Page 14 of Hollow Forest

Picking up the lantern, I left the scene without a backward look. I balanced the shovel across my shoulders, looping my tired arms over the handles as I trekked back to the cottage. A yawn ripped from deep inside me. It was going to be a late night by the time I made it back. And then there was the truck that needed to be dropped off at the bastard’s shitty apartment. Which meant another long walk before I would be home and able to turn in for the night.

But it was worth it.

So fucking worth it. I grinned at the sliver of moon peeking between the boughs.

“You’ve always kept my secret,” I breathed.

The words plumed high, and the moon twinkled in response.

Chapter 6 – Samantha

The savory scent of crackling fat drew me from a deep slumber. I sat up on my floor nest, blinking into the dark. Bacon. I drew a deep breath. That was most definitely bacon.

The door was shut, and my puny burner phone lit the room in a ghostly blue hue. It was 3:45 in the morning. My alarm was set to go off in fifteen minutes, which gave me an hour to get to work for the opening shift.

“What the actual fuck?” I hissed, pushing to my feet.

I did not have time for this.

Whatever this was.

I had a fair guess. I knew what was waiting in my kitchen before I crept through the door, gun aimed at the ready.

A mass of black moved gracefully in front of the stove.

There were a few seconds where my sleep-drenched brain registered muscles pulled taut under a black, long-sleeved tee. Hands covered in black leather moved to catch toast from the toaster. The fiend spread butter over them before one of those gloved hands wrapped around a slotted spoon to scoop a soft-cooked egg from the pan to place on the toast.

“I should shoot you right now,” I bit out. “But I don’t want blood and guts on my breakfast.”

“Funny that you assume it’s for you,” came the rough response.

I scoffed. “You expect me to believe you broke into my house to cook for yourself?”

He placed the perfectly cooked bacon over the eggs, topped it with the toast, and turned, holding out the plate.

A soft gasp slipped from my lips. His head was covered by a ski mask. A garish skull decorated the front. There was no telling who was hiding behind the cloth, other than it was a man.

And he was huge.

“I’m not coming closer,” I choked out.

With a shrug, he took the food to the table and retreated to the stove. “Eat.”

This wasn’t happening. I pinched my wrist. The bite of pain convinced me that I was awake.

The scent of bacon made my stomach growl ravenously.

Keeping the barrel trained on the intruder, I strode to the kitchen table and plopped down. There were plenty of dangerous objects in the pile of construction stuff by the back door, but the masked man proceeded to squirt soap into the pan and began scrubbing it.

“You’re not supposed to use soap in cast iron,” I muttered, eying up the sandwich. There was no way I would be able to eat it one-handed. Reluctantly, I set the gun down and picked up the food.

If he heard the comment about the pan, he didn’t respond.

I let the kitchen etiquette go as the divine flavors of breakfast flooded my mouth. It was the perfect sandwich. The yolk popped, adding a warm sauce to the mix. I tipped my hand to lick a bead before it landed on the table.

The heavy pan clattered on the burner.

I jumped, realizing I’d been too invested in my food.