The Thief Who Saved My Life

Chapter 11

"Don't fucking embarrass me again," Garret barks, slamming the door behind him. I stare up at the ceiling trying to ignore the tears rolling down my cheeks. I hate crying in front of him. I hate showing him how weak I am. Because I know he likes it. He gets off on making people - making me - cry. On making me miserable. I don't move from where I am. I won't until I'm composed. But I don't hurt at the moment either, not much at least. I'm feeling thankfully numb from the pain thanks to the liquor coursing through my veins. Tomorrow will be a different story.

This bed is so uncomfortable. I used to wonder if he was like those crazy people in movies who filled his mattress with drugs or weapons and that why it's so awful. I checked once and there were no cuts in the mattress, nothing hidden anywhere. I'm pretty sure it's just that horrible of a mattress. You would think with the amount of money he makes or blackmails me (and God knows how many other people) for that he could afford a nicer bed.

I sit up carefully, worried I'll be in too much pain, but the alcohol has left it all as a deadened sort of throbbing. It hurts, but I can handle it for now. Working my way up until I'm standing, I debate just leaving my stuff here. The small bag I brought is still in the poker room. I'd leave it, but my phone is in it and my cash. I need both in order to get a cab back home.

I have to go back in there.

Wiping my eyes dry, walk over to Garret's closet door, which is a giant mirror. My eyes are red, but not too puffy. So for all anyone knows I was in here getting high or something. As long as they don't look too closely, I doubt anyone will notice. I doubt they'll care. I pull in a short breath and straighten my shoulders.

Walking as normally as I can manage, I go back into the room where the poker has stopped. All the men who were sitting at the table are grouped together, all paying out or collecting. They must have started long before I showed up if they're already done. Even the losers are laughing and joking because to most of them this game was less about the money than the networking opportunities. Besides, intentionally or not, Garret lost tonight and when the host loses, things usually go smoother.

I sneak in mostly unnoticed and walk to the table, giving the men wide berth as I do. Bending over and swallowing the shocked groan of pain as I do, I pick up my bag. I'm tempted to look through it and make sure the cash is actually still there. But even if it's not, I have ways to pay so it's not worth confronting the asshole about. Not when I'm barely able to move without pain. I'm almost out the door when Garret calls my name. I stop and turn to look at him, fake smile firmly in place.

"Trying to sneak off without a goodbye?"

Thankfully, he closes the distance between the two of us, because I don't think I could manage that much more walking. I rise to the tips of my toes and press a kiss to his cheek at the last moment he turns his face so that our lips connect. It's not cute. It's not romantic. It's disgusting. As he grabs my face to kiss me in front of all these people, I close my eyes so that I don't start crying again.

"See you soon," I say though I'm praying it's not true.

He lets me walk off then. Back through the party that still hasn't died down and out of the apartment. There are a couple people outside, they're not any worse than the people that were inside. I stand opposite them, making sure to keep enough distance between us that I can run if I need to. But truth be told, I'm more scared of the idea of Garret coming out here than anyone else in this complex. I pull out my phone and dial the number for the cab service.

A throat clears from behind me and I whip around, ready for anything... well, almost anything. I didn't expect Tyler and Brandon to follow me out. Brandon's staring somewhere behind me but my eyes lock onto Tyler's. They're swirling with emotion that I don't even want to take the time to decode. I don't want to realize the pity, the disgust, or whatever judgment lies behind those green irises. Unable to hold his gaze, I avert my gaze to his shoes.