Page 11 of Logan

It was one of my roommates. For a moment, I wondered what they were doing here, and my brain supplied only innocent reasons, still half lost in a mix of dreams and memories.

Then I noticed the wad of cash in their hand, rumpled green bills practically being crushed within their grip, and dazed confusion immediately snapped into anger.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Asking was pointless. I knew what they were doing, but the words still tumbled out of my mouth even as I shoved the man away from my stuff.

Unfortunately, my roommate had at least fifty pounds and several inches on me. My shove didn’t move him more than a few inches. I tried to snatch my money out of his hand, but he just shoved me away, so I landed back on my mattress.

“I had a bad night at the poker tables,” my roommate said as he shoved my money in his pocket. “It’ll just be a loan. I’ll pay you back.”

“The fuck you will.”

My blood boiled in my veins, tightening my throat while spurring my muscles into movement at the same time. I acted on instinct and swung at him, miraculously managing to land a hit square on his jaw. This time he staggered back and fell against the plywood that divided the room. Something cracked, and while it was probably just the old wood breaking under his weight, a sadistic part of me hoped it was his jaw.

“You fucking creep,” I shouted as I gathered up the bills that hadn’t made it into his pocket yet. “I’m not paying for your gambling addiction.”

I’d managed to hit him pretty hard, and a bruise was already forming on his jaw, but that didn’t keep him down for long. Based on his blown pupils, he was probably on something, because he didn’t seem to feel any pain. He sent the plywood divider crashing to the floor in pieces as he suddenly surged forward.

His fist hit me square in the face so fast I didn’t even see it move. The whole left side of my face exploded in pain, and I doubled over. Another punch hit me in the stomach, which sent me to my knees, then a kick to the ribs put me on the ground.

I curled into a ball on my mattress in a desperate attempt to protect myself from any further blows, but thankfully my roommate seemed satisfied now that I wasn’t fighting back.

“Stupid fucking whore,” the man muttered as he moved around the room. “Just go fuck someone else if you need money so bad.”

He kicked the remains of the plywood divider on his way out, then slammed the door behind him.

I lay on my mattress, barely moving for several minutes as I clutched my throbbing face. At first, I was too afraid to really probe the wound, scared that he had broken something. As my shock faded, I was able to determine that the area around my eye was swollen, but my nose didn’t hurt too much and there didn’t seem to be any blood.

My ribs and stomach also ached, but I could breathe without pain, so I didn’t think anything was broken there either.

I would have a nasty black eye and several other bruises, but at least I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital.

In the silence of the room, the sudden ringing of my phone was like an ice pick to my ears. I uncurled from my defensive ball just enough to fish the device out from under my pillow.

“What?”

An auto-generated voice answered me with only five words.

“Blue Steele, you have a client.”

Then the phone clicked off, immediately followed by the ping of an incoming text message that would provide the client’s info.

This was how I usually got my clients, and on a different day I would have been glad for a job I didn’t have to go hunt down myself.

But, fuck, I really wasn’t up to another job right now. I felt like I would fall apart if I moved too quickly, and the thought of handing myself over for someone else’s use turned my stomach even more than normal.

My gaze wandered to my hand, and the single twenty-dollar bill clutched in my grip. It was all that I’d managed to save from my roommates pilfering. If I didn’t make more soon, then never mind affording rent. I wouldn’t even be able to eat.

Dragging myself to my feet, I checked the info for the client. I had two hours before I needed to arrive at the specified hotel.

The address was one of the nicer hotels in the area. Not too fancy, but expensive enough that I’d only met clients there a few times, and each time I’d managed to make a pretty penny for my efforts.

That thought brought me a little energy. With any luck, the client wouldn’t be too demanding, and I could end the day with more money than I’d started with.

Leaving my half-destroyed room behind, I headed for the apartment’s singular bathroom so I could clean up and get ready. A cold washcloth would hopefully reduce some of the swelling around my eye, but there would be no hiding the bruise. Couldn’t afford the makeup needed for such a coverup.

Hopefully the client wouldn’t demand a discount for damaged goods.

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