Page 34 of Roma King
She narrows her eyes. For some reason, she doesn’t believe me. Sitting back in her chair, weary all of a sudden, she picks up her mug. She looks as if she’s just aged ten years in the span of ten short seconds. “Haveyougot a son?” she asks.
“No. But I don’t need to be a mother to know how frightening this must be for—”
“I really must insist that you leave now.”
What the actualfuckis wrong with this woman? Her attitude is fucking glacial. I glower at her as I slowly get to my feet. “Don’t worry. I can see now that it was a mistake coming here. I’ll leave your tent and—”
“Not just my tent. I need you to leave the fair, please. And don’t come back here. A return visit wouldn’t be advisable, if you know what’s good for you.”
I gape at her, my mouth hanging open. “Are you…are youthreateningme?”
The woman’s eyes form two angry slits. She smiles up at me, but the thin line of her mouth is a cruel looking thing. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just looking out for your best interests, that’s all. And coming back here wouldn’t be a wise path for you, child. Go home now. Get some sleep. Wake up tomorrow and put all of this behind you. I’m sure your friend Corey will show up sooner or later.”
If I stand here for one second longer, I’m going to snap. If I have to look at the woman’s calculating, unfeeling face for one more moment, I’m going to end up doing something rash. I reach across the table for the photo of Corey, but Shelta’s hand slams down on top of it. “I think I’ll keep this,” is all she says. Why she wants to keep it, I have no clue, but I get the feeling I’m being baited. Like shewantsme to do something ill-advised. I back away, shaking my head.
“By all means, keep it. I can print out another one.”
I don’t look back as I storm out of the tent. Garrett’s thunderous expression tells me he heard what Shelta said. He scowls as I hurry back the way we came toward the exit, where Leo, still in his orange jacket, jumps out of his seat when he sees us flying past. “Leaving already? Barely in there an hour, you were.” He shouts something else after us, his voice full of excitement, but I don’t hear his words. I’m too angry to stop and talk to him. At the top of the stairs, Patrin is waiting. The line of people has gone now, everyone undoubtedly already down below, but a man stands beside him. Their body language suggests they’re locked in a heated argument, but their voices are soft and quiet. Hissed, almost. As I reach the top of the stairs, I see the broad, muscular shoulders and the looming height of the other figure, and I realize who it is. It’s the guy with the obnoxiously green eyes. Perfect.
Patrin stops speaking to him as he sees me approach. It takes the other guy a second longer to notice that I’m barreling towards them. Garrett makes a grab for the back of my jacket, but he’s not quick enough; I’m already curling my hand into a fist and launching it into the guy’s arm, snarling at him like a deranged lunatic. “Nice family you’ve got, buddy. You tell her she can’t bully me. She can’t threaten me into doing what she wants. I’m going to keep looking for Corey no matter what cryptic bullshit she comes out with. And Iwillcome back here if I want to. She can’t stop me. Who does she think she is, some fucking Bella Mafiosa dictator? No wonder your attitude stinks. You were probably raised by a pack of fucking wolves.”
He’s shocked, that much is clear. He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to respond. It would only be more arrogant, self-serving swagger anyway.
Garrett grins at Shelta’s son like a fiend. I grab hold ofhissleeve and drag him off down the street. We’re fifty feet away when laughter, loud and boisterous, floods the empty cross section, bouncing off the walls of the surrounding buildings. It’s a raw, rough, brash laugh that makes me want to pivot on my heel, run back there and slap the bastard across that savagely handsome face of his.
I don’t know who he is.
I don’t even know his name.
But I do know he hasn’t been slappednearlyenough.
It’s not until I get back home, slamming the door to the apartment closed behind me, that I realize I have forgotten my phone.
12
ZARA
THE BADASS CARD
“So, you went to the fair, got fucked around by a hustler, threatened by a fortune teller, assaulted a perfect stranger, and managed to lose your phone? Sounds like quite a night.” In the cafeteria at work, the glare I send my co-worker Kelly’s way could curdle milk. She shrugs it off, smirking at me wickedly. “What did he say? The fortune teller’s kid? After you ripped him a new one.” She sucks strawberry milkshake through her straw with all the determination of a hooker who wants to get the job done and go home early.
“He didn’t say anything. He just laughed.”
“What a prick. How old was he?”
“I don’t know. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”
“What did he look like?”
“Like a twenty-eight-year-old asshole. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.”
She beams at me. “So, he was hot, then.”
This is the understatement of the century. The guy was more than hot. He was fuckingbeautiful. Not in a feminine way. Beautiful in a savage, rough, raw masculine way, that had robbed me of my breath. I’ve been steaming mad since last night, especially with myself—how could I have been stupid enough to leave my fucking phone?—and I’ve only been getting angrier. I can’t seem to shake the memory ofhimfrom my head, and there are so many other things I should be thinking about. Corey, for one. “Please can we change the subject. It’s the fortune teller I’m still reeling over. The fucking stones on her. She was rude as hell when we went in there. Then even ruder after she drew that stupid tarot card. I should call somebody.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’d be a dick move, but the fair’s set up in the old subway station in Rochester Park. If I reported it to the—”
