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“No.” I’m already out of the car.

Absolutely fucking not.

CHAPTER 13

Jubilee

Mom is sober tonight. Trent hasn’t been here yet. And my week is up.

When I walk in, she’s pulling on her coat. “Hey, Juju Bean, we need milk. You’re flushed, sweetie. You okay?”

I like it when she checks on me. I know she cares. At least the drinking is only on Friday nights. The smoking, however…

“I’m fine. It’s getting colder out there.” I watch her pat her pocket for her wallet. “Don’t forget the cigarettes.”

“Hey,” she scoffs. “I’m down to a pack a week.”

“And I’m very proud of you.” I am.

She leans in to kiss my cheek. “Back in fifteen. Tyson will be along soon to collect his weekly pound of flesh.” A shadow crosses her face.

After tonight, if all goes as planned, he won’t collect a microgram.

The door shuts behind her. I clip the button camera to the front of my shirt, check the angle against the living room, and start it recording. I’ve spent the last week talking to former tenants, saving screenshots, and collecting names. I’ve basically earned a minor in freelance espionage.

He gave me a week, but I don’t expect him immediately after Mom leaves.

The lock turns less than three minutes later. Sleazebag has his own key. I freeze as he steps inside and finds me alone near the couch. “Hello, Miss York.” As if formality could erase his lewdness. He shuts the door behind him. I grab the remote and turn off the television.

Every instinct I have screams at me to check the camera, but I drift a few steps deeper into the living room, keeping us both in what I’m reasonably sure is the frame.

“You’ve been busy,” he says with a twisted scowl.

My pulse kicks hard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He starts toward me. Smug, but the lazy confidence is gone. “I heard you’ve been asking questions. Talking to former tenants.”

Fuck. I manage a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe I’m sociable.”

His upper lip curls into a sneer. “You think you’re clever.”

“I know I am.” Wrong answer.

He marches through the space, clamping a hand on my upper arm, right over last week’s bruise, and shoves me back until my hip slams the edge of the couch.

“Let go of me!” I wrench against him.

“You stupid little bitch.”

He fists the front of my shirt, and the fabric tears. Panic detonates through me. For one awful second, everything I’ve taught myself about staying calm vanishes beneath pure fear. Then, anger rises to meet it. I shove his chest. “Get the fuck off me!”

He drives me into the wall beside the couch, his forearm crushing my collarbone. “You should’ve taken the offer. You think I haven’t made people disappear? I’ve collected plenty of other people’s skeletons. And the ones who don’t play ball?” His breath is hot and sour. “Nobody ever finds theirs.”

I snap. Fury drives my knee upward. He twists at the last second, and I miss my target, but his grip loosens enough for me to jerk free. His fingers catch me again.

I suck in a breath to scream. Behind him, the front door bangs against the wall.

Suddenly, the weight disappears. Tyson makes a startled, choking sound as a hand closes around the back of his neck and rips him away from me.