Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Cara’s whole body shakes as she fumbles back and drops her ass on the edge of my bed. “I don’t like this, Oakley,” she says, her eyes wide and terrified. “I swear, if you’ve brought some kind of mess from back home—”
“I haven’t,” I rush out.
“Swear it to me,” she insists. “I read way too many dark romance books to be cool with any of this. It sounds hot in books, but in reality, I don’t fucking like it. I can’t handle this type of shit. If there’s something I need to know or you’re mixed up with some questionable dudes, then tell me now because this living arrangement isn’t going to work. I’m sorry, but I need to look out for myself.”
“I swear,” I tell her. “I’m not mixed up with anything.”
Cara watches me a second later, as if trying to figure out if she can trust me, and after what feels like a lifetime, she finally nods. “Okay,” she says. “So, what do we do? Should we call the police?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I . . . I don’t know,” I tell her. “I think we should check the apartment first. You know, make sure nothing is missing. Check the door and windows and . . . I don’t know. Try and figure out how this happened before we go and make claims to the cops that someone broke in here.”
Cara lets out a heavy breath and pushes up from the edge of my bed. “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, striding across my room to the door. She takes the handle and pulls it wide, peering out into the hallway before thinking better of it. “You know what, you seem braver than me. Maybe you should go first.”
My jaw drops. I hadn’t even thought about that, but now that I have, the thought is ingrained deep in my brain, sending shockwaves of fear pulsing through my body. I hold my hand out. “Rock, paper, scissors goes first.”
She clenches her jaw before finally holding out her hand. “Shit.”
Ten seconds later, I creep out of my bedroom first with Cara all but glued to my back. We slink out into the living room, my gaze sweeping from left to right and the moment the front door comes into view, I scan over every single one of the locks, making sure they’re exactly how I left them.
“There,” Cara says with a gasp, pointing toward the living room window. “The blinds, look. They’re not straight. It’s like someone’s climbed through them.”
My brows furrow as we dart across to the kitchen, checking over the window. My hand snaps out and grips the cord for the blinds, and with a ferocious tug, the Venetians rise to the top of the window frame. Reaching for the window, I find the lock has been messed with. “Holy shit,” I breathe. “Someone really did break in here.”
“Oh God,” Cara cries, her hands in her hair as she paces back and forth through the kitchen. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. I can’t handle this.”
“It’s okay. I have plenty of cash from my tips last night. We’ll call a locksmith and get the lock replaced before my shift tonight. We’ll be okay. This is clearly just someone trying to leave me some kind of message. I just wish I knew what it was. But now the message has been left, they won’t come back again.”
“How do you know that?” she cries, not trusting my reasoning one bit, and to be completely honest, I don’t trust it either. “You can’t go to work tonight and leave me here by myself. What if this guy is some kind of messed-up serial killer who gets off on raping college girls and then guts them?”
“Fuck, thanks for that visual,” I say, shaking my head, feeling as lost as ever. “Look, I can’t cancel work this early. I had to fight for this job and promised that I was trustworthy. I can’t risk screwing it up so quickly. But just come with me. Call a few friends and sit in the bar while I work and after I close, we can walk home together.”
“Okay,” she says, looking nervous. “And until then?”
“Until then . . . we pretend we’re not fucking terrified and go about our day as though nothing happened. Whoever this asshole is, he’s not going to get the best of us.”
Her eyes are wide as she stops pacing and gapes back at me. “Really?” she questions. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m damn sure he’s already got the best of me.”
“We’re going to be okay,” I tell her, not trusting it one bit. “Go and have a hot shower and calm down, and while you do that, I’ll organize the locksmith.”
Cara lets out a heavy breath, her cheeks blowing out in the process, and without another word, she takes off to the bathroom. With Cara occupied, I scurry back to my room, scooping my phone off my bedside table, and as I search for a locksmith, I can’t help but glance up at the calling card again.