“I figured it was better this way.”
“Yeah.”
He and his brother hadn’t talked about the high priest’s visit since it happened, but that hi-how’re-ya from AnsLai was still very much between them—but at least iAm had put aside the pissed off long enough to get him back here.
Trez’s first clue that the headache was gearing up was the way the subtle ding that announced its destination shot through his brain like a bullet.
He groaned as the doors slid open. “This is going to be bad.”
“Didn’t you have one last week?”
He wondered how many more people could ask him that.
iAm took care of the lock on the door, and Trez dumped his jacket three feet into the apartment. He shed his black cashmere sweater on the way down to his bedroom, and was unbuttoning his silk shirt as he walked into—
As he froze, the one and only thing that shot through his head was that scene from the movie Trading Places—when Eddie Murphy walks into his room at the fancy digs and a half-naked chick sits up in his bed and goes, “Hey, Billy Ray.”
The difference in this situation was that his stalker, the one with the bouncer boyfriend and the trust issues, was blond, and not wearing early eighties Spandex pants. Matter of fact, she was fully, motherfucking, buck-ass naked.
The gun that appeared over his shoulder was steady and accessorized with a suppressor.
So iAm could have killed her, no problem.
“I thought you’d be glad to see me,” the chippie said, looking back and forth between him and his brother’s muzzle.
Like she wanted to make herself more appealing, she lifted one arm to fuss with her hair—but if she were hoping her breasts would sway enticingly, she was out of luck: Those rock-hard falsies of hers were as unmovable as something bolted to a wall.
“How did you get in here,” Trez demanded.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” When no one answered her, and that gun stayed up, she pouted. “I got friendly with the security guard, okay. What. Oh, come on…fine, I blew him, okay.”
Classy.
And that dumb-ass bastard rent-a-cop was going to be out of a job.
Trez walked over to the pile of clothes by the end of the bed. “Put these back on and get out.”
God, he was tired.
“Oh, come on,” she whined as her things fluttered all around her. “I just wanted to surprise you when you got home from work. I thought this would make you happy.”
“Well, it doesn’t. You need to get the fuck out—” As she opened her mouth like she was going to go psycho on him, he shook his head and cut her off. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not in the mood, and my brother over here really doesn’t care whether you walk out of here or get carried out in a bag. Get dressed. Get out.”
The chippie looked back and forth again. “You were so nice to me the other night.”
Trez winced as the pain stepped up to the plate and started swinging on the right side of his head. “Honey, I’m going to be real honest here. I don’t even know your name. We banged twice—”
“Three times—”
“I don’t care how many it was. What I do know is that you’re going to let this go tonight. If you come around me or my place again, I’m going to…” The Shadow in him wanted to go in a more blood-thirsty direction, but he forced himself to stay on human terms she’d understand. “…call the police. And you don’t want that, because you’re a drug addict who deals on the side, and if they search your shit, your car, your place, they’re going to find more than just paraphernalia. They’re going to bust you and that idiot meathead you’re sleeping with for possession with intent to distribute, and you’re going to fucking jail.”
The chippie just blinked.
“Don’t push me, sweetie,” Trez said in an exhausted voice. “You won’t like what happens.”
Say what you would about the kid; she was quick when she was properly motivated. A matter of moments later, after some yoga poses to get that plastic rack squeezed into a “blouse” that was two sizes too small, she was on her way, cheapie purse slung over her shoulder, her skyscraper stillies dangling from the ankle straps.
Trez didn’t say another word. Just followed in her wake to the door, opened the way out…and shut the thing in her face as she turned around to say something.
He threw the lock manually.
iAm put his weapon away. “We need to move. This location is compromised.”
His brother was right. It wasn’t like they’d kept where they lived a big-ass secret, but staying at the Commodore was predicated on the idea that a security guard wouldn’t be stupid enough to let a woman into someone’s place without the permission of the owners.