Opening up the door, I peeked my head into the hallway, holding the heavy steel exit open just enough to inspect.
Glancing to my right, I saw a door just like mine. And then I heard a woman’s high-pitched cry ring out around me, and I started breathing harder.
And then there was another cry. And another, and another, and…
Was she having sex? My mouth fell open as I tried not to laugh.
Oh, my God.
But I thought the place was supposed to be empty.
I stepped out, knife in hand—just in case—and walked quietly down to the other door, glancing up and seeing small security cameras along the wall, probably installed when the apartments were built.
Pressing my ear to the door, I listened, still hearing the thump, thump, thump of something hitting the wall, and the girl’s breathy cries over and over again.
I folded my lips between my teeth, covering my smile with my free hand.
But then the woman cried out. “No! Ah, oh, God! Please!”
And my face fell, hearing the fear in her voice. The short, shrill screams were now different. Panicked and scared, and her cries sounded struggled. My mouth suddenly went dry as I stood there listening.
“Ah!” she cried out again. “No, please stop!”
I backed away from the door, not finding it funny anymore.
But then something hit the door from the other side, making a loud thud, and I scurried backward. “Oh, shit,” I gritted out under my breath.
I shot my head up to the cameras, now wondering if they fed to Security downstairs or to whoever was inside the apartment. Did they know I was out here?
I spun around and dashed for my door, grabbing the handle and trying to twist it.
But it was locked. “Dammit!” I mouthed. Fucking thing must lock automatically.
Another thud hit the door, mere feet away from me—so close—and I darted my eyes over to it, my breathing turning fast and painful.
I pulled on the door handle again, twisting and yanking, but it didn’t budge.
Another thud hit the door, and I jerked upright, dropping the knife.
“Shit.”
I dived down to pick it up, but just then I heard the other door swing open, so I bolted down the stairwell, hiding behind the wall and forgetting about the knife.
Fuck!
Screw this. Whoever was coming out of the vacant apartment was definitely someone I didn’t want to meet. I dashed down flight after flight, a cry lodged in my throat as fear gripped my chest.
A pounding echoed above me, and I spared a quick glance upward, seeing a hand sliding down the railings as whoever it was jumped flights of stairs.
Oh, my God. I raced down, one flight after the other, a drop of sweat gliding down my neck. The pounding was getting closer and closer, my legs about to give out as my exhausted muscles worked as fast as they could. I gasped, seeing the door labeled LOBBY. I yanked it open and burst through, looking behind me once again to see if he—or she—was behind me.
But then I slammed into a wall, and I let out a small cry as hands gripped my upper arms.
I looked up and exhaled a breath, seeing Michael Crist towering over me, his eyes narrowed.
“Michael?” I breathed out, frozen in confusion.
“What the hell are you doing?” He arched a brow and set me back, away from him, and let go of my arm. “It’s after one a.m.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Why was he here?
He stood in front of an elevator, a different one than I had taken this morning, dressed in a black suit, looking like he’d just been at a club or something. A young brunette stood next to him, beautiful in a tight, navy-blue cocktail dress that fell mid-thigh.
I suddenly felt exposed, dressed in my silk sleep shorts and black tank top, my hair hanging about, probably in tangles.
“I…” I looked over my shoulder again, noticing that whoever had followed me down the stairs hadn’t come out the door yet.
I twisted my head back, looking up at Michael. “I heard something up on my floor,” I told him.
And then I shook my head, still confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” he shot back, and I immediately recognized that ever-present intolerant tone that he always used with me.
“Live here?” I questioned. “I thought you lived in your family’s building.”
He slid a hand into his pocket and cocked his head, looking at me point-blank like I was stupid.
I closed my eyes, expelling a sigh. “Of course,” I breathed out, realization hitting. “Of course. You’re the one who lives on the twenty-second floor.”
I started connected all the pieces: the separate elevator he and the girl stood by, the lone gentleman living above me, Mrs. Crist sending me the link for Delcour as a suggestion and not telling me their family owned the building…
And the luxury apartment all to myself, ready to go and just waiting for me.
Mrs. Crist—and most likely her husband as well—made sure I ended up here. Keeping me close and under their thumb.
“And who’s this?”
I glanced over, seeing the young woman with chocolate hair and piercing eyes, polished like a movie star on premiere night.
Michael looked ahead, his lips twisting slightly. “My little brother’s girlfriend.”
“Aw…” she responded.
I averted my eyes, aggravated.
His little brother’s girlfriend. He couldn’t even say my name.
And I wasn’t Trevor’s girlfriend anymore. I wasn’t sure if he knew that, but it had been months. It had to have come up in conversation in his house.
“What did you hear?” he demanded, and I looked up to see him staring down at me.