"You have not been trapped. You know damn good and well you can do whatever the fuck you like. You're free to come and go as you please."
Tris snorted and rolled her eyes. "As if I could go anywhere with a baby strapped to my hip. I have no freedom. No—"
"You got yourself knocked up. And if you ever need a break from Julian, I'll find you a fucking babysitter. Damn it, Tris. This is no reason to go to Quick Shot for fucking drugs!"
"It's what I know, okay. Those people, that life, that's what I know. Who I am. And you're trying to change me. Turn me into something I'm not. Into her."
I gritted my teeth and glanced away when she mentioned Tinker Bell. I regretted the night we'd gotten drunk together and I'd spilled everything to her about Madam LeFrey and the glimpses she'd given me. She'd never forgotten, never let me live it down.
"I'm not trying to change—"
A pounding on the front door of the apartment interrupted me. "Police. Open up."
I closed my eyes and hissed out a breath. Of course, someone had called the cops on us. The walls in this building were paper-thin. Someone probably heard me every time I sneezed.
Fuck.
"Are there any drugs in my apartment?" I asked quietly. "Don't lie to me, Tris."
When she answered, "No," I opened my eyes and sent her a hard look. She scowled and hissed, "There's not. I swear to God."
"There better not be. Because if I get arrested tonight, you have nowhere to go. Julian has nowhere to go."
"If Quick Shot was asking if I still needed a hit, that meant I hadn't gotten anything yet, right?"
If anything, she at least managed to look guilty that she'd just confessed she'd been planning to bring drugs into my home . . . the one thing I'd made her swear never to do.
I sniffed and shook my head. "Unbelievable." Whirling away from her, I stormed down the hall to the front door and yanked it open.
Two officers stood in the hallway, and one of them had arrested me the last time I'd gotten into a fight. "We received a domestic disturbance call from one of your neighbors."
"Yeah, I'm sure you did." I pulled the door open wider to let them in. After growing up in the foster care system, I was well aware how this worked. When the cops showed up at your place, you cooperated, you didn't turn belligerent, and you answered whatever questions they asked. Nothing more.
They stepped over the threshold and immediately turned their attention to Tristy. "You okay, ma'am?" the shorter one asked.
Tristy clammed up in the presence of cops, mostly because we'd always been treated like suspects, even if we were the victims.
"I'm fine," she mumbled, ducking her head, which only made her look like an abused spouse.
God, this better not end badly for me. She might regret my interference in her life and feel as if I was keeping her prisoner, but without me, she'd be on the street right now and Julian would probably be dead.
When she wasn't any more forthright than that, the men turned to me. "So what's all the commotion about?"
"I shouted," I confessed. "And I pounded on her bedroom door, trying to wake her up so I could talk to her. But I wasn't even loud enough to wake the baby."
"And just what did you need to talk to her about at . . . four in the morning?"
Four? It was already four? Nice. I was going to have to get up in four hours to get ready for my day shift at the garage.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, feeling the need to be belligerent but trying to hold it back.
"Hands out of your pockets," they barked at me together.
I jerked my hands free and lifted them to show I didn't have a weapon.
"Why did you need to wake her up and talk to her?" the taller one with more attitude repeated.
Glancing away from him, I ran my hand over my face. "I found some messages from another guy on her Facebook page. And I didn't like what they said."
There. I made it look like a lovers' quarrel. I don't know why I covered for her since she'd been planning to sneak drugs in behind my back. But I didn't want to see her go to jail either.
The ball-buster cop, the one who'd arrested me seven months ago, stepped close to study my face. "I've dealt with you before, haven't I?"
"Yes," I admitted. "For battery and assault."
I had looked up the guy Tristy was seventy percent certain was Julian's biological father because he'd been hitting her, and I'd bashed his face in.
Almost disappointed that I was being so cooperative and not giving them any lip, the men turned away from me, eyeing Tristy.
"Are you sure you're okay, ma'am? Did he hit you or touch you in any malicious way?"
She drew even further into herself.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead, ready to get this shit over with. "Tristy, just let them look you over so they know you're okay."
"No!" she screamed, stomping her foot and glaring at me. "I don't want anyone to fucking look at me. I don't want anyone to fucking touch me. JUST . . . LEAVE . . . ME . . . ALONE."