I don’t know what to think, other than the fact that she is more beautiful than I ever dreamed. She is real. And she has seen me. The real me. I have no robes to hide beneath now. No cloak. She has seen how I live.

I don’t think she realizes it’s me. Does she know that I’m real? Maybe she thinks like I did. Maybe she thinks I’m a dream. A figment of her imagination. Something to help her cope with the reality of her existence. Or maybe she thinks I’m the boogeyman from under her bed.

No. She is stronger than that. Stronger than me. She faces reality with both fists raised while I cower in a closet. She is so much more than I will ever be.

I don’t want her to see me like this. Covered in blood and whimpering like a little bitch. I have to get rid of her and make sure Kim is okay. I’ll go back inside if I have to. I’ll snap his neck if I have to, and I have a feeling a part of him knows that. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t dare touch Kim.

Either way, first things first: I have to get rid of the angel standing before me.

“That would be a very bad idea,” I say at last.

“My uncle’s a cop, and my dad’s an ex-cop. I can help you.”

I scoff. Toss in a little sneer for added texture. Then do my best to intimidate her. To let her know how unwanted her offer is. “The minute I need the help of a sniveling brat from the Heights, I’ll let you know.”

That throws her, but not for long. She sets her jaw. I’ve seen her do it a hundred times, and I want to groan aloud.

“If you go back in there, I’m calling the police. I mean it.”

I bite down, completely frustrated. “You’ll do more harm than good.”

She shakes her head. “I doubt it.”

“You don’t know anything about me. Or him.”

“Is he your father?”

This is getting us nowhere. There is one surefire way to get rid of a girl, however.

I hate to do it, especially in light of the hell I just came from. The hell she just saved me from. But I steel my resolve and make my move. After raising a hand to her slender throat again, I lower my head and gaze at her like a panther might seconds before attacking a gazelle.

She stiffens, and I have her in my snare, so I charge forward. Press the length of my body against hers. Lean in and whisper into her ear. “What’s your name?”

“Charley,” she says, fear finally staking its claim.

I pull the scarf down so I can see her better. So I can take in every inch of her face. Of her sculpted mouth.

She tries to add “Davidson” at the end, but I’ve surprised her and it comes out as one mangled syllable. Astonishingly, it sounds like the name I gave her, and I have to wonder if that’s a coincidence.

“Dutch?” I ask, scrunching my brows together.

She stares for a while, her eyes glossy from the frozen December air around us. A quake runs through her body. “No. Davidson,” she whispers as my fingers drift down and deliberately brush over her breast. She flinches, but I feel the tiniest bit of desire radiate in an arc around her.

We can’t have that.

More than a little sorry for what I’m about to do, I lean in again and whisper into her ear, “Have you ever been raped, Dutch?” I would never actually rape her. I would never do anything to hurt her. Fortunately she doesn’t know that.

She sucks cold air in through her teeth. Curls her hands into fists. Glances at her sister, who is terrified. Then she whispers a breathy, “No.”

I can feel a raging sea of emotions tumbling inside her. Swirling and clawing and fighting for dominance. But there are few emotions that will overcome the natural instinct for survival.

I tighten my hand around her throat. Force a knee between hers. Spread her legs to gain access to the most intimate part of her. Then I cup a hand at her crotch. Stroke her through her jeans. Touch her like I have the right.

She grabs my wrist with both hands. “Please stop.”

I do, but I keep my hand at her crotch.

She presses a palm against my chest and pushes softly. “Please.”

“You’ll leave?”

“I’ll leave.”

I wait a moment longer—studying her, memorizing every curve—before raising my arms and placing them on the wall behind her.

“Go,” I say, my voice more of a bark, a harsh this-is-your-last-chance warning.

She doesn’t hesitate this time. She ducks under my arm and sprints past her sister, grabbing her along the way. They hurry to put distance between us like frightened cats, and part of me wants to call her back. To fall at her feet. To finish what I started. That’s when I realize I may be more like Earl Walker than I’ve ever imagined.

15

I stay outside for the rest of the night, thinking. Contemplating the plan Amador and I had been going over for months.

Earl was going to kill me. He wanted to. He can feel his grip on me loosening, and the tighter he closes his fist, the easier I slip through. He knows I am going to take Kim and leave him. I’ve been planning it for weeks now. Years, really, but the actual plan was set in motion a few weeks back.

It’s time.

But I can’t get back into the apartment the next morning. Earl has locked me out, and I don’t dare risk waking him by having Kim sneak out of the apartment to let me into the building. She was at the window of our bedroom most of the night, watching me. Struggling to stay awake. She finally fell asleep around 4 A.M.

I tap lightly on the window just as the sun paints the horizon a brilliant orange. Earl will be asleep for hours yet. If there weren’t bars on the window, I’d get her out and take her with me, but I’ll just have to come back for her. Amador will be waiting.

Kim raises her head, her lids heavy with sleep. She cracks the window, but I tell her to stop.

“He might wake up,” I whisper.

“You know he won’t. I’ll unlock the door.”

“No. It’s okay. I can’t risk that landlady calling the police. I’m going to meet Amador.”

She pushes her fingers through the crack. I reach up and weave them into my own.

“She’s real, Kim.”

Kim smiles. “I know. I told you she was.”

“You did, didn’t you?” I say with a laugh.

“You have to tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“Tell her you love her.”

“Yeah.” I kick a rock off the crate with my bare foot. “I threatened to rape her. I’m not sure she wants to hear any professions of love from me.”

“I saw. And I know why you did it. Let me go with you.”

“He might wake up, love. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire. Besides, I still have some last-minute errands to run. I’ll be back.”

“Here,” she says. She opens the window farther and hands me a clean shirt, shoes, socks, and a jacket.

“Thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can. We’re almost finished with the car.”

She nods. She’s scared of Earl, but not for her own sake.

I start to leave, but the niggling at the back of my neck stops me. I turn back to her. “If anything happens to me, get to Amador.” I take her hand again. “Find him. He’ll know what to do.”

She nods again.

I leave, knowing it’s too quiet in the apartment. Knowing something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong.