Page 40 of Silver Sinner

I slap her before I even know what I'm doing. The visceral urge to get her to stop talking overtakes me, and my hand collides so hard with her face that my palm stings. A heavy silence takes over the kitchen and the urge to say sorry rises as Amy looks back at me, her cheek red and tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

"You're a judgmental cunt," Amy spits. Her shoulder collides with mine on her way past and I stay there, frozen until the door slams closed. Then the tears come.

It's not the same.

It can't be the same.

Back then I had no choice. It was the only thing I knew and the only way to put food on the table. Amy has a choice. It's not the same.

But it hurts. It hurts to have my past thrown in my face like Amy simply kept it as a weapon, ready to use it the second things didn't go her way. It hurts that she looked at me with such hatred and it hurts that part of me, a large part of me, fears she's right. Maddie was safe. No harm came to her under Amy's care, and Drake was dealing for six months before I knew about it.

Unfortunately, there's no time to dwell on any of that because getting Maddie to school becomes the priority, and then my time is swallowed up by two long shifts that end when Maddie's dropped off at the diner by the father of the friend she was having a play date with. We eat dinner at the diner because it's easier, then we walk home together hand in hand. The evening passes quickly with bathtime and a movie before bed. By the time Maddie's finally tucked in to sleep, I'm exhausted.

It feels like the argument with Amy happened days ago, not this very morning after a wonderful night with Pierce. How did things get so complicated? The weight in my chest would usually be offloaded by calling Amy to complain about my day but given the circumstances, all I'm left with is a painful reminder of how small my social circle is.

And I still don't have Pierce's number. Not that I know what to say to him.

I settle in for the night on the couch with the rest of my box wine and late-night, trashy TV that lulls me into a quiet, numb peace until a knock at the door disturbs me.

It's after eleven.

Is it Pierce? It's difficult to burst that hopeful bubble as I rise from the couch and hurry to the door. It unlatches and I pull it open, a smile already warming my face as I come face to face with⁠—

"Hey Layla. Long time. Would it kill you to answer your fucking phone? All I ask for is one text back, y'know? Pain in my fucking ballsack is what it is."

Instinct makes me grip the door and push it closed, but he raises his hand and braces against the wood so I can't. His long, thin face pulls into a cold smirk that elongates his chin, and his large eyes grow narrow as he gazes down at me. Blond hair falls about his face, spilling from a messy bun at the base of his skull and the thick scent of cigarette smoke and ale floods my nose, along with the harsh stink of sweat rising from his dirty tank top.

"Can I come in?"

"No." It barks out of me even as my knees press together.

"Come on," he whines. "It's been too long. We've got a lot of catching up to do." Before I can stop him, the man from my nightmares pushes me hard against the wall and strides into my apartment like he owns the place, leaving me trembling in the hall.

Trik.

How the hell did he find me?

"You drink wine from a fucking box?" Trik's amused scoff rises up from the lounge so I close the door and hurry after him. He's standing in the middle of the room pouring the rest of my wine over my couch.

"Get out."

His eyes snap to me with the force of a punch and he sneers. "I'm here to talk. How long has it been? Seven years?"

Not long enough.

"Get out."

Trik lets the box fall from his hands, then he drops his long arms to his sides and pouts. "Is that all you have to say to me after all this time? God, what the fuck did I see in you?"

"You didn't see anything in me," I grind out past gritted teeth. "You just threw money at me and thought that meant you could do what you wanted."

His mouth pulls to one side and he laughs. "Well yeah, why else would I pay a whore?"

Nausea curls low in my gut. My phone's on the table. If I can reach it then I can call the police. Just as the thought swells, Trik suddenly stands in front of me, gazing down like a vulture watching its prey give one last spasm of life.

"Where is she?" he asks.

My blood chills.