Page 20 of The Hitch
The tiny camera I placed in the hallway outside Melody's apartment showed Art and Claude arguing for another twenty minutes or so before the men split, and Art slammed his door shut. I can hear the low thumping of bass from his apartment through the surveillance system. Shocking, honestly, that he hasn't been evicted for noise complaints.
Though I imagine the other residents don't feel inclined tomake waves, as it were.
At seven on the dot, Melody comes crashing down the hallway, fury on her face. I grin—it seems the other tenants have already given her the news. I shift myself on her bed, patiently waiting for her to make an appearance. With one earbud in, I watch her unlock her door and huff in frustration as the doorknob refuses to turn. After a few swear words, she finally gains entry to her home… where I watch. And I wait.
She scoops the letter up from the floor and rips it open, eyes flashing left to right. A genuine smile cracks across my face as she reaches the best part, and she drops the sheet of paper. Looking around cautiously, she stumbles to her sink and poursherself a glass of water. The crystal clear video shows a drop of water escaping her frantic gulps, dripping down her chin, sliding to her chest, and leaving a tiny wet spot on her work shirt.
Absolutely beautiful.
My heart picks up its pace—I'm so close. I'm so fucking close to her. I watch her slam the plastic cup down on the counter, and I hear her groan loudly.Yes, yes! Come to bed….
She kicks off her shoes and rubs her forehead, her face scrunched up in annoyance. Poor baby. She must have a headache. I watch her grab a plastic tub of yesterday's dinner—spaghetti and mushrooms—out of the fridge. She plops down on the kitchen floor with a fork and digs in.
The wait is agony. I'm so goddamn close. She just won't come the fuck to bed! I huff out an exasperated breath and slap my hand over my mouth, eyes glued to the video feed on my phone. If she heard me, she doesn't make any indication of such. She slurps up the remaining pasta and tosses the tub into her sink.
I hear her groan as she stands, muffled down the hallway, and then through my earbud. There's a split-second delay—still—but that won't matter for much longer. I shove my free hand into my suit pocket and grip the cold tube hidden within. An insurance policy. Just in case she doesn't come quietly.
After what feels like an eternity, she sighs and turns toward the hallway. I hold my breath as I watch her shuffle ever closer… until she reaches her bathroom.
"Motherfuck," I whisper and immediately regret it. She's just a few feet away, doing her business. If she listens hard enough, she could definitely hear me. Fortunately, it seems she hasn't. The toilet flushes as she washes her hands. A few moments later, she emerges.
Time seems to slow down as she takes step after step closer to her bedroom. Closer tome. I straighten my posture and stow myphone in my pocket. Hands folded casually in my lap, a devilish grin breaks across my face.
"Hi, Melody."
She freezes. Time doesn't slow—it stops. Every frantic beat of her heart feathers in her throat, and I have to hold myself back from licking my lips. Her fear is delectable.
And then, everything explodes.
Melody
My throat burns from my hair-raising scream, and I throw everything at the man—that asshole, Dante—sitting on my bed. My phone, the pen from work, everything in my pockets. I launch whatever I can grab at him, but he bats them away and keeps smiling at me. Like some kind of demonic freak, he just… takes it. Sitting. Waiting.
I'm trying to force my legs to move, but I can't. Fuck, I wish I still had my shoes on, I want to knock his lights out—I want my goddamn knife, but he's sitting on it, on my fucking mattress!
"Get the fuck out!" I shriek at him, pawing at my pockets for anything to throw.
"Come sit, won't you?" He pats my fuzzy red blanket beside him. He's on my bed! He'stouchingmy things! Fuck!
"No! Get the fuck out!" I claw at the doorframe, holding myself up. My heart is pounding in my chest so fast, it feels like a hummingbird trying to break out of a cage. My breaths are shallow and quick; I can't get enough air. Oh fuck. Oh, god and fuck.
I watch in horror as he stands and approaches me. Holding my hands out, I back away—thank you, legs, for finally moving—but he's backed me into the corner of my doorway.
"Hush, now. You don't need to scream. I can hear you just fine at a normal, reasonable volume." He slides one hand into his pocket. "You read my letter?"
His fuckingletter?Oh, fuck and god and shit and damn!
My vision tunnels, and all I can see is his smarmy face. The black tattoos on his neck seem to wriggle and writhe, hypnotizing me. The room swirls, and I fall to my knees. My stomach lurches, and it takes all of my willpower not to vomit up the dinner I just ate. He's here.
He's here.
And he's going to kill me.
"Oh, baby. No. No, I'm not here to kill you." Shit, I said that out loud? "You did. And that, too."
"Fuck," I huff out and drop my head into my hands. "You're not?"
The man—Dante—kneels down in front of me and lays a gentle hand on my wrist. "No. No, I've got something much,muchbetter for you."
