Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I step down from the truck, and Cain yells from behind me, “Call me before you go to bed, baby!”
God. He’s doing that fake boyfriend thing again. I shoot him a glare over my shoulder, but that only makes him do this deep, manly, sexy chuckle I feel straight between my legs. Grrr!
Troy stares. What the hell is his problem? “Tell your boyfriend he can’t park there,” he says, but once he catches sight of Cain, he starts to take a step backward. Smart move, asshole.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he’s not my boyfriend, but I think better of it. It might be good for word to get around I’ve got a boyfriend the size of Paul Bunyan, who drives a truck the size of Paul’s big blue ox. I amuse myself with the memory of the fabled Paul Bunyan rolling over in his sleep and causing an earthquake, and digging out the Great Lakes by hand.
I fantasized about being friends with Paul Bunyan when I was a little girl, bullied by my foster parents and bullied at school. No one would bully a girl with a friend who was bigger than life.
I guess I never outgrew that.
As Cain’s truck drives away, I square my shoulders and head inside.
I walk up the steps and grab my mail, and for once in my life my landlord doesn’t give me shit or follow me. Thank you, Mr. Master. I did tell him I don’t need help, and I don’t, but I might as well take advantage when opportunity knocks.
Now that the sun has set, it’s cooler, and even the humidity’s lessened. My phone beeps. I look down to see a text from Candi.
Candi: Just checking to see if you’re still alive.
Me: I will be more alive after I get some food in my belly.
I’m so starving, my vision’s blurred. I walk up the flight of stairs, open my apartment door, then shut it and deadbolt it behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve somehow made it this far. We do breathing exercises when we train, and it comes naturally to me when I feel the tension along my neck and back.
Deep breath in. Release.
After everything that’s happened the past few days, I feel like I need to scope my place out before I relax.
The kitchen looks untouched. Nothing out of place. I left everything locked up tighter than a drum, the windows shut and locked, the air conditioner on low. The kitchen’s clear.
The bathroom’s got a small, standing shower with a clear glass door, and it’s easy to see it’s vacant as well. Not a towel or tissue out of place.
I turn to leave the bathroom when a loud crash sounds behind me in my bedroom. I scream, swivel on my heel, and my knife’s in my hand before I’ve stopped screaming. I stand in place, my hand trembling.
“Who’s there? Come out! I swear to God, if you don’t, I’ll kill you!”
I walk into my bedroom. A light breeze flutters through an open window, a curtain dancing in the wind. No one’s there.
That’s odd. I never leave my window open. Why the hell would I forget this one?
I swing around and look at my closet, but it’s wide open and so tiny, no one could fit in there if they tried. There’s nowhere else to hide in my rinky-dink apartment.
Why the hell did I think this was a good idea again? Why?
Independence is so overrated.
There’s a fucking serial rapist on the loose, and the guy I’m working for not only has an enormous kitchen stocked with food I saw with my very own eyes, he has things like security guards and guns. Big ones.
Not the only big thing he’s got, I think to myself like a horny teen, but someone’s got to break the tension, and I’m the only one here.
“Good one, Vi. Keep ‘em rolling,” I mutter to myself just to break the silence.
I walk around my room, suddenly angry that anyone’s done anything at all to make me afraid, to think they can come into my goddamn house and hurt me. Blood pulses through my veins, boiling.
Come at me. Fight me. If even Cain Master himself took me on now, it would be a battle to the death.
“Who’s there? Come out! Come show yourself to me!”
Nothing. Not a sound. I look on the floor as something catches my eye. A picture frame’s fallen from my desk. The wind knocked it over, and here I am thinking I have a damn intruder.
I roll my eyes and pick it up. My doorbell buzzes.
Interesting. I go to the living room and push the intercom button, curious. “Yes?”
“Delivery for a Miss Price.”
Delivery?
“What is it?”
“Sake and Sushi.”
Sake and Sushi’s the name of one of my favorite places to eat. “I didn’t order Sake and Sushi,” I say, even as my stomach growls and my mouth waters. I swallow hard. I wish that was my order.