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“What’s a girl got to do to see you naked?”
“Firefly!” Caden splutters. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I’m just saying. That sexy smooth caramel skin, beautiful lips, and two different colored eyes? He’s a walking wet dream.” Growing up with one blue eye and one green, I was the subject of a lot of bullying. But hearing her say she likes that shit makes me want to puff my damn chest out. “You can’t say you’ve never noticed how hot he is.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Caden says dryly. “If you need me, call.”
“Sure, sure. You’re just cockblocking me, asshole.” She pauses. “Wait, this is some kind of bro code shit, isn’t it? Fucking figures. Goodnight.” The line goes dead, and Caden just stares at it for a second.
“What the hell just happened?”
“Hurricane Bridget just happened,” Ghost answers with a chuckle. “Let’s call it a night. I’ll go through the rest of this shit tomorrow and see if we find anything.”
“That’s my cue to fuck off,” I laugh and jump to my feet. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Time to go back to my apartment alone.
Again.
Chapter 8
Bridget
Ijerkawakeandlook around, not sure what woke me up. I strain my ears, and when I don’t hear anything again, I snuggle back into my pillows. As soon as I start to drift off, I hear it again. Thumping.
I jerk my phone off the bedside table and clutch it against my pounding heart. What the fuck is that? Throwing the blankets off, I pad softly to my bedroom door and lock it. Could Caden be here? He has a key, so it’s entirely possible that something happened with Ghost. I check my phone, the display reading three-thirty a.m., and no messages from Caden.
The sounds of footsteps get louder, so I dart to my ensuite bathroom, shutting and locking the door. Who the hell is in my house? I pull up Caden’s contact, and it goes straight to voicemail. He wouldn’t play this sort of joke on me. I’m certain of it. There is a stranger in my damn house.
I pull up the contact for Les and remember last second that she’s not even in town. “Fuck,” I whisper miserably. I call Ghost and straight to voicemail. Pulling up my contacts, one name sticks out above all the others. Alexey.
I’d much rather face him than become a statistic in the morning paper of the single white female flayed alive in her townhouse.Good job on that visual, dumbass.
I suck it up and hit dial.
“Moya zhizn?” he answers on the third ring. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s someone in my apartment,” I whisper.
“Where’s Caden?” he asks, sounding very alert.
“He’s with Ghost.”
“Where are you?”
“Locked in my bathroom.”
“Good. Did you call the police?” Well, fuck. Instead of calling the cops, I called my one night stand. Jesus Christ.
“No,” I answer, trying to control the quiver in my voice.
“I’m sending someone to you now. Stay in the bathroom and keep me on the phone.”
“You aren’t coming?” I ask. I don’t know why that disappoints me so much.
“I’m not in Abbs Valley. I had some last minute things to take care of,” he answers, his slight Russian accent soothing my frayed nerves.
“Alexey. They’re trying to get in my room.” I can hear them jiggling the doorknob. Is this how my story ends? Some random intruder?
