I had not noted he had a turntable, but although I was not emotionally attached to my knickknacks, I was to my vinyl, so I was down with having it in a safe place.
“Thanks, honey,” I said, then bid, “Come have a look at this couch.”
He moved into the room.
And we all watched as he did, and I had a feeling it wasn’t only me who enjoyed the show.
He looked at the laptop.
And his change of expression nearly made me choke on the effort of swallowing the bubble of laughter that surged up my throat.
He then looked at me. “Are you being serious?”
I started giggling and replied, “Not anymore.”
“Christ,” he muttered, but then cupped the back of my head, bent to kiss my forehead, let me go and sauntered out, warning, “It’s gonna be noisy ’cause I’m gonna be vacuuming.”
And he disappeared down the hall.
“I just had an orgasm because that man announced without a single hint of whining that he was going to vacuum,” Pepper decreed.
“I had an orgasm with the forehead kiss,” Hattie shared.
“I hope he doesn’t know you don’t own a pair of civvy high heels,” Ryn noted.
“Danny doesn’t care about high heels,” I told her.
She studied me a second before she looked to the hallway and murmured, “I’m rethinking putting off Boone.”
We heard the vacuum go on.
“And I’m rethinking putting off Auggie,” Pepper said, and when I looked to her, I saw she was also gazing at the hallway.
Hattie said nothing.
And I wondered if Axl could break through that shyness.
I hoped so.
Pepper closed her laptop and went to help Ryn with tidying my shoes as I folded down to the carpet beside Hattie, who was going through the pile of clothes that Ava and Lottie had set aside.
“These I think are mendable or still wearable,” Hattie said, pointing to a pile. She shifted her finger to the other pile. “These are—”
She didn’t finish because she jumped, I jumped, and the air went static because we heard the terrifyingly loud sound of glass shattering along with a gunshot over the noise of the vacuum.
Then another gunshot.
Mag!
I bounded to my feet, ready to head that way, but Hattie grabbed my hand, waylaying me, all while Ryn rushed the door.
She was closing it when she flew back as it flew open.
And there was Snag.
In my bedroom.
Pointing a gun at Ryn.
“Back the fuck off,” he growled to her.
She slowly backed away.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
A gun.
On Ryn.
And where was Mag?
He turned the gun on me.
I pushed Hattie away from me.
“You. Come. Now,” he ordered.
I didn’t hesitate a second.
I went to him.
He grabbed my upper arm in a painful grip and dragged me down the hall.
I whimpered when I saw the spray of blood on the wall in my living room, the vacuum resting on its side, still whirring, and Mag’s feet in prone position coming out from behind the remains of my couch that had been pulled from the wall in preparation of being removed from the apartment.
“Did you shoot Danny?” I asked tremulously, something snaking through my gut, so poisonous, I feared I’d throw up, at the same time the urge was so strong to pull away and go to Mag, I was struggling with beating it back.
But if I pulled away, the girls might be in (more) danger.
And if he took me away, they’d be free to call 911 to get help for Mag.
“Shut the fuck up,” Snag answered.
And then, even if I was willing, he dragged me out my front door with an excruciating yank on my arm.“Where is it!” Snag shouted in my face.
“I don’t know!” I shouted back for the millionth time.
He then backhanded me so brutally, the chair he’d tied me to tipped over and skidded several feet.
And I lay on my side, tied to that chair in that cold warehouse that didn’t have any fucking windows, seeing as they’d all been broken out, so it definitely didn’t have heat, and I didn’t know what to focus on.
The pain radiating out of my cheekbone, or the same thudding in my head where it’d cracked against the cement floor when I tipped over.
Or, through all this, the agony of seeing Mag’s feet that way on my floor.
In my reality, I saw Snag’s shoes fill my vision before he crouched over me.
“I gotta know where that fuckin’ bag is, bitch,” he snarled.
“Someone stole it from my car,” I told him, again, for the millionth time. “I have no idea where it is.”
“Your dad’s a dealer.”
I closed my eyes tight.
I opened them and said, “Not anymore.”
“Stupid cunt,” he bit out. “Like father, like fuckin’ son. It’s a joke, those two, both of ’em losers, both of ’em tryin’ to outdo each other on the street.”
Oh my God, Dad.
Oh my God, Mick.
Oh my God, why was this my goddamn life?