Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
I shriek. Knox laughs, like he is enjoying every twisted second of this, and fires again, this time hitting a piece of the wall that now has a goddamned hole in it that I have to fix. The rats scatter, but one goes straight for my bare foot.
Before I can think, I climb him. I grab both his biceps, press my entire self to his back, and my legs go around his waist, like a fucking monkey. It is not elegant, but it is effective. It doesn’t stop him, he aims the gun and shoots the scurrying rats, one by one. When the last one drops, silence fills the air.
I release him, horrified.
He turns, staring at me, an amused grin on his face. “Not goin’ to lie, I’m impressed by your climbing skills.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, rubbing my arms. “I don’t even know you, but I hate you.”
He shoves his gun into his jeans, then casually takes a sip of beer like he didn’t just murder all three rats. “Enjoy your evening.”
With that, he turns and walks towards the door.
“Wait,” I yell, and he pauses. “What do I do with those? Burn them? Mail them to ex-boyfriends?”
He salutes with his can. “Leave them as a warning for the other ones.”
I look at the twitching shadow under the radiator and whisper, “Other ones?”
Somewhere beneath the floorboards, I hear a scratch.
Oh good.
Fucking wonderful.
2
That was the night from hell.
I mean literally. With dead rats on the ground and more scurrying through the house like they own the place, I might as well be in the fiery pits themselves. I spent the night in my car, stuffing an old towel in the door and closing it, then tucking it in anywhere I could so that it would at least deter the little fuckers from coming through the window gaps.
By morning, I am tired, hungry, pissed off, and ready for this to be over. I’m more determined than ever to win that bet against Knox now, because it means he can deal with this house and I can get out without it sending me broke. Plus, he is good with a gun, and I have a feeling I might just need one after this. But first, I need a damn coffee because I can’t face the day ahead without one.
It’s about 9 when tires rattle up the drive. I’m sitting on the hood of my car with a cup of cold gas station coffee, trying to bring myself to go inside, when the girls from the club show up in a busted-out old jeep. I stare at them as they come to a stop, and three of them get out. I wrack my brain trying to remember their names but yesterday was somewhat of a blur.
They’re all beautiful, though, like a girl band strutting towards me, about to bust out into song.
“Morning!” the one with the gorgeous dark red hair sings out, cheerful.
“Hey,” I say, wearily, not entirely sure why they’re here.
“I’m Mera, in case you forgot, and that’s Nia and Sable,” Red says, pointing her finger to the other two girls.
Mera, that’s right.
“Callie,” I smile. “Dare I ask why you’re here?”
“This is an intervention,” Mera says, stepping up to the side of the car and pulling out a tent. “We heard about the bet, and we’re not about to let you lose. Knox needs someone to kick him up the ass.”
I chuckle, sliding off the hood and standing, staring as they unload things from the jeep.
“The rats almost got me,” I admit. “I spent the night in my car.”
“Ugh,” Sable says, walking up onto the porch and reaching for the front door.
“Don’t open that door!” I yell, but it’s too late; she has entered.
“Don’t worry,” Mera laughs. “She can handle it.”
“If you saw the size of those rats, you might not be certain of that,” I point out.
Nia reaches into the jeep and pulls out a coffee that looks hotter and fancier than mine. She hands it to me. “You can’t be living on cheap coffee.”
For a second, I want to cry—from something like gratitude—but Sable howls from indoors, “WHY ARE THERE DEAD RATS IN HERE?”
I make eye contact with Mera and then follow them inside. Now, the house of my nightmares is full of people, and my first instinct is to warn them to touch nothing, don’t sit on the furniture, don’t put your bag on the floor, and please, for the love of God, wear closed-toe shoes.
Through the archway, Mera is already cataloging the scene before her, “You know, ‘rustic chic’ doesn’t have to be literal.”
Nia shoves a bag of donuts at me, and my stomach grumbles. “Before we go any further, eat something; it looks like you’ll need it.”
“I’m scared to pull anything out in case the rats sniff it out...”