Then she ends the call while wearing her signature smirk, suggesting she maneuvered me into this, the exact thing she wanted in the first place. It’s not like she can see me though, so...
My phone buzzes.
Gail
No cheating. I’ll know if you lie.
“Fucking psychiatrists,” I mutter.
Charlie jumps to his feet and grins at me.
Figures.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Eleanor
What if I like it in the dark?
After some miscommunication about why Charlie is whining, I finally figure it’s likely he needs the toilet, so I grab a set of keys from the counter, check they fit the door, and lead the dog downstairs. I pull off my shoe and use it to wedge open the external door, spying the keypad I don’t know the code for. I don’t feel like standing outside for longer than necessary. Hunter lives in a three-storey building where the first and second floor have two apartments each, and his is double the size, spanning the top floor. There are cameras attached to the white painted walls which cover three hundred and sixty degrees around the entire block, and I make a note to locate them in the vast network the mysterious C has granted me access to. I could ask Hunter who runs the Reapers’ cyber security, but I enjoy a puzzle. It would be weak for me to begin to rely on another person at this stage in my life. Particularly when it’s my profession, and I take great pride in being one of the best.
C isn’t doing any harm by giving me ultimatums; rather a gentle tap on the shoulder that they know who and where I am. In the hacker code of ethics, their career will go up in smoke if they burn me, so I think I’m safe.
Charlie dives into a corner bush and disappears in the lush green foliage. The leaves rattle like it is about to burst into flames and God himself will grace me with his wondrous gospel. I snort. A girl bred for servitude who, in her selfish need for freedom, sacrificed her own mother. I’m not under any illusions. I would have wed Jonathan, bore him at least one child, perhaps more, before he broke me and fed me to his trafficking ring. I might have even become fodder for Christopher’s darkest urges. I’d seen it happen, but I was too young and inexperienced to realize.
Charlie barks, snapping me into the present. I wander over to where he disappeared and bend down, trying to see what caught his attention. Perhaps it’s a stray pair of panties?
“Charlie, do your business so I can get inside and plot how I’m going to spend an hour doing something relationship-y with your daddy.”
“That’s an interesting choice of words for a girlfriend.”
My head snaps around to find a guy with a shaved head leaning against the door to the building. He’s a little younger looking than Hunter, and less intense. Definitely not military, but the leather jacket slung over his arm displays the Desert Reapers emblem—wild burning roses wrapped around a skull.
His eyes are glued to my ass as I back out of the bush and rise to my feet. “Mark,” he says, as if I’m remotely interested in what his name is. I’m not, but perhaps Eleanor Austin, fake girlfriend of Hunter King would be. I study him, internally rolling my eyes. This is why I don’t leave the house and socialize.
“Eleanor,” I offer as Charlie darts between my legs and almost sweeps me off my feet. Damn dog is a hazard.
Charlie bounds up to Mark and launches off the ground. Mark catches him with ease, indicating they have done this a million times before. I suppose if Charlie is vouching for him, I can stop mentally devising plans on how to incapacitate Mark.
“You’re the girl who has got my brother’s panties in a twist?”
Brother? “It’s more likely my panties are being twisted given his enjoyment of stealing them.”
Mark chuckles. “Sounds about right.” Charlie licks Mark’s face, making me grimace. Six minutes ago, the dog was using that exact tongue to clean his balls. So gross.
Satisfied with the attention, Charlie twists in Mark’s arms and makes his great escape, celebrating by zooming around the yard and barking at the birds who eyeball the crazy beast like he needs to be committed to a mental institute. I agree, although I don’t think they have those places for animals.
“I live in the apartment below Hunter’s.”
I stare at him, and he runs a hand over the back of his head with a sigh. “You don’t say much, do you?”
“I don’t find the need to fill silence with surplus words for the sake of making people around me feel comfortable.”
He tilts his head, and his gaze narrows. “You aren’t his usual type.”
Something hot unfurls in my stomach. Of course I’m not Hunter’s usual type. Perfect.
“And what is that?” My voice is emotionless, like I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what type Hunter normally goes for and how I compare.
