Chapter 13 #2
"Knackered." She mimicked my accent. "That's not a word."
"Of course, it's a word."
"I don't think so."
"It means exhausted. Tired. Worn out."
"Then say exhausted, or fucking worn out." She grinned. "You Yanks and your weird words."
"Well, to be honest, knackered is more of a British word."
"Oh, it's a British word, is it?" She spoke like she was pretending to be the queen.
My heart skipped a beat as she giggled. Even exhausted and battered, she was beautiful.
Not the polished kind of beauty I was used to.
The women in my world wouldn't be caught dead without full makeup and designer clothes.
Hell, my mother wore lipstick to bed. But Cassidy was different.
Natural. Real. She had the kind of beauty that didn't need enhancing.
I shook my head, but I was smiling. Despite everything we'd been through and nearly dying multiple times in one night, I was smiling.
Because of her.
She moved ahead of me, and as she stomped out another ember, her silhouette outlined against the pre-dawn sky.
Her wet tank top clung to her back, showing the curve of her waist. Her shoulders were strong and squared.
Her hair fell in messy braids down her back.
She moved with purpose and confidence like she belonged to this landscape.
And I realized something that made my chest tighten.
I wanted this kind of freedom. To wear what I wanted. Say what I wanted. Be what I wanted.
I'd been under the control of my mother and father—no, not my father—of Dominic for so long, I didn't know who I was anymore.
Maybe that's why I'd always felt like I didn't belong.
Because I damn well didn't.
"Hey, muffin." Cassidy turned back to me, hands on her hips. "You gonna help or just stand there staring?"
"I'm assessing the damage."
"Uh-huh. Sure, you are." She clicked her fingers. "Come on. Let's check inside. See if anything's salvageable, like your shirt. I’m getting sick of looking at your weird chest."
I glanced down at my body, then back at her. “What’s wrong with my chest?”
She pulled a face. “Nothing.”
I looked at her bloodshot eyes, soot-streaked face, and sassy smile, and apparently, my body didn’t care that we could be related because heat rushed through my veins like a tsunami. And that was dangerous, confusing, and just wrong.
She held my gaze for a moment longer, then, chuckling, she spun on her heel and walked away.
"Hey, come on. What's wrong with my chest?" I chased after her.
We circled around to the steps, crossed the verandah, and walked back inside.
Smoke still lingered in the air, but not as thick as it had been before.
"Watch your step," Cassidy said, navigating around a few dead mice. They weren't burned, so they probably hadn't survived the smoke.
Once again, I realized our survival had been a miracle. Maybe my mantra really had worked.
The kitchen area was the worst. Where the side wall used to be was now a jagged, scorched hole big enough to see the dawn’s glow showing through.
The bench had partially collapsed, shelves splintered and charred.
The exterior wall had burned away almost completely, leaving the interior structure exposed like a gutted carcass.
I moved closer, stepping over two dead mice. "Look at that," I said, pointing at a massive blast that had ripped a chunk out of the side wall.
"Oh shit," Cassidy muttered.
"What?"
"I forgot about the gas canister for that camp stove." She kicked a piece of twisted metal on the floor. "It exploded."
"Christ. We really were lucky."
"I'll say." She held up the lantern, which was still intact. "Forgot about this, too. And the matches." She swiped the matches off the bench. "If these had ignited, I doubt we'd be standing here now."
"It's a miracle. I'm telling you, my meditation worked."
"I'm beginning to think you're right." She lit the lantern and placed it on the undamaged section of the counter.
Something in the wall glinted against the flame. I stepped closer to where the explosion had blown away the plasterboard and squatted down.
Cassidy followed my gaze. "What's that?"
"Don't know."
Between the outer boards and the demolished interior wall were foil packets. Stacks of them.
I reached in and pulled one out. The vacuum-sealed foil bag was heavy and wrapped tightly.
Cassidy pulled out another one. "What are they?"
I tore open the corner, and hundred-dollar bills spilled out.
"Holy shit?" She ripped open her packet. More cash.
"What the hell?" I grabbed another packet and did the same.
We pulled out more and more, all crammed into the cavity inside the wall that ran the length of the cottage.
"Holy shit," I breathed.
"Jesus. There are hundreds of these packets in here." Cassidy drove her hands into a stack inside the wall and hauled the whole lot out. The packets tumbled down like an avalanche.
Her eyes were wide as she sat back on her heels, staring at the packets like they were live grenades.
"What the hell is going on here, Cassidy?" I glared at her.
Her mouth fell open, but she just stared at the money scattered across the floor between us.
"Cassidy," I snapped. "Whose money is this?"
She didn't answer.
"Cassidy, look at me."
Her throat worked as she swallowed. When she finally looked up at me, her face was pale, and I saw something in her that I hadn't seen before.
Fear.