“You have something for me?” he asks, his eyes again darting up and down the empty hall.

“Yes.” I start to reach into my bag but he stops me and steps backward, opening the door to the apartment behind him.

“In here,” he instructs.

I don’t move. Looking through the doorway, I can tell the space beyond is in mild disarray. Boxes are stacked up against the wall. The only furniture is a beat-up couch and a crate serving as a coffee table. On a built-in kitchen counter is an old pizza box, a few used paper plates, plastic cups, and a scale.

As far as I can tell there’s no one else in there, which means I’ll be alone with this man.

“Are you coming in or what?” L.J. snaps.

I take a deep breath. “Can’t you just give me the package here?”

His eyes light with condescension and disgust. “You scared, little girl? You think I might bite?”

“I just think—”

“You do look like you’re worth a nibble,” L.J. interrupts, laughing at his own joke. “But I don’t got time for that shit. Just get your hot ass in here so we can get it done.”

I still don’t move. It’s as if my feet are tethered to the floor.

“Fine.” L.J. shakes his head. “You go tell Travis that you were too scared to do what you been told.”

He turns to walk in himself, but my hand automatically shoots out and grabs his arm to stop him. “No, of course I’ll come in.”

Stepping past him into the stifling room, I think about my gun sitting uselessly in my desk, neglected and aching to justify its existence. I clench and unclench my fist, thinking about the comfort that weapon could provide.

L.J. comes up behind me, presses himself into me. His hand moves up to massage my breast. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do if Travis asked?” he grumbles, his breath hot against my neck.

In a flash of movement, I jab my elbow into his solar plexus and demurely step away as he falls to his knees.

“So, do you have a package for me, L.J.?” I ask calmly as he gasps for air. “Or am I going to have to tell Mr. Gable that you failed him?”

He raises his hand, silently requesting that I wait while he struggles to regain the ability to speak.

I step around him so I can peruse the room. Pieces of foam peanuts can be found tucked in random corners and under the sparse furnishings. The boxes that aren’t sealed are already halfway full. I wonder if L.J. is moving up or down in the world. I turn back to look at him, and he’s on one knee now as he struggles to get to his feet. This is not a man who has ever called the shots.