The Tenant (2 page)

And wearing nothing but a scowl.

Nothing.

At all.

Ten Minutes Earlier

A shower.

A hot shower—scalding, even. That was what Derek needed. He needed to shed his clothes, get under the water jet, and have the entire day washed off his skin.

He pulled at the hem of his t-shirt, peeled the thing off his body, and grimaced at the sensation of the cotton clinging to his back. He hadn’t realized he’d sweated so much.

He needed to feel clean again, get the bitter taste off his tongue, and get the memories thoroughly scrubbed and rinsed and drained away.

His boots were hard to toe off, but instead of loosening the laces more, he perched on the sink and started banging one heel against the porcelain of the toilet bowl, until the heavy Doc Marten gave, and he could kick it across the room. The second boot he didn’t even bother with, until his jeans were halfway down his hips. Then it had to go, and go it did, same way as the first one had.

Barefoot and topless, undone jeans barely hanging on, he took in his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair wild, his cheeks sunken and covered in stubble. Beauty personified, he was. No wonder Cat couldn’t get away fast enough.

That was a lie; she’d certainly taken her sweet time.

He wondered how his image would look if it were crumbled in a thousand shards. Like, for example, if he threw the liquid soap dispenser through the mirror.

Odds were the image would still be more intact than the man would.

A hot shower, chased down by a bottle of Scotch, greasy food, and a smoke. Exactly what the doctor prescribed. He panicked. Would he find cigarettes that late in the evening? There was nothing in the neighborhood. He’d have to take the car, which meant he couldn’t start drinking as soon as he was out of the shower.

Fuck!

But no, he had a packet stashed in his bottom drawer, rolled in a pair of silly baby-blue socks that Catherine had bought him.

Back when she actually gave him things, instead of taking them from him.

Focus.

Shower.

He disposed of his jeans and got in the shower. There used to be a curtain there, a novelty one, themed after the movie
Psycho
. He’d liked the fake blood splatters on the white background. The thing had been useful and funny, and now it was gone. She’d packed it in that extravagant, faux-crocodile suitcase he’d bought her for her last birthday.

He’d had two months to buy a new one, but he wanted
his
shower curtain—and his bathroom mat with the bloody footprints, since he was on that subject, and his woman and his restaurant and his whole fucking life that had been taken from him.

No use crying over spilled milk. Which didn’t apply to him, anyway, ’cause he wasn’t a little girl, to be bawling his eyes out just because the love of his life ripped out his heart and stomped on it before doing the same to his career and his balls.

He turned on the water and stepped under it. The moment the spray hit his skin and his body registered the difference in temperature, he sucked in a breath. It was scalding, all right.

His hands flew to cup his cock. It was a protective gesture, not like he could jerk off after having spent most of the day with his ex’s lawyer squeezing him for everything he had.

His skin slowly became accustomed to the water, so he chanced ducking his head under it too. For a few moments, it felt like his brain was boiling. That might have been a blessing, because a boiled brain couldn’t be plagued by images of his wild rose fucking some random guy.

‘Random Guy’ got a face, his shoulders widened, and his body lengthened. His arms and legs thickened, and his forehead grew until the resulting figure in Derek’s imagination was hulking Caleb McGregor, the lawyer who’d insisted Catherine refused to meet with Derek.

Something in the way McGregor had rolled her name on his tongue, a hint of a secret smile curving his lips upward, had sunk its claws into Derek’s subconscious, which decided now was a good time to play a movie behind Derek’s closed eyelids.

The movie showed Cat, her back against the wall, her bare legs—long and smooth and pale—wrapped around McGregor’ pistoning hips, one perfect tit squeezed by a big palm.

The movie was playing in a loop.

Derek gasped for air but got a mouthful of water instead. He sputtered and lost his footing on the slippery surface. If the curtain was still there, it might have helped him regain his balance. Instead, he clawed at the air with one hand, the other aiming for the showerhead.

In the heartbeat before regaining his balance, he had time to wonder who would find him if he fell and cracked his skull. Would it be a neighbor? Maybe Alice from down the hall, who was always nice to him. Or a cleaning crew… Shit. He was supposed to call a moving-company. When was it he had to move out? It was sometime that month. He was almost certain of that.

An irrational wave of anger washed over him at the thought of leaving the place he’d called home for three years. It was the last thing he had left. He was alone and had to part with his restaurant because he’d been foolish enough to give Catherine the deeds when he’d decided he wanted her to one day be his wife. He’d never even gotten to ask her to marry him. This apartment held all his memories, good and bad, and he didn’t want to leave it.

He turned his face upward. The sound of the water thundered in his ears, and the steam rising off the tiles made him feel suffocated. He turned the faucet off, stepped out, and grabbed a towel.

He hadn’t washed. He had merely
stood
there, pelted by water. The realization brought about a bubble of hysterical laughter, but he swallowed it back before it had time to burst. That laughter wouldn’t be good. It wouldn’t be sane, and his sanity was all he had left.

Then again, it was possible he didn’t even have that, because right when he was furiously drying his hair with the towel, he thought he heard a noise.

Inside his apartment.

Impossible.

Had Cat come back? His heart jumped in his chest, but the possibility of her returning was certainly less than that of his losing his mind. She hadn’t even agreed to
see
him.

Hushed voices. There were people whispering
inside his home
, and—

Something crashed.

It might have been fury at whoever dared vandalize his home that drove his feet from bathroom to bedroom, naked as the day he was born. It could have been hope he’d finally get out some of his frustration that curled his fingers around the baseball bat lying beneath his bed and led him the rest of the distance to his living room in the pitch black.

Weighing the bat in one hand, he pressed the fingers of the other to the light switch he knew to be at his left, and took in the lit room.

A couple was making out on his floor. By
his
overturned table and
his
smashed lamp.

He scowled so hard his forehead hurt, but it was all he could do not to charge them and bash their heads in.

“What the fuck are you doing in my place?” he asked the kneeling hulk. He’d heard about people making out in parks, playgrounds, even cemeteries, but breaking into someone’s home to get some was unbelievable.

The small blonde lying on the floor sat upright, eyes blazing. “
Your
place? My father gave me this apartment!”

Her boyfriend simply blinked at him.

Was it Derek’s imagination, or was the blonde having a hard time looking him in the eye? He was tempted to mention his face was an entire torso—and then some—higher than what she was staring at, but his ego needed some stroking, so he let her take all of him in, while his mind caught up to what she’d just said.

“You’re Kenneth’s daughter?” he finally asked, the bat only slightly lowered. Alice’s sister. This one was shorter, and Alice dyed her hair dark brown these days, but Derek could see the resemblance.

She finally lifted her gaze to meet his, and her eyes were the same bright green as her sister’s. “You’re the guy who’s supposed to be gone?”

He could apologize and say he’d forgotten because of the rain of utter shit falling on him lately.

He could ask for a bit more time until he’d found a new place.

Or he could be an ass. Nobody else seemed to think twice about being an ass to him. “Hardly,” he said with a snort. “I’m supposed to be right where I am. You, on the other hand, are trespassing. Or is it breaking and entering?”

The young woman scrunched her nose, which was adorable in a snooty, bratty way. “No breaking. I’ve got a key.” She narrowed her eyes. “When Mason and I were first engaged, Dad said he asked you to move. That was three months ago.”

Mason. That was the silent brute’s name. “I remember no such thing, and”—he looked pointedly at the remains of his favorite lamp—“there has definitely been some breaking.”

Blondie bounced up and glared. Funny, but she was intimidating despite her small stature. Maybe that was why Mason stood back and let her handle things. “Dad bought the place for me, to begin with,” she said. “You knew when you first moved in that I was eventually going to be needing it.”

That was true. Derek had heard all about how this was one day going to be a wedding present for Kenneth’s oldest daughter—and what was her name, again?—though said daughter hadn’t even been dating back then. Kenneth had said his daughter was picky and needed a man with serious backbone before she settled down.

Things had apparently changed.

Derek considered waving the bat to see if the big guy would flinch, but decided to be the bigger man—and wasn’t that ironic, when Mason had at least four inches on him? “Kenneth mentioned something, but he didn’t give me the sixty days’ notice he was supposed to.” Blondie opened her mouth, probably to repeat her father let him know three months ago. Now was time for the coup de grace, and Derek somehow knew he’d love watching her squirm. “As you know, the notice is supposed to be in writing or it doesn’t count,” he said.

And smirked.

And winked.

Mason grabbed Blondie’s shoulder, flexing his arm in the process. The look on his face indicated that Derek’s nudity might have offended him more than Derek’s intention to not vacate the premises for at least two more months. “Let’s go, Mandi.” Ah, that was her name. “We’ll talk to your father. He’ll know what to do.”

Her gaze said she knew what to do too, and it involved the painful insertion of the baseball bat in Derek’s most private orifice.

Derek’s smirk widened into a grin. “And now get out of here, before I have to call the police and report you for harassment on top of everything else.”

Mandi stared him down for a split second, but when Derek swung his bat in the air, her overly inflated toy boy all but dragged her out the door.

Derek propped his weapon on his shoulder, grabbed a bottle of scotch, and went to bed. He sensed his swagger had returned. Maybe that was because he’d actually felt he had balls, for the first time in days.

Odd way for his day to improve, but it had. He would give anything for another opportunity to bait Mandi Murphy. If he couldn’t torture the woman who’d hurt him, he’d torture the one who wanted to evict him. He had to be subtle about it, though. He didn’t want to make Kenneth mad at him.

“Can you believe that guy? Such an ass!”

Mason’s grip on her hand tightened slightly.

“I didn’t call him an ass
hole
,” Amanda said.

Mason flinched and gave her that disapproving look he had down to a pat. She felt bad, but the guy
was
an asshole. Hot, like Alice said, but an asshole nonetheless.

“A notice has to be in writing, or it doesn’t count? Says who?” She huffed.

Mason’s face fell. “California law. It could be overlooked, if he wanted to be helpful.”

“I doubt that’s gonna happen anytime soon. He seemed set on outstaying his welcome.” She withdrew her palm from his, and shoved it in her jacket pocket. “He threatened to call the police on me, Mason. For being in an apartment I actually own!”

Mason caressed her back, then pulled her closer to his body and matched her pace. “We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to worry about it. Kenneth will talk to him.
I’ll
talk to him, if I have to.”

It wasn’t a covert threat. Mason didn’t believe in violence. His gentle nature came at odds with his job as an attorney, but it was one of the things that first attracted her to him. She’d been in a club, wasted and looking for someone to help her make it through the night, when she’d tripped and emptied her drink on him. Another man might have yelled, but Mason steadied her and asked if she was all right. There was real concern in his voice, and Amanda felt so touched, she’d plastered her body against his, kissed him, and offered to sleep with him. He’d replied he’d never take advantage of a lady like that. He’d taken her home and held her hair back, while she’d emptied the contents of her stomach all over his living room carpet.

In the morning, he’d brought her breakfast and asked what had been so wrong with her life she behaved the way she had. When her pity party was over, he’d told her she was above all that and held her while she’d cried.

Then, he’d asked her out.

She’d always felt safe with him, but wasn’t sure he could make things all right this time. A pebble found its way into her path, and she kicked it. “Not sure my dad talking to him will do any good. Even if Dad gives him a written notice now, it won’t be in effect for another two months.” Her eyes widened in panic. “The electrical appliances are to be delivered on Monday. That’s in three days!” The next thought that crossed her mind choked her to the point of making her voice almost inaudible. “My own lease expires at the end of next week. What will I do?”

Mason mumbled something about her possibly staying with her parents for a while, but she dismissed it. “I have too much stuff. I need my place! Why would my father lie about making sure what’s-his-name moved out in time?”