It’s another forty minutes before we pull up in front of Adam’s apartment building in Sunset Park. It’s a third-story walk-up in a brick building that was recently renovated to cater to the influx of tech types in the area. His first nice place.
My stomach clenches as I shove money into the cabbie’s hands and turn to face the building. The late afternoon sun glints off the windows, of Adam’s apartment but from here, nothing seems to be amiss. I grit my teeth. If this is some last minute bid for rent money....
I take a deep breath.
There’s only one way to find out why he called.
I push the new plastic call button next to his name on the building’s intercom. Seconds later a buzzing fills the air and a clicking sound indicates the front door has been unlocked. As soon as I open the door and enter the vestibule, I’m hit by a wall of stuffy . Obviously the landlord doesn’t believe in paying for central air.
Three flights of stairs later, I’m wiping the sweat from my brow and standing in front of the metal door to his place. A small plate positioned at eye level reads “3B.”
I knock.
Adam opens the door before I’ve even had a chance to lower my hand, and I see instantly that something is very, very wrong. His face is pale, almost ashen, and he looks like he’s been holding back tears.
“Adam,” I say worriedly, stepping inside the apartment. He closes the door behind us before flipping the lock, and then unflipping it. “What—?”
My brother clears his throat, cutting me off. We’re standing side by side on a welcome mat that covers part of his living room’s hardwood floor. “I have a guest, Ang.” His voice is tight, even though he’s clearly trying to appear cool and collected.
It’s then that I register the man sitting on Adam’s futon. He unfolds himself from his seat, revealing his height. He’s well over six feet tall, and as he stands up, a shiver of dread streaks down my spine. The clothes he’s wearing are nothing special—khaki shorts and a black t-shirt that’s neatly tucked in at the waistband, the material fitted tight against his hard muscles—but there’s something off about the way he holds himself. His back is ramrod straight, yet his muscles flex like his limbs might fly out of control at any minute.
“Hello, Angelica,” he says, his voice sharp, though the grin stays in place. It’s like he wants to eat me. It pisses me off.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask, drawing myself up to my full height—all five foot four of me.
The bastard chuckles. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.”
“Answer the question.”
“You can call me Charlie,” he says, spreading his hands out like he’s some kind of celebrity. I shoot a look at Adam. What the fuck is this?
“Charlie,” I say, very slowly. “What are you doing in my brother’s apartment?”
“Waiting for you.”
A sharp heat surges across my chest, and on its heels my stomach flutters. What does he mean, ‘waiting for me?’ “I’m not interested in playing games, Charlie.”
“Neither am I,” he says, taking a sudden step toward us. My brother and I both reflexively step backward, toward the door, but one more step and Charlie has closed the gap. “Here’s the deal, Angelica,” he says, and I can smell cheap cologne rolling in waves off his skin. It hits me that I have no idea where my phone is. It’s somewhere in my purse, probably buried under the flats I walk to work in and cast-off granola bars. There’s no way I can get to it fast enough if this guy is some kind of stalker or drug dealer.
Charlie doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he takes a half step back and turns his evil smile on my brother, who looks down at the floor. “You tell her, Adam.”
Adam’s jaw works but no sound escapes. He can’t bring himself to look me in the eye when he finally speaks. “I owe Charlie some money.”
“Jesus, Adam,” I say through clenched teeth. I want to shake some sense into him, but I ask the question he’s waiting for. “How much money?”
Charlie steps in. “Ten thousand.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” I wheel on Adam again, but his eyes are glued to the floor. “For what?”
“We’ve made some...investments in Adam over the past few months,” Charlie says, pursing his lips like he feels sorry for my brother. “But they didn’t pan out.”
Adam has asked me to bail him out countless times since we left home and moved to the city, and I’ve always done it. Who else was going to? Our mother doesn’t make any money and our father has never been in the picture. Up until now, his money problems have always been annoying, yet they were for simple things like rent and food. He hadn’t contacted me for money for several months so I really thought it proved he was working his way out of the habit. I have no idea what kind of investment Charlie is talking about, but it can’t be good.