Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Eleanor
Don’t they know lace is expensive?
C harlie eyeballs me from his position on the couch as I dump my clothes in the washing machine. Like an idiot, I failed to bring anything clean apart from two pairs of panties, one of which is still tucked inside Hunter’s pocket. I raise a brow at the mutt as he lifts his head from his paws to keep a close eye on my movements. I’ve contemplated running at least six times in the last hour alone, but it’s not a bad thing to take a breath and figure out my next steps. Plus, I promised Honor and Fox I would at least try to stay here.
“Stay,” I say sternly.
Charlie makes some kind of grumbling noise at the instruction, but he doesn’t disobey me. I roll my shoulders, trying to release the tension having a dog in my space brings. It’s one fear I haven’t been able to conquer. My ear burns in memory of the vicious bite and the surgical repair that followed.
Striding into the laundry room, I drag my clothing off and stuff it inside the washing machine before searching the cupboards for detergent. Charlie blinks at my naked form as I finally find the powder and shove it inside the drum before turning the dial to mixed. The time flashes three hours and fifteen minutes. Good god, what is the machine doing? Taking each item down to the river and using a washboard to scrub the grime out? I now have zero clothing, apart from a single pair of panties, for the next three hours.
My mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert, so I make shooing motions to get Charlie out of the doorway and stroll into the kitchen to hunt for a glass. The cupboards are surprisingly full of a wide variety of cooking ingredients. Is Hunter a keen amateur chef, or is there a woman who visits regularly to make him food? The latter makes my stomach twist, forcing me to pause in the middle of the room. What is that? I glance down my body, furrowing my brow at the strange sensation. The junk food from the car journey is still making itself known. I might not cook, but I order a variety of healthy takeout, so the high fat is clearly taking its toll on my gastrointestinal system.
Finding a glass, I fill and guzzle three lots of water before spinning on my heel and heading through the apartment and into the closet. I can’t believe one person owns so many clothes. Hunter won’t care if I borrow one of his shirts. I grab the first button up shirt hanging next to the door and dump it on my bed next to the white lace panties and my laptop. I nod once, looking at the pristine pieces of fabric. It will suffice for a few hours. Besides, maybe Hunter will stay out long enough to never know I borrowed his clothing. I bite my lip, knowing how asinine that thought is. Seems statistically unlikely.
Ignoring the improbability of time, I root around in my assigned bedroom and find the bedside drawers empty. With a shrug, I tip half the contents of my secret bag in there, then tuck the rest in the next drawer down. I can sort them into appropriate piles later. Stuffing the now empty bag under the bed next to my empty suitcase, I grab my toiletries and head for the shared bathroom.
It’s luxurious, tiled in warm stone with recessed shelves that flicker with light as I walk inside the room. Hints of gold glimmer on the taps and in the shower. There’s a double sink, and I arrange my items on the left hand side since Hunter’s are on the right. He’s apparently an electric toothbrush kind of guy, and there’s a contact lens case next to it. How bad is his eyesight? Images of a glasses-wearing Hunter assault my mind. I clear my throat, backing away from the vanity. No. Not good. Stupid fucking snacks.
My gaze catches on the small orb in the corner of the room. A recognizable gadget, and one that strangely brings me comfort.
“Alexa, play rock music.”
The blue lights swirl and she gifts me with Shinedown’s I’ll Follow You Down as I step into the shower. The water hits my bare skin, and I suck in a quick breath at the cold before it’s replaced by a steady heat. I love that first burst; it wakes the senses and clears the mind, something I am in desperate need of.
Washing the last two days off my skin is cathartic. Christopher’s oily fingers. Jonathan’s sinister touch. I force it all to slide off my skin and disappear down the drain. It clings like the memories of the past, sunken into my flesh with Jonathan’s brutal brand of affection. My hand drifts over the scar on my hip, and my breath catches as fire burns across my stomach and down my leg as I allow myself a moment to feel. Here in the shower, I can release the emotion. The weak tears are washed away, so it’s safe to fall apart. This is the only time I mourn the childhood stolen from me. It’s where my rage consumes everything within me for the mother I lost at the cost of my freedom. I should’ve done more. We should’ve left sooner. I never should’ve questioned her.
I rebuild my walls, one sob at a time, until I have iced over my heart to continue with the vengeance I promised in blood. I bolster my mind, focusing on the devil walking our world, and renew my vow to rid the earth of his filth and send him back to where he belongs. My eyes shutter closed, my mouth mumbling words I’ve said thousands of times to a God I surprisingly still believe in. I kept my faith, because without Heaven there can be no Hell, and I have to believe Jonathan will suffer for an eternity. Anything less is a blessing he doesn’t deserve.
My thoughts flicker to my brother, and I process the changes in him. He’s harder. Colder. I can understand that. But his words threaten to undo my defenses once more. My flesh and blood, a man I share DNA with, he’s… evil.
“I’ve been a participant, a conspirator, a murderer, a rapist, a kidnapper, a trafficker. I am going to Hell, Eleanor. The last good deed I did was getting you out. Don’t let my, and our mother’s, sacrifice be in vain. You are free. At least, you were.”
I don’t doubt his words. To survive and become Jonathan’s right-hand man, he would have had to prove himself time and time again. People aren’t born evil, but circumstances collide to make them do evil things. It’s not an excuse. My brother is responsible for pain and misery in the world, and my rose-colored glasses came off long ago. I lean my face into the steaming spray, pushing my lungs to their limit. It does make it harder to swallow when our last two meetings involved him saving me. It tugs me in one direction, then another, and I do not know which side is correct.
Then there’s the doubt. The niggling feeling I am making a mistake by being here with Hunter. I work alone. That way, mistakes and failures are mine to own. Perhaps I have gotten too close. Too personal. A different perspective could help me see the missing connections I have been staring at night after night. Pulling my head back, I gasp in heaving breaths of the heavy air. I will stay. Only for a short time. A week, perhaps two. I’ll track Christopher and make sure he is tangled up in some cyber security crisis rather than focusing on the woman who got away. He might have single-minded determination when it comes to his toys, but men like him value money above all else. I need to divert his attention with a well-placed, terrifying yet ultimately harmless, virus. That can easily be solved within an afternoon, which means I have a plan for tomorrow.
My nerves settle and my resolve hardens as I firm up my next steps. No running—for now. No one knows where I am, and there’s nothing to link me to Hunter outside of being sighted in the airport. And if the masses come looking, it will be met with the force of the Desert Reapers. I add checking into their dealings to my list. I vaguely remember they are an ethical, above board, new age motorcycle club. At least on the surface. Time to delve a little deeper.
I scrub myself clean using Hunter’s mouthwatering shower gel in the absence of my own, the slimy tendrils of evil finally leeching from my pores under the near scalding water. Stepping out, I wrap myself in a fluffy heated black towel, then brush my teeth while staring at my reflection. My eyes still look a little wild, like my brain hasn’t caught up to the fact we have stopped running. I wrestle a brush through my long dark hair, then exit the bathroom in a cloud of lemon and sandalwood.
My gaze falls on the open bedroom door, which I’m ninety-nine percent sure I closed. I take a step back on silent feet and palm my gun from the open safe I’ve not yet secured. Checking the chamber is loaded, I debate swapping the towel for the shirt before I head out to face my foe. Seems worth the twenty seconds to at least put on underwear.
My hand lands next to the shirt as I keep my eyes on the door, listening for whoever is lurking in the apartment. I frown when my hand glides from my laptop to the shirt without encountering the expected lace. I glance down, taking a chance by taking my eyes off the door, only to find an empty space where my panties were. That’s unusual. Unless Hunter’s back already. He’d be the prime suspect in stealing my last pair of clean panties. What is he doing with them? Making a collection? I shake that thought off, refusing to follow where it led. If it was him, he would be standing in the corner of the room with them dangling from his fingers like a cat that got the cream. No. It doesn’t make any sense. I drop the towel and shrug on Hunter’s shirt one handed, keeping my gun in my hand and my eyes pinned on the hallway. I can’t button one handed, so I guess I’ll have to risk flashing the intruder. The rock music is fed throughout the apartment, so the moment is punctuated by Aerosmith singing about love in an elevator. I’ve never understood the lyrics, but the tune is catchy.
Soundlessly, I move to the door and look down the hallway to Hunter’s bedroom door. Closed. The bathroom door is still open, and I clear that room quickly before taking the four steps to the edge of the living area. A quick scan doesn’t reveal anyone or anything suspicious. There’s only the island someone could be crouched behind. I swallow the knot in my throat and steady my heartbeat as I shift silently around the wall, ready to blow out the kneecaps of whoever is risking their lives. Always aim for the shoulder or kneecaps first; it’s the best way to incapacitate to get answers.
My eyebrows hit my hairline as I find my thief is none other than the monster Charlie.
White lace dangles from his mouth, and he crouches in what I’m assuming is supposed to be a playful pose. Looks aggressive to me. How does Hunter live with that beast?
“Just like your daddy,” I grumble as I flick the safety on the gun and retrace my steps back into the guest room before returning the weapon to the safe. Shooting my gracious host’s dog seems like overkill.
I’m also giving Charlie the chance to rethink his actions and relinquish my underwear.
Moving back into the living area, I find that no, his mini timeout didn’t succeed in him second guessing his poor decision making. I take a step closer to him, and he winks at me. Seriously. How does a dog wink? That’s got to be a weird thing. “Be a good boy and give me my panties back.”
He chuffs like he’s laughing at me, then spins in a circle and dives between my legs. I squeak in shock as his velvet fur brushes against me as he makes a mad dash for the couch.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “You have got to be kidding me.”
I stalk after Charlie, the stupid pantie stealing mutt. “Hey! Those aren’t yours.”
He flips on his back and shows me his belly. That’s a sign of submission, right? Does that mean he’s relinquishing my underwear? His fangs poke through the lace as he side-eyes my approach.
“That’s right, nice and slow. Give Ellie her panties back before your daddy gets home, and I’ll give you a nice treat.”
Charlie’s eyes widen, and I realize too late I’ve said some kind of sleeper trigger word. He spins over in a flurry of paws and launches himself off the couch, bumping his head on the table as he barrels past me and runs circles around the room. Confused and a little nervous, I jump onto the couch for safety and eyeball the crazy mutt.
“Charlie, calm down. I need those.”
He skids to a stop at the other end of the couch and hunches down, his eyes bright as he focuses on me.
Oh shit…