Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
"I won't be long," I tell them, wanting to get out from the middle of whatever issue they seem to have with each other, but Twisted follows close behind me as I traverse the stairs to the second floor.
I chance half of a glance in the direction of the room Henry held Kaylee in, but there's no chance I'll be going in that direction today. I consider the need to sell the house and move because I don't know if I'll ever feel comfortable here again. The violation just seems too big to overcome without a fresh start.
"Whiskey just did a preliminary search," Twisted says as I reach for the doorknob to my bedroom. "We haven't checked for electronic devices."
I turn to face him, unsure what he's getting at.
"We don't know if Henry put listening devices or cameras in the house. I would advise against changing clothes or doing anything you don't want to be seen by someone else."
A rush of goosebumps races out over my arms.
"Seriously?"
He shrugs, his lips forming a flat line before he speaks. "He's a sick fuck. I wouldn't discount the possibility of anything at this point."
"Jesus," I mutter.
"I can check," he begins as he steps closer, his intention of following me into my bedroom becoming clear.
It wouldn't be the first time he was in there. He accompanied me when I gathered some clothes the night of the party, but it doesn't feel right for him to be in there again.
I turn and press my palm to the opposite side of the doorframe.
"I think we need to talk," I say, looking up at his face.
"Okay," he says, his voice taking on a different tone.
"I think there may be some crossed wires," I begin, having to pause to figure out what I'm going to say next.
I don't normally spend time rejecting guys. It's too easy to ghost someone and force them to move on. I know it isn't nice, but men get so damned butt-hurt when they're rejected. After a few guys scared me to the point I thought they'd get violent when I was in my early twenties, I've avoided situations like that entirely since.
I can't ghost Twisted if we're going to be staying in the same house, and I also don't think he's a bad guy. I'm just not compatible the way he might think we are.
"I'm so grateful that you helped the other night," I say, dropping my hand when my first instinct is to press it to his chest in a comforting way. "But I don't see there ever being anything more between us."
He looks down at me, pretty blue eyes blinking as if I've just said something in a foreign language he doesn't understand.
I realize as he watches me for a couple of beats that the man has probably never been rejected. It has to be a punch to the gut, and I feel a little bad for him, but not enough to backpedal.
I give him a weak smile, and he takes a step back. I hadn't even realized how close he'd gotten.
"Morgan," he whispers, shaking his head. "I want to apologize if there's been anything I've done that’s made you uncomfortable."
His response is a new one for me.
He doesn't argue his point. He doesn't list off all his attributes or get angry enough to tell me just what I'll be missing by not giving him a chance.
It's very refreshing.
"I just didn't want wires to be crossed," I tell him with another gentle smile.
"I'll be downstairs when you're ready to leave," he says before walking away.
I stare at his back as he descends the stairs because his reaction seems a little too calm. I fully expected the same sort of response I've always gotten. I've never had a guy act so maturely with a rejection, and I don't know how to deal with the reasonableness.
Somehow his reaction makes me feel like the biggest asshole that ever walked the earth as I close myself in my bedroom.
I consider for a second that maybe I should just stay here, that my time at the Cerberus villa has come to an end, but, glancing around my room, not knowing if Henry has been in here, makes my skin crawl. The idea that he could have cameras and is watching me right now moves me into action as I grab a couple of suitcases from my closet and pack.
I'm in a rush, but I make better choices in picking my clothes this time than I did the other night, knowing that I'll be returning to work tomorrow. I doubt my boss would be very impressed if I arrived in leggings and a t-shirt when the dress code at the office is business casual.
Five minutes later, I'm struggling to drag both suitcases, my personal hygiene bag, and my makeup bag through the door.