She grabbed her helmet and walked to the door. There were three locks, and she systematically unlocked them all. Warm air washed over her as she stepped inside.
A sudden shove sent her tripping into the hallway near the kitchen. The door to the studio closed with a slam. Pixie gathered her wits and pulled out her phone. She managed to dial nine-one-one but didn’t have time to press send before her attacker stepped into view.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you Sarah-Jane. Go turn the alarm off.”
Arnie. He was here. In the shop. Her fingers hovered over the one. The beeping of the alarm continued. Self-preservation first. “What are you doing here?” She glanced up at the security cameras they’d installed after Harper, Trent’s fiancée, had been abducted.
“Go turn the alarm off,” he repeated.
Should she? Or should she let it go, let the police come?
“Turn it off, Sarah-Jane. Remember, you aren’t necessarily the one who gets hurt if you don’t do as I say.”
Her mom. He always threatened her mom. The mom who always took his side. Part of her wished she didn’t care quite so much.
Quickly, she hurried over and entered numbers into the keypad. She glanced at the photo next to the alarm. Opening day, just the four of them, before Eric joined. No. She’d worked too hard in recovery and here to have it blown apart by Arnie and his threats.
“That’s better. Now. Aren’t you happy to see your dad?” he asked with a licentious smile.
“You were no father to me.” It had been Arnie she’d seen when she was on the phone with Dred. He’d gained a little weight, but was still fit for a guy of forty-six. His hair was thinning a little, his skin parched, and the sickening smell of cigarettes permeated the air.
“Now, Sarah-Jane. That’s all water under the bridge, because you and I are going to get to know each other again.”
He walked past her into the studio, and she noticed the limp again. “You did well for yourself, Sarah. Nice little job with a TV star.” She cringed as he started to pick up things from her desk, study them, and put them down again. He’d always made her wait. In silence. And like one of Pavlov’s dogs, her mind and body were responding to his cues. Pixie wanted desperately to break the cycle, but knew only too well what would happen if she did.
He sat down in one of the chairs, pushed on the arms as if testing its sturdiness.
“So, I’m wondering, how well do you do here?”
“It’s none of your business,” she hissed.
“Oh, but it is. You see, imagine my surprise when my girlfriend brought home a copy of a magazine, and there you were on the front of it.”
“Girlfriend? What happened to mom?” she asked without thinking.
He got up and stalked toward her, his eyes dark and hooded, until he was inches away. “I’m speaking. I can see you’ve forgotten how to behave around me. Do you need reminding?”
Pixie shook her head.
Arnie looked up at the ceiling, searching for something until his eyes rested on the black dome in the ceiling. He moved to her left, putting his back to the camera.
“And I find out that she not only works for a TV celebrity in his tattoo shop, hours away from our home, but she’s fucking a very wealthy man.” He finished the sentence on a crescendo of spittle.
He trailed his finger along her chin before gripping it tightly. “No need to ask how you afford to live in such an expensive apartment building.”
He knows where I live. “What . . . what do you want?” Pixie asked.
“What do I want, Sarah-Jane?” His tone was insidiously calm. “To know how much all of this is worth to you.”
“Worth to me? What do you mean?” Pixie pried his fingers off her chin, but Arnie leaned in further, gathering the hair at the base of her neck, just like he used to.
“How much is it worth for me not to ruin your life? You want me to share photos of you high? Sitting on the stool for me like a good girl? You want me to tell them all the different drugs you took?”
Her stomach roiled at the thought. “They already know I was an addict. The day they found me I was already in withdrawal.”
“Have you told them why? Have you told them what you did to earn them? Have you told them why you needed to take them?”
“Have I told them you threatened to kill my mom in her sleep if I didn’t? Have I told them the number of times you held a knife to her throat when she was high, or put your hands around her neck when she was unconscious?”
Arnie laughed. “Seriously, that’s what you tell yourself to help you sleep better at night? I have photos that tell a different story, and you’re the one who comes across as the cheap tease you are, not me. And I can be very persuasive.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed hard. “So what do you want?” she asked. Arnie ran a finger down her arm causing a shudder of revulsion.
“We’re going to become friends again,” he said, while studying her mouth. He brought his eyes to hers. “I’ll see you soon, Sarah-Jane.”