Thunderstruck (Ramsey Security #1)

Nodding, I pull a blanket from the bed and wrap myself with it. Minka shows no reaction to my behavior. She checks her massive man-style watch and then looks at me.

"Tell you what. Give Troy a few hours to win you over with his amazing lack of charm. If that doesn't happen, I'll come back and spend the night."

Staring at her through my hair, I frown. "I'm sorry."

"Between you and me, if I ended up in your situation, I'd have been dead the first week. I wouldn't know how to be patient and pace myself. I'd attack and freak out until they put a bullet in me. You were smart and survived. Now you get a chance to find your way. No one expects you to do it overnight, so don't apologize. Not to me and especially not to Troy."

Having a tough chick like Minka give me a pep talk fills me with courage. Her respect shouldn't matter, but I don't know who I am anymore. I'm not Rose. I'm not really Darla either. I've become nothing more than a ball of numbness - afraid of every noise, every set of eyes, every choice before me.

I give her a smile. "Thanks."

"Troy isn't a loud person, so that should help. He does tend to sneak up on people, but I told him to put his cat routine on ice."

Nodding, I push back my hair from my face. My sister will love me even if I'm the most pathetic loser in the world. Her respect is unconditional, just like her love. Minka though plays by different rules. I crave her respect. Maybe then, I can learn to respect myself.

Despite my recharged confidence, I take nearly an hour to leave the room and sneak to where Troy stands alone in the kitchen. He never looks up or acknowledges me in any way before speaking.

"Did Locke watch sports?" he asks with his back to me.

I shake my head, but he obviously can't see me. "No," I whisper once then twice when he doesn't respond.

"Good," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "I want to watch the game. Is that a problem?"

I can't tell whether he's challenging me or I'm just afraid of any man who doesn't tiptoe around me. Vernon is terrified of making me cry, so he rarely speaks directly to me. He also literally tiptoes into a room to avoid startling me.

I shake my head at Troy's question. He nods and walks to the living room. A minute later, the sounds of a pre-game reach the hallway where I still hide.

The apartment must be expensive with all the upgrades and the view of downtown. I hate all the windows, but Shelley already had long curtains installed to make me feel safer. Of course, Troy stands up and opens them all.

"It's like a damn cave," he mumbles under his breath, but I hear him from where I now cower in the kitchen.

I stare at the back of his head for a long time. My mind wanders, and I find myself thinking of when Shelley and I used to ride our bikes around the neighborhood. We felt so free and safe in our established subdivision filled with turn of the century homes and well kept lawns. During the summer when Shelley was fourteen, she stopped wanting to ride her bike. I figured she was growing up. A few years later, I realized why she stopped riding.

The town was a lot safer for a kid than a buxom teenage girl. I got creepy stares from the same men who used to wave neighborly at me. Puberty didn't change me as much as the reactions of those around me. They saw me and got aroused, so I had to hide my body to keep myself safe.

I still believe hiding my body provides me protection. As long as a man can't see my boobs, he can't think of them either. This belief is ridiculous with my swimsuit photos plastered all over the Internet. However, the sweats give me the illusion of safety. Since living in Locke's insane world, I need all the help I can get to feel secure in my surrounding. Most days, I'm not even safe in my head.

Troy startles me when he stands and walks to the kitchen. His movements are so quiet and quick that I nearly fall down, trying to get away from him.

"What is it that you think will happen if we're in the same room?" he asks, opening a cabinet. "If we ate popcorn on the couch and watched a baseball game, would the world end?"

I open my mouth to say something. Anything. Yet nothing comes out. Unable to make eye contact, I stare at his chest. In my head exists dozens of breezy answers to his question, but only a choked sound leaves my lips.

Troy shuts the cabinet, holding a bag of popcorn. He's staring at me and waiting for a response. Despite my best efforts, I can't give him one. The panic at having him stare at me is too much, and I run back to my room where I plan to hide until Minka returns.





6


~~~

Troy

The Soft Curvy Ghost

Gentle has never been my strong suit. I get into my head how things ought to be a certain way, so I push until the world bends to my will. When it won't, I walk the fuck away and avoid the struggle. I win or I give up.