Page 29 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)
I ignore his warning tone.
“Please tell me you’re not in Mitchel’s apartment right now.”
I scoff. “Do I look like the type to break into a fellow student’s apartment after they left for class?” I pause, then add, “He has a cat.”
“Fuck,” Baker groans. “Why?”
“I’m searching for something to lord over him,” I admit. “He doesn’t seem particularly interested in leaving her alone, and I’m trying the high road for once.”
“You could just trick him into signing up for the next Howl, then bludgeon his face in.”
I lift the corner of his mattress, but there’s nothing under it. His nightstand has a small bottle of lube (which I consider dripping across all the doorknobs in his apartment), a box of condoms (thank God the man isn’t interested in procreating), and… I suppress my gag… handcuffs.
Skylar would be out of here faster than a roadrunner.
I close it and chuckle. “If I beat him up in public, he’d just win everyone’s sympathy. He’s a scumbag, I can feel it. I just need to find evidence.”
Baker huffs. “Good luck. You know the name over the door? That’s Norton’s mommy.”
Ah, I knew the last name sounded familiar. Part of my deep-dive research at one a.m. last night. I knew his mom was rich, but owning an apartment building in Boston seemed to escape me.
Maybe I should’ve focused on her more than him.
“You still there?” Baker asks.
“Yeah, I’m checking to see if there’s a false bottom in any of his drawers.” I knock on the wood loud enough for him to hear it.
“Well, he’s coming in through the front so you might want to get out of there.”
Fuck.
I hang up and slide the phone into my back pocket. Adrenaline surges through me at the prospect of getting caught. It’s a bit different than breaking into Sky’s apartment. I know she won’t hurt me, but Mitchel could call the police.
The headline blazes in my mind: Underground fighter turns to a life of crime. My mother would have a heart attack. Dad would disown me—it was already a close call two years ago.
I slam the drawer shut and jog to the door. On my way out, a piece of paper sticking out of a drawer in the kitchen catches my attention. It’s the one thing I’ve seen that’s out of place in this spotless apartment. I hesitate for the briefest moment but ultimately abandon it. It’s probably nothing.
And Mitchel will be close.
I crack the door open. Footsteps in the stairwell urge me back into the apartment, and I duck into the hall closet.
Smooth.
The damn cat hops off its perch, stopping directly in front of the closet. The door is slatted, giving me a partially obstructed view of the door and living room.
It lets out a warbling meow just as the lock turns, and Mitchel enters.
I glance around the closet. There’s a chance he might want something in here, and then I’ll be screwed. There’s a vacuum in the corner, a row of neatly hung winter jackets—a boring assortment of dark-colored peacoats and a puffy one—and some boots. A mop and broom lean against the wall. Above the jackets are stacks of games. Trivia, board games, charades.
It’s like the guy really wants friends but he has no idea how twenty-year-olds live.
“Hey, little buddy,” Mitchel says to the cat. “I forgot the notes I promised you-know-who. Wouldn’t want her mad at me, right?”
The fucker squats right in front of the closet, scratching the cat’s chin.
I struggle not to lose it. He has to be talking about Skylar. The way he watches her, held her fucking hand on campus… He’s giving her notes now? They have more classes together than just the math class we all share?
Maybe she asked for them… Ignored me and continued on her mission to fuck with my mind.