“I’m Detective Walker Scott. Who the FUCK are you?”
This is where Ricky makes a colossal mistake, rising up and puffing out his chest. “What the hell do you want?”
Walker walks further into the room, followed by Marcus who looks like he’s about to lose his mind. His hands clench at his side as he stares at Ricky with such hatred, I’m afraid for the guy.
“I ask the questions.”
“You can’t barge in here—”
“You the occupant of this room?” Walker cuts him off.
“No, I am,” Maren offers.
“We’re gonna need your permission to search this room.”
“For what?” Ricky keeps going.
“Drugs,” Walker deadpans.
“You’re a fucking drug dealer?” Ricky directs his question to Maren. “Not only are you a tease and a thief, you’re a druggie?”
Maren’s actually speechless, her eyes bulging. “I’m not any of those things!”
“You bitch!” Ricky finally stands straight and goes to the door, but Walker catches him by the arm.
“You think you’re going somewhere?”
“Hell yes, I’m outta here.”
“Not until I see your wallet and ID.”
“Not happening.” His confidence starts to waver when his stomach goes crazy again and he hurls over in pain.
“Jesus Christ, what’s that smell?” Marcus scowls and Ricky pales.
“My date blew out his ass tonight,” Maren tell them with a straight face.
“Fuck me.” Walker drops his head to hide his smile.
Ricky doesn’t reply because he’s hobbling back to the bathroom.
“Are you okay?” Walker goes to Maren, gently tilting her face to get a good look.
“Yes, but I’ve never been struck by a man before.”
“You never will be again, if I have a say so.” Marcus joins them with a bar towel filled with ice. He places it against her cheek.
Walker comes to the closet and finds me cramped in the corner. “Stay here until I get this guy out of here.”
I’m trembling too hard to respond.
Walker plants his feet, crosses his arms, and glowers at the bathroom door until it opens. Ricky emerges looking better; he’s straightened his clothes, splashed water on his face, and restyled his hair. Most of his color has returned. That is, until he catches Walker’s death glare.
“You make it a habit to hit women?” Walker’s voice is sharp and hard, full of hatred.
“I don’t know what she told you, but—”
“There’s a handprint on her cheek. She didn’t have to say anything. I should haul your ass in for assault.”