Before I can form a response because I’m still trying to catch my breath and slow my racing heart from the near-death experience, I hear the clip-clop of flipflops slapping the hard ground as she hurries over to me. Then, there’s a faceless, child-size silhouette standing three or four feet away from me. She’s close enough to fill my nose with an almost overwhelming sweet scent that can only be described as an explosion of fruits and flowers.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” I throw her question back at her. It’s none of her goddamn business why I’m here; she’s the one who almost killed me!
“I…I, um, I just moved in,” she stammers and squirms from one foot to the other like she can’t seem to stay still. “And I couldn’t sleep.”
When I’m able to pull myself to my unsteady feet, I straighten my t-shirt and tower over her five-foot nothing frame that only comes up to the center of my chest. She’s so small I could probably pick her up off the ground with my pinkie.
“Well, here’s a word of advice: don’t go around sneaking up on people in the middle of the fucking night!”
“Sorry! I didn’t think anyone would be up here or that you would be…” She’s still flittering around like a nervous butterfly, now waving her arms wildly.
“Be what?” I ask.
“I-I don’t know what you were doing!”
“That’s right. You don’t know shit, little girl!” I yell at her before I stagger my way over to the access door. It takes me several turns of the handle to get it open. Once I’m inside, I take the stairs down to the second floor and find my way inside my unlocked apartment.
Only when I flop down onto my cool black leather sofa in the living room does it finally hit me – that I was seconds away from possibly falling to my death. I didn’t think the jump would kill me, only provide me with enough pain so I can finally feel something. Honestly, I don’t even know what the gun was for. To end the suffering if I couldn’t handle it maybe?
What the fuck was I thinking?
I’m not sure what got into me or why I’m being such a fucking idiot; but thanks to the girl’s interruption, I’m finally able to get a glimpse through the endless fog in my head. With a sigh, I get to my feet and stagger to the bathroom. After I relieve myself, I flop back onto the sofa, hoping that I’ll be able to sleep off the funk that has fallen over me.
Chapter Two
Lucy Stafford
The showdown on the roof definitely wasn’t how I wanted to go about meeting my tall, dark and handsome neighbor who lives in the apartment above me for the first time. Seeing his male model perfection not only standing on the ledge but wobbling around, about to fall, scared the shit out of me. So much so that when I head back inside, I hurry right on down the stairs to the parking lot, remove the combination lock from my bike and then rush back up to latch it through the hole in the roof access door. The sound of the click allows me to finally sigh in relief. It’s not much, but it’ll keep his drunk ass from going back out there tonight. Based on the strong scent of alcohol I smelled wafting off of him, I doubt he could operate a pair of bolt cutters.
Since I’m now wide awake, when I get back to my apartment on the first floor, I grab the broom and dustpan from my closet and go outside to start sweeping up the shards of green glass shattered around the sidewalk so that no one will step on it tomorrow morning. The entire time I work I’m trying to figure out what would lead a man to do something so drastic. It’s not like my life has been easy these past few months, or even the last year, but I’ve never once considered ending it. Maybe that’s because the cancer eating up my cervix and uterus was so determined to take me out that I knew there was no choice but to fight back.
I’ve always been the good girl, the perfect daughter, doting girlfriend, straight-A student and an upstanding citizen. Where did all that good karma get me? Cancer in my twenties and cheated on by a prick of a boy whom I spent most of my teenage years and adulthood loving. Life fucking owes me a big one now, and I intend to collect what I’m due.
After dumping my pan full of tiny pieces of glass, I head back to the sidewalk to do another sweep when I spot some sort of black objects. The two dark metal pieces are a busted-up revolver and the grip that must have come off when it hit the ground. Checking the open chamber, I find bullets in it! That hot-as-fuck idiot wasn’t just standing on the roof; he was holding a gun? Shit, what if he has more in his apartment?
I haven’t heard more than one pair of footsteps above me since I moved in a week ago, so I think it’s time to track down one of my neighbor’s friends so they can come check in on him. Those big patches on the back of his leather cut are probably the best place to start. It won’t take more than a quick search online to track down more members of the Dirty Aces MC.
By lunchtime the next morning, I’m parallel parking my purple Prius into an open spot in front of The Aces Pool Hall beside a yellow and black motorcycle. The neon sign isn’t on yet, but my internet search said they’re supposed to be opening any second.
Right on schedule, the lights inside flip on, and then I spot a man with
