Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The first part of that had her lips twitching. “Both. Any. I just prefer real shit, I guess.”
Yes, that seemed to be the theme for her.
Real people with real intentions and no bullshit.
“This is… tragic,” I decided as she pushed the door open to the room.
The brown carpet was worn down from decades of guests pacing the floors. The bedspreads were green and tan, a swirling pattern likely hiding untold numbers of seminal deposits. Again, from decades of guests.
“How many people do you think have been murdered here?” I asked, walking over toward one of the beds, and rolling the comforter up to remove it.
“A dozen at least. Don’t,” she snapped when I went to put the comforter down. “Don’t put it on the floor. I don’t want the girls sleeping on it either.”
So I placed them on the tiny desk next to the mirrored closet. If she also noticed, as I did, that the mirrors were perfectly placed facing the beds, she said nothing.
We both seemed to be of the same mind, pulling back the bedsheets, inspecting them, then the mattresses themselves. Both relieved that the sheets smelled clean, and the mattresses didn’t have any uninvited guests crawling around.
“Where you going?” I called as she made her way back to the door while the dogs took to sniffing every square inch of the room.
“I have bleach and disinfectant spray in the car,” she said, giving the bathroom a dubious look.
“Good call,” I said. “I’ll order food. Pizza? Chinese?”
“Yes,” was her answer before she made her way outside.
I took a second to shoot off a text to Coach, then placed orders to both of the take-out places while Murphy aggressively cleaned the bathroom, then came back out to spray down the beds with the disinfectant as well. Then the floor, making the dogs sneeze a bit, and prompting her to prop the door open to let some fresh air in.
“I ordered the dogs some antipasto,” I told her. “They deserve a treat for being in the car all day.”
Murphy was not the kind of woman who got hearts in her eyes, but right that moment was as close as I thought the woman could get.
“Don’t think you can keep bribing them with treats. They’ll still rip your throat out if I tell them to,” she said, sitting off the side of the bed, and reaching down to pet Miranda’s ears. “Right? You wouldn’t mind a little windpipe treat, would you?” she asked in a baby voice as the dog started tapping her leg on the floor happily. “Do you have any pets?” she asked as Samantha jumped up on her bed, stretching out long, glad for the legroom finally.
“Someone at the club has a corgi, but he’s not mine,” I said. “Woken up to him licking my face on more than a few occasions,” I added. “We have a club cat who showed up as a stray. He hates women, though.”
“Hmm,” she said, brows pinched.
“What?”
“Nothing. The trainer at the facility I got my girls from said it’s rare for pets to show aggression toward women. Compared to an aversion to men, anyway.”
“Facility?” I asked.
“They’re from a place that sources and trains dogs specifically for protection.”
“How much did that set you back?” I asked. Everything about that just sounded expensive.
“Forty grand each. Trained dogs are expensive.”
So she wasn’t bullshitting when she called the forty grand for the guns pocket change.
“Can’t put a price on the love, though, huh?” I asked as Miranda looked up at her with heart-filled eyes.
“I’ll wait outside to meet the delivery guys,” I told her a few minutes later, getting a distracted nod from her.
I moved a few feet down the row of rooms, meeting Coach by the side of an out-of-order vending machine, hoping she didn’t get curious, look out, see Coach, and figure out that I wasn’t being completely honest with her…
CHAPTER SIX
Murphy
I heard the rumble of male voices after Sway had moved out of the room.
I didn’t think anything of it, though.
Because, as it turned out, Sway was as opposite of me as a person could get. Me, who placed mobile orders whenever it was an option. Me, who paid via the apps instead of having to open the door for someone. Me, who wore my Resting Bitch Face everywhere I went so no one bothered me.
Sway, this is hard to believe but true, actually wanted to talk to people. The man talked to people at the gas station, random people passing by as we walked the dogs, to the people checking us out for food.
Maybe it was a small-town thing.
I imagined that if you grew up and continued to live in an area where you knew everyone, and they you, that talking to people while you were out was common and comfortable.
And, well, he was just a friendly, easy-going sort of guy.