25. Cassidy
I must be in shock. How quickly does PTSD set in? I’m on the third floor of Glenmont Manor, a cloth in one hand and a bottle of furniture spray in the other.
This is the last room…if you don’t count Ethan’s bedroom and office. But instead of finishing up, jumping in my car, and getting the hell out of dodge…I’m just standing here, staring out the window.
I’ve given blow jobs before.
Three, to be exact.
I didn’t swallow.
But what happened down there earlier today? That was…I don’t even know what the fuck that was.
It was cruel. Painful. Humiliating.
But if it had gone on just a few seconds longer, I swear I would have come too. Which makes no sense, because I thought he was going to suffocate me.
I couldn’t breathe.
I almost drowned in my own spit…and then his cum.
I can still taste him at the back of my throat, and I’ve had three glasses of water.
So what the hell am I still doing here?
Oh, right.
I decided, whilst on my knees and sucking on his cock like the fuck toy I apparently am, that Ethan Remington will not get the better of me. I’ve come this far, and I don’t plan to leave until I’ve proved his guilt, or confirmed his innocence.
There’s even a kind of plan tumbling around in my head.
As soon as I stop feeling so fucking shell shocked, I’m going downstairs, and I’m going to?—
My stomach tightens as a figure comes into view.
Is that…Ethan?
I lean against the window, my nose touching the cool glass as I stare down.
Ethan is wearing different clothes. Dark jeans, a brown leather jacket, boots. He’s making a beeline for the garage a few yards away from the main house.
Shit! I could have tried to sneak back into the basement and see what the hell was inside that box. But there wouldn’t be enough time to reach the basement, never mind sneak inside and open it up.
So I’m left watching from the window like those children from Flowers in the Attic, too afraid to leave the safety of this room in case I’m caught.
The garage door rolls open to let him in, and he disappears inside.
I realize I’m brushing a finger over my lips and hurriedly snatch my fingers away. He’s so fucking big, it feels like he stretched out my mouth.
I can only imagine what it would be like to?—
Grumbling under my breath, I glance down at the bare wooden window seat and spray it aggressively with the furniture polish.
Fucking rich asshole, thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants to me just because I let him. And I only let him because I refuse to back down. I swipe furiously at the window seat, bringing the dull wood to a blazing shine.
That’s when I hear a car engine. My eyes snap back to the window.
A boxy green Mercedes G-Wagon reverses out of the garage.
Is he leaving? That would give me more than enough time to go through that box in the basement. Maybe even search through the rest of the house.
But he doesn’t leave. He reverses the Mercedes up to the side of the house, disappearing from view a moment later.
Abandoning my cleaning, I race down the hall and dart into a room with south-facing windows. I hurry to the nearest window and look down, my heart pattering excitedly when I spot the green truck.
It looks like he’s pulled up to the side door, the one that leads out of the kitchen.
Shit. I was hoping he’d drive off, but he parks the Mercedes and gets out, disappearing from view again when he enters the side door.
So much for that.
I guess it’s time I just came clean and told him what the hell I’m doing here. I mean, what’s the worst thing he could do to me?
Do you know what a flogger is?
I shudder at the thought of medieval torture rooms, blood, and pain.
Is a box with the words ‘BECKS’ on it enough evidence for Detective Lewis? I can tell him I came to visit and just saw the box standing around. Isn’t that probable cause or something?
Damn it, I wished I’d paid more attention when I binge watched Bones. But I was more interested in the slow burn romance between Booth and Dr. Brennan than whether they were following police protocol.
What the hell am I going to do?
I’m not sure I’ll survive another night, not after today. It pissed Ethan off that I was in the basement, even though he can’t prove it. If he has something to hide, he might decide I’m not worth the risk, and?—
Ethan comes back into view.
He’s carrying a box.
I’m not a gambler like my dad, but I’d bet good money that there’s a BECKS on the side of that fucking box.
That feeling returns. Heavy limbs, empty head, a slow hard thump of my heart as I watch Ethan load what has to be incriminating evidence into his G-Wagon. He disappears back into the manor to fetch some more boxes, packing them all in the boxy SUV before slamming the door closed.
My fingers trace the outline of my lips as I watch the Mercedes drive off.
This is it, Cassidy. This is your chance.
I race out of the room and down to the first floor. But his bedroom door is locked.
Does he know I’m onto him, or is he always this paranoid?
My heart pounds steadily inside my chest as I consider my options.
Oh, right.
I don’t have any.