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)
A shiver trails down my spine as I finally reach my apartment and whip my key out of my pocket, more than ready to slip inside and lock the door behind me, but I find myself glancing over my shoulder at Zade’s apartment.
The door is wide open, and it’s like a beacon welcoming me in.
I pause, shivers sailing down my spine. I shouldn’t. It’s asking for trouble, but I can’t stop thinking about getting in there and discovering anything about this stranger that could help me, or at the very least, answer some of the burning questions that have plagued me since the moment I moved in.
Shit.
This is insane.
I should open this damn door, get inside, and lock the bastard out behind me. Am I an idiot for even considering this? Hell, I know I am.
Fuck.
Without another thought, I slip across the hall, trying to keep myself hidden between the bodies. The moment I step over the threshold into Zade’s apartment, my stomach starts to crawl. I’m going to be sick, and come first thing tomorrow, I need to book myself an appointment with a therapist to figure out how I could willingly do something so stupid. But I’m here now and I’m not going to waste an opportunity like this.
There’s not a lot to see in his small apartment. It’s just like Cross’s. There’s a couch and flatscreen TV, but for some reason, I don’t think he uses it. The layout of his apartment is different, with the kitchen and living room at one end and the bedroom and bathroom at the other.
I don’t bother walking into the kitchen since I can see everything from where I am. Instead, I find myself wandering to the bedroom. I look left and right before curling my hand around the handle and testing my luck. The latch releases, and I suck in a breath, my eyes widening with the realization of what’s about to happen.
I should run. I should shove this reckless curiosity back down where it belongs and take off before this shit turns sour. And yet, instead of making a break for it and having my best interests in mind, I discreetly slip inside the bedroom of my kidnapper.
Closing the door behind me, I step into an empty room, my gaze immediately scanning the space around me. There’s a queen-sized bed up against the side wall with a small bedside table next to it and no windows. The room smells just like him, and it’s almost overwhelming, making me feel as though he’s in the room with me. There’s no denying it though, it smells damn good. It’s intoxicating, similar to that wicked stare of his.
Not wanting to be here any longer than necessary, I start searching, looking for any clue that will tell me who he is or what he wants with me. I start with his wardrobe, finding a whole lot of nothing. His clothes are neat, almost with military-style perfection. Not a damn thing’s out of place. Shoes are in a straight line, a few shirts and pants, but not nearly enough for someone who’s supposedly living here full time.
Suspicion gnaws at me, and I close his closet before turning back to the rest of his room, and honestly, there’s not much to look at. Making my way across to his bedside table, I plonk my ass on the edge of his bed and feeling that this is somehow too intimate, I get right up again.
Pulling open the top drawer, I find an envelope, and despite my better judgment telling me I don’t want to know what’s in it, I reach in, my curiosity knowing no bounds. As my fingers curl around the smooth envelope, I feel something cold and hard beneath it and quickly pull my hand away.
A gasp of terror flies from my lips as I stare at the gun tucked into the drawer.
A fucking gun.
I’m no prude. I wasn’t expecting to find this place the picture-perfect home with flowers and teacups, but I sure as fuck wasn’t expecting this. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. The asshole kidnapped me and locked me up in a fucking cell. I should expect someone like him to have a gun. Hell, after what they put me through, I should have a gun.
My brow arches, the thought already rooted in my brain, and without even a shred of hesitation, I reach for the gun and tuck it into the back of my jeans. Hell, Zade was probably planning on using this thing on me anyway, so rather than considering this theft, it’s simply a lifesaving move. Consider it forward thinking with a side of self-preservation.
Making a mental note to google how to use this thing, I bring my attention back to the envelope. It hasn’t been sealed and I flip it over for easy access, much like the way Dalton had me up on that roof. Opening the top, I tip it up and discard its contents onto Zade’s bed, and my world goes cold once again.