Chapter Twelve
1250 Words
Chapter Twelve
“Get out of my apartment!” Adalia sprang into the upright position and shimmied off the couch. She covered herself up and DeShawn stumbled back and forth, eyes marred by a red haze – drugs, obviously.
“You heard her,” Trent growled, but her ex-boyfriend didn’t turn away. “Get out of here.”
“You get outta here, man,” DeShawn slurred then straightened. There was an iron rod between his shoulders, a bar of tension that spelled danger.
Adalia had seen that stance before – she’d witnessed DeShawn beat a guy to a near pulp for saying the wrong thing. He was built like a bulldog, and even more ferocious when he was intoxicated.
“Calm down,” Adalia said, and both men shot her a look of venom. They wanted her to butt out of it, but she wouldn’t let them fight over her. This was ridiculous. “I have work tomorrow, I’ve got a business to run, and I don’t have time for this, guys.”
“You don’t have time to kick your ex out of your apartment? How did he even get in here?” Trent’s jaw was clenched tight.
Adalia studied the closed lid of her laptop, tracing the lines of its rounded edges and avoiding the question.
“You ain’t gonna answer that, baby?” DeShawn chuckled, then squared those broad shoulders again and nearly lost his balance.
“Clown,” Trent replied.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, boy,” DeShawn snapped.
“How did he get in here?” Trent repeated, but Adalia didn’t want to admit this to him. She didn’t want him to see her for the weakness she still had within. She wasn’t a failure, she wasn’t!
“Adalia, you need to tell me this, right now.” Trent was buckled up, his shirt was open and he took the moment to button it back up.
“He has a key.”
“What? Why?”
“I never took it back from him. I tried, but he wouldn’t give it back to me.”
“So you just gave up? You knew he had access to your place and you just stopped trying to get it back from him? What did you think was going to happen?”
“She wanted me to come for her, man. This b***h needs me.” DeShawn grinned, flashing those skew teeth at the pair of them.
“Don’t call her that,” Trent warned, raising a fist and glaring at her ex with a gaze of liquefied fire. There was so much anger in him, and she’d not seen it there before.
“Both of you stop this, it’s pointless.”
“I had no idea you were still connected to this loser. I mean, I should’ve realized the minute he walked into your bakery and started throwing his ghetto weight around, but this is f*****g ridiculous.”
“Stop, Trent, please just stop.” She’d never expressed this much weakness before. Except when she’d allowed DeShawn to do what he liked, when he liked.
“I miss living here, baby, I think it’s time we get together again.”
“Living here?” Trent’s eyes became saucers then narrowed a second later. “You lived with this fool?”
“Yes,” she said, then walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She swallowed it in a few massive gulps then stared at them across the counter. She didn’t need this level of stress.
She should’ve gone with her initial instincts. Trent was trouble, and he cared more about conquests and fulfilling his ego than he did about her, that much was plain.
“You don’t even care about what’s going on here,” Trent growled.
“I don’t care about being judged by you, when it’s clear to me you were only ever interested in one thing. You got what you wanted, Dawson, now you can leave my apartment and never come back.” She put on the hardness she wore as a shell during times of strife. Her dad had taught her that trick.
She could handle this. She didn’t need help or support. She didn’t need interference.
“You’re unbelievable.” Trent shook his head then ran a hand through his short blond hair. “I thought we had something special here.”
“That’s your line, Trent, but I’m not stupid. I don’t want either of you in my apartment or my life.”
“Don’t say that, baby, you know you miss us.” DeShawn swayed slightly.
“Like a heart attack,” she replied, then slapped the glass into the sink and rinsed it out.
“I can’t believe you were with this loser.” Trent’s entire body trembled with anger, and a patchwork of redness spread up his neck. Anger? He was angry? Poor little rich man, angry because he couldn’t get his way.
She had to degrade him.
DeShawn gripped the doorjamb and pushed himself further into her living room. “You wanna take this outside?”
“Shut up,” Trent barked. “I’m in the middle of a conversation.”
“Now it’s on,” DeShawn said, bulleting forward another five steps. He was within arm’s reach of Trent and Adalia squeezed her eyes shut for a millisecond, willing her anxiety to abate.
DeShawn threw his fists up and Trent left his at his sides, a wry smile spreading across his face. His eyes were half-crazed, wide and intimidating, but DeShawn didn’t notice them. He was too drunk.
“Trent, don’t hurt him.”
The billionaire raised a hand and pressed it into DeShawn’s face, then shoved him back with such force that he spun on the spot. The hood rat careened backward.
Crash!
He fell onto the chair she’d placed beside her front door to hold her mail. It splintered into pieces, sending shards of wood in every direction.
“Don’t defend him.” Trent pointed to DeShawn.
“You broke my chair,” she replied with a blank expression. “It was the only other one I had.”
“Don’t you ever defend him again. He’s nothing. He’s nothing to you.” Trent pointed at DeShawn then back at her. He moved past the sofa where they’d shared passion for an eternity, and approached the counter. “Don’t talk about him like he matters.”
“Of course he matters. He’s part of my past.”
“I can’t accept you would be with a man who would treat you that way.”
“And I can’t accept you’d use me for s*x but, hey, we all have baggage to bear, right?” Adalia picked up the glass again, and he grabbed it from her and slammed it down in the sink.
“Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t talk to me about baggage.”
“Stop telling me what to do,” she muttered. That intense need to touch him built up again and she forced it aside. What the hell was wrong with her?
DeShawn groaned on the floor nearby.
“You broke my chair,” Adalia said.
Trent cracked his knuckles. “Relax. I’ll buy you another f*****g chair.”
“Don’t bother, just take him and get out of here.”
“I’m not touching him, Adalia. He’s your problem. You wanted to get involved with a man like that, and this is what comes of it.” Trent’s rage definitely hadn’t dissipated. He stretched his neck until it cracked.
“That’s fine.” Adalia pretended it didn’t hurt. She was strong. She could do it all on her own. She had before and she would again. She didn’t need anyone for anything!
“You don’t care about anyone but yourself,” Trent snapped.
“Get out of my apartment.”
Trent braced himself with both hands on the counter, straining against it and her. “You sure about this, Adalia? It might be the last you see of me.”
“Get out.”
He turned and stormed to the door, then paused and looked down on DeShawn, who was groaning under his breath. Trent bent down, grabbed DeShawn by the front of his shirt and dragged him out into the hall.
He bent over the downed wannabe gangsta and fumbled in his pockets. He brought out Adalia’s keys and threw them into the apartment. Then he marched off down the hall without a goodbye.
Adalia locked the door.
- Writer
