Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,15
not quickly enough. Just as I move to slam the door in Todd’s face, he throws his weight against it, causing me to lose my grip and the handle to smash through the drywall behind it. Off-balance, I stumble backward, and he advances on me until my back is literally pressed against the fridge. His unwashed body is so close to me that the reek of cheap alcohol seeping through his pores is making my eyes water.
“I’ve had enough of your games, girl,” he sneers with his eyes trained hungrily on my tits. “Two years, I let you live here, underage. You think you can just leave whenever you want? Good thing Candy down the hall called me when you rolled in with your fancy friends, or I’d have missed this. She may give more rides than public transit, but the whore knows which side of the bed her reduced rent is buttered on.” He laughs at his own gross joke, an awful hissing sound, and his rotten breath forces a gag from me. “You owe me, and it’s time to pay up.” Running his nasty tongue across his palm, he slides his hand down his groin and grabs his crotch through his pants. “And don’t worry, your friend with the hot ass will be paying, too.”
His nicotine-stained fingers reach to yank the wide neck of my sweatshirt down, and I smack his hand away, revolted.
Oh, fuck that noise. Fuck that noise, HARD. This is NOT happening.
Hearing the commotion behind her, Sunday tries to pull herself in the window. From my peripheral vision, I see her misjudge the size of the opening in her haste and crack the top of her head on the frame.
Todd clamps his spit-slick palm around my throat and squeezes, his free hand fumbling with the button on my jeans. I throw my arm out to the side and flail around blindly on the countertop to my left, hoping to find something to use as a weapon, while my right hand tries to keep him out of my pants.
Little dark spots start to dance in my vision. My fingers close around the handle of the dirty frying pan waiting its turn to be washed. Holding on to it as tightly as I can, I swing my arm up and clock the pervy asshole in the side of his weaselly, nasty-ass head. The blow is enough to get him to let go of me, and I suck in huge breaths, caring far more about oxygen than his stench at this point.
Just then, Sunday comes streaking across the room, screaming bloody murder, and jumps on Todd’s back. Raking her pale blue fingernails across his face and digging them into his eye sockets, she hangs on like super glue as he tries to buck her off.
“You. Sick. Fuck.” My hands grip his bony shoulders tightly for leverage, each of my words accompanied by the satisfying slam of my knee into his balls.
Squealing like a pig, he attempts an awkward forward side bend to shield his junk, and the weight of the crazy blonde on his back trying to gouge his eyes out makes him lose his balance. He topples to the floor, taking Sunday with him and knocking me sideways in the process. I hit the ground with a thud that knocks some of the wind out of me. Lying on my back, I try sliding along the heavily worn carpet to work my way out from underneath the two bodies that landed on my legs.
There’s a sudden flurry of motion at my door, coupled with unintelligible cursing. One set of hands pulls my best friend off my attacker and hauls her away, legs and arms still flailing. A second, and very familiar, set grabs the back of Todd’s neck and the waist of his grubby cargo pants simultaneously and tosses him roughly through the open doorway. Smacking gracelessly into the opposite wall, he slides to the floor, cowering and trying to cover both his head and his nuts at the same time.
From my position on the floor, I watch with a sick sort of fascination as Poe pulls up his sleeves and crouches beside the still whimpering pathetic mess in the hall, rapping his knuckle hard on Todd’s forehead to get his attention.
“I’m only going to say this once, shithead. I have zero issue with making you disappear, and my family has enough money and connections for me to get away with it.” The quiet threat curls softly