Chapter 7
Not explaining the bizarre conversation that took place with his parents is not allowed. Yet, it happens. He can’t honestly expect me to be satisfied with unconventional marriage and they have a few issues, as an adequate explanation for what I witnessed.
Nolan doesn’t say one word about them during the drive to Tybee. He points out the best places to eat, the oldest buildings, the ghostly history, and the significance of each square—and there are a lot of them—but not once does he offer a single word of elaboration for Harold and Nellie Moore.
He doesn’t know me. I love mystery and trivia.
Horror films are my love stories. Risk is my drug of choice.
The purpose of being here, in my place of birth, is to let go of everything I thought I knew about myself—about life—and discover something deeper, a greater meaning.
However, this new development, aka the Moores, tempts the hell out of me. My head screams, I have to know!
Nolan helps me with my suitcases up to my room, then we return to the kitchen.
“The stove is gas therefore the exhaust fan has to run when it’s in use.
The floors are ripped up because tiling is Theo’s next project with the house.
The bed has clean sheets and a quilt, but I recommend getting your own sheets if you’re a germaphobe. ”
I’m not a germaphobe—communal underwear being the exception. I’m desperate for him to give me more of an explanation about his parents. He doesn’t, and I can’t bring myself to ask any more.
“Here’s the key. Theo is not here unless he’s working or sleeping. He doesn’t say much, but he notices everything, and he’s an anal-retentive perfectionist when it comes to his job. So you best stay out of his way when he’s wearing a tool belt.”
I take the key and place it on the worktop.
Nolan nods to the key then jerks his head in the direction of the hooks by the door. “Weird stuff like that will drive Theo crazy.”
“Sorry? Like a key … one single key on an otherwise empty worktop?”
Nolan nods. “Your bedroom and bathroom are yours. You can live as messy as you want in those spaces, but the shared spaces such as the kitchen, living room, and garage will need to be kept tidy if you don’t want Theo losing his cool.”
I laugh. “How do you work with him?” Oh that’s right … you were born into crazy. A crazy I’m dying to solve.
“I handle the business part. Theo does all the manual labor. He does his thing. I do mine. That’s why we work well together. We’ve been friends for years, but he’s become really withdrawn in his life, so I respect his space.”
“He sounds like a lovely bloke.”
Nolan shrugs. “He’s just quiet and looks a little rough around the edges, but he’s a hard worker, pays his rent on time, and makes me a shitload of money because every house he renovates ends up in a bidding war.”
Slipping the key onto the hook, I get my first good look around the place, no longer letting Harold and Nellie consume my mind. The dark-stained cupboards and shiny marble worktops look brand new. Beveled-edge, wide, dark trim accent the doorways and floors. It smells like wood in here. I like it.
“Your man—Theo—is good. Did he make the cupboards himself?”
“Yes, ma’am. He has sick talent.”
I nod. “Well, I plan to keep to myself for the most part, and if I can remember to hang up my key, then I think Mr. Reed and I shall get along fine.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll be by tomorrow to see if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Nolan.”
He waves before closing the door. As I turn to go unpack, I hear Nolan’s muffled voice and that of another man’s. I inch closer to the back door where a window is cracked open.
“You’re never here,” Nolan says.
“Well, when I am, I like to be alone. A woman, Nolan? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Yes, a woman. She’s from London, and I think you’ll like her. Besides, she’s agreed to pay double what you’re paying for rent, so play nice.”
“I don’t need a goddamn woman making a mess around here and smelling the place up.”
I lift my arm and drop my chin, taking a whiff. “I don’t smell,” I whisper to myself.
“Smelling the place up? I didn’t pick her up off the street, Theo. I think she practices good hygiene.”
“Even worse. That’s what I’m talking about.
All that girly crap: perfume, shampoo that smells like fruit, lotion that smells like a donkey’s ass, and every damn piece of clothing saturated with fabric softener.
Candles, crap-smelling oils plugged into every outlet, and incense shit—it all gives me a fucking headache. ”
Nolan’s voice begins to fade. “A thousand bucks, Theo. If you want to pay her part, then I’ll evict her tomorrow. If not … she’s staying. Get some nose plugs.”
“We’ll see if she’s staying,” Theo mutters.
The back door flies open, sparing my life by less than an inch as it nearly squashes me behind it.
I can’t breathe as part-man, part-beast Theodore Reed stalks into the house.
He’s ten feet tall and maybe thirty-five stones of solid muscle and anger—at least that’s how my five-three, seven-stone self perceives him.
My immediate assessment could be a little inflated, but there’s no denying he’s built like a brick shithouse.
The average hummingbird’s heart beats 1,200 times per minute. I’m a humming bird trapped in a corner.
He runs one hand through unkempt, long blond hair.
My eyes shift to his other hand, half-expecting to see a hammer, because he looks like Thor.
His skin peeks out from scattered rips and holes in the denim wrapping his tree trunk legs.
The tattered sweat and dirt-stained rag he wears as a shirt does nothing to hide his thick muscles and inked skin.
Inhaling a deep breath, as if he smells me, he turns. I wait for red eyes and six-inch fangs dripping with saliva to greet me before I become his evening snack.
The eyes aren’t red. They’re blue—just like Thor’s.
“Stay out of my stuff and don’t make a mess.”
Another interesting fact about humming birds: despite their size, they rank as one of the most aggressive species of birds, attacking hawks and crows without hesitation.
“Or what?”
My name is Scarlet Stone. I am the smallest kid in the playground. I kick bullies in the balls because they never see me coming. My self-defense skills—zero. My hundred-meter sprint time—thirteen seconds.
“Don’t push me, little girl.”
Standing ramrod straight, I tip my chin up.
“It’s recently come to my attention that I’m paying double the rent you’re paying.
I’m splitting the house into thirds; each bedroom/bathroom space is a third, and the kitchen and living room together are the final third.
You’re only paying enough to cover your sleeping and bathing space.
So unless you’re coming or going, I don’t want to see you in my kitchen or living room. Understood?”
“Go to your room.” Steely blue eyes narrow into slits, giving a more chilling vibe instead of the warm ocean.
Yet … I love how I feel right now. Nolan is gone. This man could move two steps, snap my neck, and throw me into the Atlantic. That morbid possibility, no matter how remote it is, thrills me. I want time to stop so I can enjoy the rush this fear gives me.
“Sorry?” I laugh, trying to hold back the level of excitement that runs through my veins.
“I think we need to establish the ground rules, which should be easy since there’s only one.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I flip my hip out and cock my head to the side. “And what’s that?”
“I am the law.”
Time stops while we have a stare-off. I blink first, but it’s been a long day and I wasn’t prepared for this moment. I’m usually quite good at stare offs.
With the concentration of walking a tightrope, I ease past him. In the spirit of not killing my housemate within seconds of meeting him, I decide to go to my room and give him some space to cool his tits.
Until … he has the audacity to let his lip curl into a smirk at the last minute. I redirect my path, stopping at the fridge.
“Don’t. Open. It.”
“Or what?” I grin and tug on the door.
“Last warning.”
Theo must not have gotten the memo on America being the land of the free. Snatching the green apple on the middle shelf, I breathe on it, wipe it against my shirt, then sink my teeth into it.
Before I have a chance to savor the taste, the apple is ripped from my grasp and thrown on the worktop.
“Hey—”
He slams my back into the fridge door, cuffing my wrists in his massive hand while shoving them above my head.
Gasping, I nearly choke on my bite of apple. On my attempt to yell, he plunges his finger in my mouth and digs out the bite of apple.
He did not just do that. He. Did. NOT. JUST. DO. THAT!
“Rape!” I scream.
Theo quirks an eyebrow.
Twelve hundred beats a minute. I can’t catch my breath. My eyes dart around the room for something, anything to use as a weapon. He’s gone completely mad!
“Put me down!” My plea comes out on a whoosh of air when my stomach connects with his iron shoulder as he lifts me off the ground.
He takes the stairs two at a time. I yank and pull at his hair, still fisting it when he throws me on the bed.
“Rape!”
“I’m not raping you,” he grits through his teeth as he pries my hands from his hair.
Like the humming bird, I don’t even think before lurching toward him as he strides to the door.
“You cuntpuddle!” I yell as he slams it shut.
The knob won’t turn. He’s holding it shut. What are we? Seven?
“Let me out!” I yank at the handle.
“Take a nap.”
“I’m not a child. You can’t send me to my room and tell me to ‘take a nap.’ Who the bloody hell do you think you are?”
“I told you. I am the law.” Every word he speaks is slow and controlled—barely. There’s a natural edge to his voice that could slice a person in half.
I don’t want to be sliced in half.
I don’t want to argue with a madman. Okay, I shouldn’t want to argue with a madman.