I blinked a couple of times as I pressed my palm against the side of my head. For a moment, I think I saw birdies.

“Mona!” the man shouted, moving down the hall.

Wincing, I dropped my hand and straightened just as the guy walked into the living room, still shouting my mom’s name like she was going to magically appear out of thin air.

I hurried down the hall, still somewhat in a daze. “She’s not here.”

Greasy Guy stood in front of the couch, his shoulders hunched. In the brighter light, I really didn’t want to see what I saw. The man was dirty—his shirt and his jeans. His arms were bare, the insides of them covered in red, puckered marks.

Shit.

Track marks.

Greasy Guy was strung-out.

Shit galore.

“Mona isn’t here,” I tried again, my heart kicking into high gear, which caused the ache in my temple to feel like a miniature jackhammer.

He turned to me, his jaw working. “She owes me.”

Shit galore everywhere and on my shoes.

Greasy Guy turned to me, and his eyes were a pale blue, unfocused. I wasn’t sure he even saw me. “She’s got shit here. I know she does.”

My eyes widened. There had so better be no shit here.

Without saying another word, he brushed past me, heading for the bedroom. My heart lurched in my chest. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

He didn’t respond as he went straight for the bed, ripping off the clean sheets and blankets.

“Hey!” I shouted.

Still, he ignored me as he slipped his hands under the mattress and then flipped it over. When he found nothing, he let out a string of curses.

Oh, this was so not good and quickly spiraling out of control.

I started toward him, but he threw out a jacked-up arm and growled, “Stay the fuck back.”

My stomach tumbled, and I stayed the fuck back as he went to the dresser, pulled out my folded clothes, and then went over to the closet. Out of some small miracle, he didn’t go for my purse after demolishing the room I’d straightened.

Then he stopped at the entrance to the bathroom, his back straightening. A strange look crossed his face. “Damnit.” Greasy Guy turned and jogged out of the bedroom, aiming for the stairs.

Oh no. Where in the hell did he think he was going? Hands shaking, I whirled around and got in front of him, blocking the stairs. “I’m sorry, but she’s not here. I don’t know where she is or what you’re looking for, but you need to—”

He planted a hand in the center of my chest, pushing me back, and then he got right up in my face. His teeth were yellow, some completely rotten out, and his breath smelled like days-old garbage. Bile rose in my throat.

“Look, I don’t know who you are and I don’t give a fuck. But I don’t have a problem with you,” he said. “So, don’t make me have a problem with you. Okay?”