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I can’t sit in a vehicle with it on my back, so it has to wait until we arrive.
Six minutes.
CHAPTER112
Cassie
With my socksin my pocket, I step out of the bathroom barefoot and back into the empty office. I won’t let slippery feet slow me down again.
After digging through every cabinet, I found a small thing of unopened mouthwash and used it three times. Then, because I’m a nervous pee-er, I used the toilet as quickly as possible. It freaked me out thinking someone with a key could walk right in. But I didn’t really want to add peeing myself to the list of terrible things that happened today.
I also pulled my ponytail free and pressed my damp hands against my scalp to try and calm some of the lingering pain before loosely putting my hair back up.
I’m standing on the threshold of the room, wondering what I can use to smash the mirror in the bathroom, when I hear the click of the main door unlocking.
Before I have time to decide whether I should hide in the bathroom or rush the door, it swings open.
Evil Andre steps in first, followed by an older guy.
The new guy gives off a super creepy vibe, and based on his three-piece suit, which is over the top for anything less than a wedding, I’d bet he’s the owner of this awful house.
Andre shuts the door after them and then stands against it as a human blockade.
The suit, who looks like someone’s sleazy uncle, stops a few feet away from me.
Too far for me to kick him.
“I’m Gabriel Marcoux.”
But he is close enough for me to spit on.
So I do.
Andre steps away from the door like he’s going to punish me for spitting on his boss, but Gabriel lifts a hand to stop him.
Andre obeys.
Gabriel pulls the fancy satin square out of his suit pocket and wipes at his chest. He’s trying to look unaffected. But he’s not good at it.
Sadly, none of my spit got on his face, but the message was received.
“You’re the neighbor, aren’t you?” He tosses the soiled kerchief to the floor. “And yet you’re dressed like a member ofthat whore’slittle army.”
“Pretty sure her profession is killing bastards like you, not whoring. But if you want to be a total fucking hypocrite and talk down about sex workers, go ahead.”
He lifts a brow. “Hypocrite?”
“I have to explain it…” I shake my head.
I know I shouldn’t goad him. But he’s freaking me out. So it’s sass or hiding in the corner, and something tells me I should be buying time.
I squeeze my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching up and touching my tracker.
“If you know me so well, Cassandra Lynn Cantrell.” He spreads his arms in ado tellgesture.
I ignore him using my full name. “I know your interior designer sucks. And I know Hans is going to kill you.”
Gabriel narrows his eyes. “My mother furnished this house.”
