That way, once he is distracted, I can slip out of the front door.

“Nicholas is a murderer,” Owen says, pacing around the living room.

Suddenly, it occurs to me that he is not just drunk. He is also intoxicated on something else.

Something not at all mellow like pot, something potent.

I’m tempted to ask but I don’t want to make him even more agitated.

This is why I left. I’m not going to tiptoe around my own house out of fear of making someone upset by my presence.

“I’m tired of talking about him,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “We’re no longer together, what more do you want?”

“I want you to believe that he killed my girlfriend and his partner. The FBI is looking for him. What more proof do you need?”

“I’m going to believe what I want to believe, Owen. You’re not going to tell me what to think.”

A part of me is proud of myself for standing my ground, but another part is terrified.

He already attacked me once.

He tried to keep me cloistered in the bathroom.

What’s to stop him from doing it again? One false move on my part and he will.

He looks down at the floor and hangs his shoulders.

He’s giving up. I see that as my moment.

“I’m going to go now, Owen,” I say and move slowly toward the door.

It was a toss-up whether I should’ve just slipped out or whether it was better to warn him that I was leaving and I chose the latter.

When I open the door, I turn back once and see that Owen has sat down in the large chair opposite the couch.

I let out a small sigh of relief.

Then he starts to laugh. I'm about to close the door but curiosity stops me in my tracks.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, peeking my head back in.

He continues to chuckle, raising his index finger in the air to show me that he needs a minute.

“Do you want to know the truth?”

“Of course,” I say slowly.

“You want to know the real reason why Nicholas will finally get what’s coming to him?”

Shivers run down my spine. My hands turn to ice. I wait for him to continue.

“I turned him in,” Owen says, laughing. “I did it. That’s why they’re after him.”

I shake my head a little from side to side, not wanting to believe the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“How…why?” I gasp.

“I called the main office and I told them what he did for Art Hedison.”

“You mean what we did,” I correct him.