Page 19 of Filthy Little Lies

“It’s not where I put you.” His eyes narrow more, and he’s on me in a flash. His hand snakes behind my head and fists my hair, pulling my head back and to the side. “What happened to your face?”

My face? What happened…oh right, the cut.

“It’s a little cut.” I slap at his wrist, but I’m about as dangerous as a fly to him.

“It’s not little. How did this happen?”

“Let me go.”

He turns my head again, bringing his eyes level with mine. A shiver courses down my spine. “Tell me.”

“A branch on the tree hit me on my way down.”

“On your way down from the roof you climbed across from the window you climbed out of?”

“You seem to have pieced it all together already.” I try to smile, but his hand grips my hair tighter.

“It needs to be cleaned.”

“I was just taking care of that when some crazy man started banging on my door.”

He closes his eyes, inhales so deeply his nostrils cave in.

“You ran away.”

“No.” I slap at his wrist again. “I escaped.”

He studies me for a long moment, as though he’s weighing his options. Then he gives a curt nod. Whatever he was deciding, he’s decided.

He releases my hair, only to grab my upper arm and drag me across the living room and into the bathroom where I’ve already laid out the first aid kit.

“Sit.” He points to the closed toilet.

“I can handle this myself. I want you to leave,” I demand boldly while staring at his chest.

He knuckles my chin up until our eyes meet. “You’re in enough trouble. You should cut your losses before you find yourself in even more.”

“You say that like I’m any of your business. I’m not. You had your fun last night. I won’t go back to your shops. I’ll steer clear of you and anything involving you. Just leave.”

He leans into me. The warmth of his breath brushes across my face.

“You’re right about one thing, you won’t be going back to any of my shops. But that’s the only thing you got right.”

“I don’t understand. Why won’t you just leave?” I can’t help the little whine in my voice. The man is infuriating.

“Sit down so I can clean your cut, and I will explain how you don’t have to worry about Vincent Ricci, and how you are going to repay me for all the trouble you’ve caused, and then when you’re all fixed up, I’ll tell you how I’m going to punish you for running away and hurting yourself.”

There’s a short circuit in my brain. Almost none of what he said made any sense at all.

“Why don’t I have to worry about Vincent anymore?”

He points at the toilet again. “Sit down. Now.”

With one shove he could have me exactly where he wants me, but I get the feeling it’s important to him that I do it on my own. If it will hurry up this little encounter, I can give him that much, so I sit.

He picks through the items on the small countertop of the sink.

“I already cleaned it. I was just about to put the ointment on when you broke down my door. How am I supposed to explain to my landlord how that happened? He’s not going to believe I bumped into it. If I tell him some crazed man showed up and kicked it down, he’ll throw me out of the building. I’ve seen him do it more than once to women whose boyfriends have caused trouble in the building.”