Page 62 of Good Girls Beg

"Absolutely. I'll leave you to it." Comfortable she was distracted and would be for a while, I stepped out of the kitchen and into the corridor that led down to the bedrooms.

Knowing the previous owner was someone suspicious led to a few questions about the door to the basement. Had the guys hidden it or was it like that when they bought the place? I might be suspicious of them for no reason.

On the other hand, I was still curious about where it was. I considered waiting to ask them. If they weren't hiding anything, they'd tell me. Right?

Since I might be wrong, I decided to look anyway. Also, they might not tell me. Having a hidden basement might serve their needs somehow. What kind of people needed a hidden basement? The kind that wouldn't welcome me snooping around, so I was going to have to be careful.

I tapped my finger against my lips and eyed the doors to Oak and Fade's bedrooms.

After a moment’s thought, I decided to try Fade's bedroom first. He was sly, and secretive enough to choose the room that held the secret the tightest.

All right, so was Hel, but it seemed unlikely a secret door was in his room. If it was, a staircase might go past my bedroom wall. One with peep holes they could look through, and watch me while I slept.

Stop being paranoid, I told myself. There's no secret staircase. They aren't watching you while you sleep. They couldn't be, I'd accounted for the distance between my bedroom walls and the outside walls of the house. If there was a staircase, it would only be big enough for mice.

I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure Shannon was still in the kitchen before placing my hand on the knob and turning it.

I expected it to be locked, but it opened easily, the door swinging inward.

I also expected some kind of dingy sex dungeon, but his room was light and airy, decorated in a variety of shades of blue and gray. A bit too modern for the space but it suited him.

There wasn't much in the room. Just a bed, a bedside table on each side and a door leading to an ensuite bathroom. The wardrobe along one wall was full of clothes. Several suits, pairs of jeans, cargo pants and T-shirts. Expensive brands, judging by the labels visible at a glance.

I slid open a drawer inside the wardrobe and found a neat pile of boxer shorts and a variety of tank tops. All of them black. The drawer and its contents smelled of him. That masculine scent I could have inhaled all day. Why did he have to smell so good? Fucker.

I closed the drawer and looked into the bathroom. Like the bedroom, everything was neat, clean and minimal. One toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a hairbrush. Shampoo, conditioner and soap. Towels hanging from chrome bars on the wall.

That was it. No fancy body washes. No handcuffs attached to the shower wall. It looked like he was hardly here. As if he had no physical or emotional attachment to the place, in spite of living here.

I crouched and glanced under the bed, but found only hardwood. No sign of a trapdoor. Not even dust. No hidden door down to the basement. No discarded, used condoms. No handcuffs here either.

If I wasn't careful, I was going to become intrigued by Fade Mitchell.

Wrinkling my nose, I stepped out of his room, carefully closing the door behind me.

How much longer did I have? Shannon was still in the kitchen, singing to herself. I didn't recognize the tune, but she sounded happy for the moment.

My heart racing, palms suddenly slick with sweat, I moved through the corridor, down to Oak's room. Would this one be locked? Oak didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd leave his bedroom door unlocked. Anyone could wander in if he did. Anyone was going to if it was unlocked.

It's me, I'm anyone.

Half-listening to Shannon's singing, I placed my hand on the door knob and twisted. Like the rest of the door knobs in the house, this one looked original. Worn from use, only small sections of paint remaining here and there.

His door was also unlocked. Him and Fade must only lock their doors when they were inside, not wanting to be interrupted but trusting that no one would violate their space in their absence.

Sorry not sorry?

I eased the door open and peeked inside.

Oak's bedroom wasn't a mockup of a sex dungeon either. No sex chair hung from the ceiling. Not even a sex couch.

No, was it as dreary and surly as its owner. All of the furniture was made of a dark wood. Mahogany, unless I was mistaken. The coverings on the bed were dark gray and black, as were the curtains. The walls were painted white, the same as the rest of the house, brightening the room, if not the mood.

A dresser occupied a corner of the room, covered in a variety of things that look like they were pulled out of his pocket and dumped there. A couple of paper clips, an empty gum wrapper, an unopened packet of condoms. Two or three of what looked like stress balls, each well worn as if they'd been squeezed or thrown a lot.

At the back of the dresser was a photo of a woman with a boy that looked like Oak. Was that his mother? I leaned forward to take a closer look.

He looked like her. Same blonde hair, same shaped eyes. They even had the same face shape. He could have been a clone. They were smiling at the camera, her arm around his shoulders protectively. They looked happy. Content.