Page 46 of Wanting What's Wrong

Coming out of the bathroom, Victor stands there with a Red Bull in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He glances at the butter knife and then flicks his chin at the box. He’s not an idiot. And I’m pretty sure he’s the kind of guy that has hidden secret stuff in vents for most of his life.

“Forget something?”

“This is still my place until Friday. I paid you, didn’t I?”

Victor takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Pues, sure. But still surprised to see you. Those two fucking gringo assholes yesterday said you wouldn’t be back. But here you are.”

“Yeah? Want me to give them a call? Have a nice little reunion? We can stop by the ER to get your broken nose set afterwards. How’s that sound?”

Victor’s eyes shimmer, and he smiles a little. “Gonna miss your spunk,mujer.”

“Take care of yourself, Victor,” I say, and head for the door.

“But wait, do me a favor. Tell all your guys to leave this place the fuck alone,sabes?”

I spin around to face him. I’ve known Victor a long time. His English isn’t perfect but he most definitely knows the difference betweenbothandall.“Allmy guys?”

He nods. “Those two soldiers yesterday, right, and that fucking Russian who leaves you love letters.”

My breath gets caught in my throat. Bile tickles my esophagus. “Did he come back?”

Victor nods, patting down his pockets, and produces another white folded letter. “Left you this. What the fuck do I look like, the postman?Por favor.”

For a long second, I just stare at the folded note in Victor’s thick, dirty fingers. What if I don’t read it? What happens then? If someone threatens you but you don’t read the threat, did it happen at all?

But the not knowing would be worse than the knowing. I know that for sure.

I slowly take the note from his fingers and keep it safe and hidden in my palm. “He won’t bother you anymore either. I promise.”

As fast as I can move now, I book it back down the steps and outside.

Edward is still in the Humvee with the engine running. It must be clear enough that I’m panicked because as soon as he sees me, he leans across and pops open the passenger’s side door.

“Switch plates my ass,” Edward says, and guns it out of the parking lot.

I don’t answer. I don’t say a word. A tiny, fleeting whisper of relief comes over me as we swing out of the parking lot and the locks click automatically.

Pushing my hands against my belly, I try to keep the knots inside from tightening, trying desperately to stop myself from puking my yogurt all over everything.

I count to ten, breathing in. Hold for ten, and then breathe out for ten. It helps…but only barely. Because the little note in my palm feels about as dangerous as a scorpion.

When Edward depresses the accelerator to get on the highway, checking over his left shoulder for traffic, I take my chance and unfold the note.

The paper shakes as I turn it over. And then I read the words. Once. Twice. Three times.

This isn’t over. I’m having fun now.

I suck in a panicked breath and the world spins around me. Spins and spins until I’m nearly sick with it.

I shove the paper into my purse and look outside, at the boarded-up, burned-out houses below the highway bridges as they whiz past.

“You good?”

My heart is in my throat and my pulse is racing. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

“I gotta tell you, Kat. You need to tell Trent we came down here. I don’t feel right lying to him. I’m sure you don’t either.”

I bite my lip hard, trying to calm my nerves, and press my hand on my belly again to untie the knot that seems to be always pulling itself tighter.

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