23. Present turned to past

“Tell me his name, Dalia," Michael demanded when I entered his car and he saw my face. My tears ran freely. “Tell me the asshole’s name!”

"Chill, Michael.”

Michael craned his neck to glare up at the skyscraper building through his windshield. "What did rich boy do? Say the word, Dalia. Say the word and I’ll deliver his head to you John the Baptist style.”

"Michael, I promise you, I'm good," I tried to defuse him. "He didn't do anything to me.

I just...needed space and snuck out. That’s all."

He didn’t believe me. It was obvious. "Y’sure?"

"Yes." I added a nod with the word for emphasis. "Is Julia at your place?"

Michael finally pulled away from the curb. At this ungodly hour, the roads were dark and unpopulated. "Yeah. Been there all week."

"And you're out swindling?"

"Have to make that green, baby girl," he said through his sexy Hispanic accent. His basketball cap barely sat on the side of his head.

"I'm gonna sleep at your house tonight then. But stop at my apartment first so I can