidence that Deck looks a hell of a lot like Galileo? – sleeps by his feet. I expect Kane to be here for Mac, they’re buddies after all, so when a rough hand grabs my shoulder and tugs me around, I come eye-to-eye with murderous black eyes.
“Er…” I look around in confusion. “Bishop? I didn’t realize we had beef.”
“We don’t,” he says in his low timbre. “And we won’t, so long as you’re considerate of your new neighbor.”
“What?” My heart races to a pounding beat. “The fuck? I’m noisy one time, and I’ve got Checkmate coming down on my ass? What the hell kind of mess have I moved into?”
“The person that lives across from you lives a quiet life. She needs quiet.”
“She…” I frown. “She called you to complain about my noise? Damn, Kane. I told her I was sorry.”