Prologue
Sam must have walked by the place a million times on her way home from work. And it never failed to send a shiver down her spine. Whether it was due to fear, revulsion, or something else, she was never quite sure.
It certainly wasn't the kind of place she would have been caught dead in. The music was too loud for one thing. The bass beat like a heart drum through your feet as you passed, and no light spilled from the open doorway. The windows of the old warehouse were completely painted black.
Sam tried hard to suppress a nervous giggle as she stole a glance at the twin mammoths guarding the doorway. A deep purple velvet rope stretched between them like some weird umbilical cord. Did they really think they looked cool? Yeah, some girl's might have thought they were good looking, in a thugged out Blues Brothers kind of way. But they gave her the creeps.
She ducked her head and picked up the pace. Hoping to avoid catching their attention. She really didn't want to think about a confrontation with the walking walls.
It was only a couple more blocks to the renovated warehouse flat she shared with Sheba. Her entirely too fat Calico and Persian mix cat and one very lonely spider plant that had seen better days.
Chapter One
The key gave her grief like always as she had to jiggle it while pulling up on the doorknob. She knew it wouldn't do any good, but she'd try the idiot landlord again in the morning. Maybe if she bugged him enough, he'd get off his butt and fix it. Well, it was worth a try anyway.
She flipped on the light and let out a little huff to blow a stray blond lock out of her eyes. She knew she should cut the unruly mass of corn silk curls that hung to just below her ribs. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. She looked in the dingy mirror that hung above the side table as she flung her keys in the glass candy dish that had been her grandmother's last birthday gift to her.
Time was starting to catch up to her. At least it felt like it. She couldn't actually see the crows feet and worry lines yet. But she thought she could feel them there. Just below the surface. Waiting to spring up at her one morning when she least expected it and shout "Hey you! You're getting old." But it was probably just her imagination.
What she did see in the mirror wasn't as bad as all that. She tried very hard to take care of herself. At just shy of her 27th birthday, she still looked better than some girls 5 or 10 years younger. While she didn't believe in "exercise" per say, she did believe in hard work and staying active. She walked most everywhere and didn't own a car. Public transportation was too readily available in LA not to use it.
She stood 5'9" in her bare feet and still wore the same size 14 jeans she had in high school. She'd never been one of the "skinny" girls. Her curves had hit her at about 12 and there had been no help for it. Funny though, she'd never dated much back then. Not because they hadn't asked, but because she simply couldn't bring herself to be bothered with them. Her mind was always on her books. And her heart, well, she wasn't going there. Not tonight.
She gave herself a mental shake and nudged the door shut with her heel. Sheba picked that moment to hop up on the table and demand to know why she hadn't been fed yet. "I know Sheba. I know. I've got what you want right here in my pocket." She reached out and scratched the black spot behind the cats left ear. Her favorite greeting.
She was rewarded with an even louder bleat as Sheba dropped down from the table to saunter into the "kitchen" of the one room flat. Which amounted to a counter jutting out into the middle of the open space and an L shaped counter top behind it with just enough space built in between the battered cupboards for an old chipped porcelain double sink and the four burner stove that looked like it had been there since the 50's. Her poor old fridge sat against the end of the counter. Facing sideways so it didn't block the bathroom door.
She gazed longingly at her only luxury, the ancient cast iron tub that took up most of the tiny bathroom. Truth be told, it was her sole reason for taking this flat over the other nicer ones she had looked at. As tall as she was, an old tub like that one was a Gods' send at the end of a long night at the record shop where she worked.
Sheba bleated impatiently in front of her bowl. Pulling Sam back to the business at hand. She'd get her soke. It would just have to be later. She sighed and hit the light switch over the sink. The sound of the electric can opener was all Sheba needed to push her fuzzy head against Sam's leg in appreciation of the tuna to come. She dumped the tuna in the bowl and turned to rinse the can for recycling.
That's when she caught the shadow of something on the balcony. Her senses immediately began to sharpen. She slowly reached for the butcher knife lying in the bottom of the sink. She got a tight grip on it and turned round to face whoever was out there.
Making sure to stay behind to counter, she took two steps forward and leaned over just enough to get a good look out the sliding glass door. A flash of movement was all the warning she had as the glass shattered in.
Two men came stumbling through the stardust of glass as it fell, grappling like Grecian wrestlers. She jumped back just in time to avoid being hit as they smashed against the counter hard. The one who hit the counter let out a loud gaff of air and slid down against the low wall under the Formica.
That's when she heard a voice from her past grate out through clenched teeth, “Lock yourself in the bathroom and don't come out till I tell you to. NOW!"
Without thinking twice she snatched up Sheba in one hand, stilling holding the knife in the other and did just that.
She leaned on the sagging sink cabinet and tried to catch her breathe. Please, please Goddess, tell me I imagined that. Tell me that isn't who I think that is. She prayed silently. All the time listening intently to the destruction going on outside the door.
There was a resounding thud as something very large hit the bathroom door. Then everything got eerily still. A faint russelling was all she could hear. Then a strong knock on the door followed by labored breathing and he said, "Alright. You can come out now."
But I don’t want to come out. She thought to herself. She really didn't. She didn't want to see if she was right. But she couldn't stay locked in here like an idiot either.
She dumped Sheba unceremoniously in the claw footed tub and, still holding the knife, slowly opened the door. Her heart broke as she looked up into the warmest brown eyes she'd ever seen.
"Hi." He said. That halfhearted, incredibly irresistible smile she remembered melting her heart. She didn't know what to do. On one hand she wanted to collapse in his arms. On the other, she wanted to see what would happen if she used the knife in her hand on his cold black heart. As always he read her like an open book. And promptly took a step back to allow her to pass.
After surveying what was left of her possessions, she was seriously considering that knife thing again. She whirled on him. "WHAT in the nine billion names of GOD were you doing? What are you doing here? And I hope you realize that you ARE going to help me clean up this mess don't you?"
He started to chuckle, but obviously the look in her eyes and the knife in her hand helped his sense of self-preservation kick in, because he began to cough instead.
"I was saving your pretty little neck Samantha darling." The way he drew out "darling" made her want to scream. And not in anger.
"So, what did you do with the body? Since I don't see any blood I am assuming he got away?" She hoped she sounded smug and cold. Because she certainly didn't feel that way. She wasn't sure exactly what she was feeling, but it was anything but cold.
He turned his back on her and started picking up the larger pieces of glass and carrying them out to the balcony. Completely unafraid of the knife she still gripped tightly. Either that or he was daring her to do it. Knowing him it could have gone either way.
"Hell's fire," she muttered and went to put the knife back in the sink. Glass crunching under her booted feet. Damn but she was glad she hadn't had time to kick her shoes off yet. At least it wouldn't be too hard to clean up the needle sharp shards. Hardwood floors were good for easy cleaning.
She half turned and stole a good look at him in the wane light from the single bulb over the sink. What she saw made her heart sink all the way down to her lower belly. Where it melted and pooled like chocolate on a hot summer day. If anything, 10 years had made him even better looking.
Their birthdays were only a couple weeks, and two years, apart. So that would make him almost 29. There wasn't a bit of gray in the thick dark hair that curled against the collar of his expensive looking silk shirt. In fact, he didn't look that much older than the last time she'd seen him. When he'd walked away from her without looking back even once. There were no lines showing on his face. He really didn't look a day over 19.
He caught her staring and that smug, rogue's grin came back. "See something you like?" His eyes turned that annoying / totally sexy shade of deep gold.
Sam grunted and walked back into the bathroom. Sheba was still trying to get her over sized butt out of the deep sided bath tub. Ordinarily Sam would have been rolling on the floor laughing at her. But given the current circumstances, she just reached in and hauled her out. She carried her to her travel cage on the opposite side of the flat. Sheba let out a very unhappy meow and fought Sam as hard as she could. But she eventually lost and submitted to the confinement.
Sam was in the process of rubbing the scratches on her wrist Sheba had been nice enough to gift her with, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She looked up from her wrist just in time to see him take a step back. A strange light glowed in his eyes.
"Riley?" She didn't know if it was just the sound of her voice, or the tremble of real fear she couldn't hide, but he shook his head and turned away.
"Riley, what is going on?" She walked over and reached out to put her hand on his arm. He snatched his arm away like she'd burned him. "Go fix those scratches. They look kind of deep." He never even turned around to look at her.
She was surprised to find that his rebuff hurt. And it made her angrier than she'd been in years. She held her wrist under the hot water to rinse the worst of the scratches. She'd worked long and hard to build a thick wall around her heart when he'd left. And she wasn't about to let him literally come crashing back into her life and break it down so easily.
She pulled open a drawer and grabbed a dish towel. Wrapping it around her wrist, she turned back to the rest of the room.
Riley had moved away into the "living room". She always thought of each space in quotations since it was all really one space. She had tried to separate each area by grouping the furniture. Of course right now that was a joke since most of her furniture was in pieces.
He had turned her threadbare old couch back upright and was sitting on one arm. Hunched over like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
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Tune in next Saturday for the next installment, same bat time, same...awwwhh, you know the drill ;)
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