Page 51 of Trailer Park Billionaire
I’m already trying to find out. We need to make sure it won’t become a problem.
Where the hell are you anyway? The RV is still gone.
Out. Will be back tomorrow.
You’re not staying over at her place, are you?
Not at. Just near. Big difference. Maybe I can catch whoever is responsible for her eye.
I’ll look for that box of chastity cages first thing when you’re back.
While Alex is busy thinking of my celibacy, I check for Helena’s well-being first thing in the morning. Last night, I set up the RV’s motion-activated dashcam to alert me of anyone entering Helena’s building. It woke me once when a neighbor left for, I assume, work—and once when two opossums fought and possibly made love simultaneously.
So I’m pretty sure Helena is alright when I make my way up to her apartment door at 7:00 AM. We shouldn’t leave too late if we want a decent shot at finding that 500-year-old canvas we need.
I knock on her door once and wait for her to open. When no one does, I knock again, louder this time. When my third knock goes unanswered, I start to get concerned. Did something slip past me? Did I not watch her building as well as I thought I did? Is there a back entrance that magically appeared overnight? I knock again, probably waking her neighbors this time. When Helena still doesn’t open, I pull my lockpicking set from my pocket and let myself in. Silently—in case there is still someone lurking—I step into the apartment. Everything is quiet. There’s no sign of a struggle. Kitchen and bathroom seem untouched, the windows are closed. No one appears to be in her small living room either, which only leaves her bedroom. I arm myself with a small statue from one of her shelves and carefully push the bedroom door open. Behind it, Helena is snoring peacefully. She’s lying on her belly, one leg hanging out of bed, her arm wrapped around a pillow that supports her head. Her hair ismessy, and there’s a little drool running from her mouth. It’s… adorable.
I pause, still gripping the small statue like a weapon, though the only threat in this room is how obscenely precious Helena looks in her sleep.
I should not be looking at her like this.
I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
Like this… masterpiece. She’s the kind of artwork that makes you stop and stare. Soft in all the right places, with a little craquelure around the edges—which only adds to the intrigue.
If she was a painting, she’d be the first thing I’d steal.
But that’s not why I’m here. I shake my head and lower the statue.
Waking her up feels almost like a crime in itself. At the very least, she deserves to wake up gently. Preferably to something pleasant… like breakfast.
I back out of the room, careful not to make a sound. After checking her fridge (which contains mostly instant ramen in its packaging still), I head back to the RV. It’s not much, but I’ve got just enough supplies to whip up something decent. A quick omelette with a filling of assorted vegetables.
A few minutes later, I return to Helena’s apartment, fully committed to the role of a man who just magically appears in her kitchen to make her morning better. I move quietly, setting up a humble, but flawless, breakfast spread. The omelette is golden, the orange juice is freshly squeezed, and the coffee smells strong enough to bring a dead man—and hopefully a sleeping beauty—back to life. I place some napkins on the plates which is when it hits me.
Maybe breaking and entering, and cooking breakfast in someone else’s kitchen isn’t quite the kind gesture it certainly seems to be at first glance. Especially not for someone who appears to have a history with domestic violence. She should feelsafe in her own home. Yet here I am, standing in it, uninvited. This could go very wrong.
I leave everything as is, quickly step back outside, and shut the door behind me. Then I knock loudly. “Helena? You awake? It’s me, your friendly, perfectly normal breakfast delivery service! Not intruding!”
I wait a beat, then knock again, a little louder this time. “I come bearing omelettes, coffee, and absolutely no evil, ulterior motives! Well, except that we need to leave soon to do some crime.”
Still nothing.
I knock again, worried I am going to wake the entire building before I manage to wake her. “Helena, please open this door before your neighbors call the cops! Also, I was joking about the crime thing.”
I press my ear to the door, hearing something shuffle faintly inside.
“We’re only preparing the crime,” I mutter under my breath, as the sound of movement confirms she’s up.
18
HELENA
The knocking yanks me out of my sleep violently, shoving me straight back to that day.It’s them.My heartbeat spikes, a cold sweat breaks over my skin. The knock is too familiar, too loud, too angry.
It’s them again.
I bolt upright, my breath stuck in my throat, my hands clenching the sheets. I can feel my pulse beat right in my eye—the memory of how it turned black pounding even harder.
