When You Least Expect It, 11 min 58 sec, Chapter 4_pgs 35-40

The protagonist, Stella, has a car named Gertrude that is in bad shape. She is broke and struggling to make repairs. She also has a terrible landlord and is harassed by him. One night, as she returns home, she is confronted by a man who is one of her father's enemies. He threatens her and gives her a message for her father. Stella is scared but defiant. After the man leaves, she decides not to tell her father about the encounter. Stella is determined to handle the situation herself, but she doesn't know how. She takes a shower and reflects on her difficult circumstances. 4 Stella The engine of my shitty car sputtered as I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. Oh, no you don't, I commanded as I turned the wheel to navigate toward my spot. It was harder than usual, given the fact that the power steering was being a touchy bitch, but with a heaved grunt and a few curses I got the nearly worthless hunk of rusty metal to drift in the general direction I needed it to go. Don't you die on me now, Gertrude, not when I need you most. Gertrude let out a cough that was more like a death rattle, but she held strong, chugging along like the little engine that could, until I was able to coast into my spot. There you go, baby. I cooed as I leaned forward and patted the dash. Good girl, just a bit longer and I'll get you taken care of, I promise. I didn't know how the hell I was going to do that, seeing as I was already broke as shit and getting broker with every passing second. Hell, my whole family was. The cash that was still tucked into my bra might have been enough to fix a couple of Gertrude's problems, but it wouldn't even make a dent in what we owed. Shifting the car into park, I twisted the key to kill the ignition and threw the door open, flinching at the loud, obnoxious creak the hinges made. I added that to the list I kept in my head of all the countless things that needed to be fixed on my car, and stepped out. The moment my foot hit the dingy, cracked asphalt, I winced in pain. Those torture devices called heels were pinching my toes so bad I worried my feet might be permanently deformed after tonight. These sadistic pieces of shit had to have been invented by men, I grumbled as I reached down and ripped the shoes off my feet. I'd rather take my chances on the potential tetanus crawling all over the ground than wear these things for another second. Feet free, I let out a sigh of relief as the blood rushed back to my little piggies and started toward the sidewalk. So many of the lights that were supposed to be illuminating the way were burned out that the walk from my car to my apartment was mostly in shadows. Of course, my pig of a landlord was so busy sexually harassing all of his female tenants that he didn't have the time to do his actual job, and now the place was completely going from just okay to a downright pit. Any time I complained about the lights or the fact that the dishwasher didn't work or the ceiling leaked, he insinuated that the repairs might get done faster if I was willing to let his fat, sweaty ass into my pants. Never gonna happen. It was because of those stupid freaking shadows that I didn't see the person lurking in the darkness near my front door until it was too late. Lovely night, isn't it? I whipped around with a squeak, dropping the godforsaken heels I was holding. I fumbled with my purse, trying to get the can of pepper spray inside, but before I could, the man was on me, grabbing the bag from off my shoulder and tossing it aside. You won't be needing whatever's in there, little dove. Now that he'd moved out of the darkness and into the small beam of sickly yellow light provided by the dingy bulb by my neighbor's door, I could see that the man was freaking huge and hairy. He was like a giant, overweight sasquatch, and there wasn't a doubt in my mind he could crush me with just one beefy hand. Who are you? How my voice remained steady when my whole body was shaking like a leaf and my heart was about to pound right out of my chest was beyond me, but I'd somehow managed. Don't worry, you pretty little head. I'm only here to deliver a message, and I'm not gonna hurt you. The way he was laring at me just then didn't exactly fill me with warm fuzzies, and what he said next proved my gut instinct about this man was right. At least, not yet. A shiver of revulsion worked down my spine as his smarmy grin pulled at his lips, and I swallowed down the ball of fear growing in my throat and threatening to choke me. Look, I don't know who you are or who you think I am, but you've got the wrong person, dude. I promise. Your message is for someone else. Pretty sure I've got the right person, Stellarion. My whole body quaked when he reached out and dragged the tip of his meaty thumb across my jawline and right below my bottom lip. If he knew my name, it could only mean one thing. I was scared out of my mind, but that didn't stop me from jerking my head away to escape his touch. Taking a step back, I lifted my chin defiantly, determined to stand my ground, even though I'd reached the piss-myself level of terror. It was my pride. According to my mom, it was a character flaw that was going to get me in serious trouble, but my dad claimed it was yet another gift that made me an incredible conwoman. I tended to agree with my mom on this one. I was too damn prideful for my own good. I knew that. And one day, it was going to land me in hot water. I just hope that day wasn't today. Leave me your message already, so you can get the hell off my doorstep. I've had a long, exhausting night, and now I have to take the time to bathe in bleach to wash your touch off. Oops, shouldn't have said that. The humor died on his hairy face, his round cheeks growing red with anger that made me think maybe he was rethinking his whole not-going-to-hurt-you-yet stance. Luck must have been on my side just then, because instead of pounding me into dust, which he most definitely could have done, he growled out, MR. O'BRIEN SAYS HI! Yep, I was right. This asshole was one of Grady O'Brien's goons, the guy my father had scammed in Philadelphia. Freaking fantastic. Dad thought he'd covered his tracks by going out-of-state to run his con, but then he'd stupidly pick the worst possible mark ever, a guy who just so happened to have ties to the Irish mob. We'd learned the hard way that their reach extended past their little kingdom when they found us, and gave my father the beating none of us would be forgetting any time soon. Well, tell Mr. O'Brien I said hi back, but maybe next time he can deliver his little message at a more reasonable hour. This whole lurking-in-the-shadows thing is seriously creepy. Jesus Christ, Stella, shut your goddamn mouth already, the reasonable voice inside my head screamed. He also wants you to tell your pop the time's running out. Next time we have to make a statement, it won't be him who pays. He reached up and gently tugged a lock of my hair through his fingers as he finished relaying his message. Next time, Mr. O'Brien will personally pluck every last feather from your father's little dove, understand? Well, shit. Swallowing down the fear that had sucked every last bit of saliva from my mouth, I licked my lips and nodded, loud and clear. His smile returned, and I would have much rather had the angry glower he'd been giving me a second ago. Good. See you around, little dove. He disappeared back into the shadows like vapor, like he hadn't even been there, and Once he was gone, I didn't hesitate to snatch up my purse. The heels could burn in hell, they were staying where I'd dropped them, and stab my key into the lock. I bolted the door and slid the cheap chain lock I'd installed myself into place. Not that it really mattered. The door was thin as cardboard, and if that big-ass goon wanted to get in, all he'd have to do was tap it, and it would probably implode. But the illusion of security was enough for me to finally take a full breath. The message delivered to-night was as much for my father as it was for me, if not more. But despite what I'd been ordered to do, there was no way in hell I could call my dad and tell him about my unexpected guest. His problems were bad enough as it was, and I couldn't bring myself to add to the load he was already carrying on his shoulders. As much as this whole situation was his fault, he was still my dad, the person I loved the absolute most in the entire world, and I couldn't bring myself to lay this on him as well. I'd find a way to take care of this. Problem was, I didn't have a freaking clue how to fix things any faster than we already were. I kept waiting for a miracle to fall out of the sky, but apparently there were none to be spared for the Ryan clan. My hands were still shaking as I set my purse down on the short, laminate counter that separated my tiny kitchen from the rest of my tiny studio apartment. The bag tipped over, half the contents spilling out onto the chipped countertop, including that gray rectangle of thick paper. I picked it up, flipping it end over end as I thought about the guy from the bar earlier. Weston Scott. I had to admit, that was a really great name. Sexy, much like the man it belonged to, as crazy as I might have initially thought he was. I turned it over again, reading the name of the company on the front. Curiosity tugged at my consciousness, but I couldn't let it take root, not until I started a scalding hot shower and washed this nightmare of an evening off of me. I stripped as I headed for the bathroom, the only private room in my shoebox apartment, leaving my clothes scattered across the floor, before making a pit stop at the framed painting of a sailboat I had tacked up on the wall. I'd originally hung it to hide the hole in the drywall, but now it worked as a secret little cubby to stash the cash I made on jobs. I listed out the small wooden jewelry box hidden inside the wall, and added the money from tonight to the slowly growing pile of cash. Then I returned the box to its hiding space and re-hung the picture. I turned on the faucet, twisting the knob and giving the water time to heat up, as I moved back out into the open space. That was another one of my many issues I had with my apartment. The water heater sucked. I had to run it for at least a minute before the water turned hot. Then it was a race to get myself clean before it turned to ice again. I'd timed it already, and had become a pro at scrubbing myself down and rinsing in the five minutes the shitty water heater allowed. When the off-chance that big hairy goon decided to come back, I wanted to be prepared, so I grabbed the metal baseball bat I kept for protection from its place in the closet before returning to my shower. Sure enough, at the four-minute mark, the water went from hot to lukewarm. Then at five minutes, it felt like I was being pelted in the back with ice cubes as I rinsed the last of the conditioner from my hair. With my body dry and my wet hair wrapped in a fluffy towel, I slipped on a tank top and a pair of sleep shorts that had been washed so many times they were nearly see-through, but were softer than the downy feathers of a newly hatched chick. Then I grabbed my laptop, the only thing I had of any value, and got to googling.