Page 11 of The Huntress and Her Hound

Ah, fuck it.

I crack it open and peer out into the hallway, catching the nub tail of Cash stepping into the elevator. I slip out, but then stop, pulling out a wad of receipts I have in my pocket. I shove it at the bottom of the door, leaving it cracked—but not to the naked eye. It’s an elementary trick, but it is what it is. I never claim to be a genius.

But I am a good fucking liar when I need to be.

When I reach the elevator, I smash the “down” button, hoping that the second one is close. Lucky for me, it dings, opens, and I’m able to step inside. It’s empty, which is unsurprising given this time of night. I stare at the panel of buttons, knowing this is an absolute guess.

Maybe she’s going to the pet park?

I shrug and smash the ground level. Something about the thought of her going there doesn’t make sense. She was in a blonde wig. Why would she wear that? For fun? I hold my breath as the doors slide open in the lobby, my eyes peeled for her.

I need an excuse if she sees me... Just needing air? Out for a walk? Fuck, those suck. Probably better to just not get caught.

My breath catches in my chest as my gaze lands on a woman in a long sleeve black dress and combat boots, walking Cash. The blonde hair is cropped at her chin—and all her tattoos are covered.

But I know it’s Cher.

She’s got the kind of hips I’d like to fucking worship.

I stay back and watch her exit on the left, battling my thoughts. She’s off-limits and might as well be lumped into the category of Lydia and Emma for all that it’s worth. However, that doesn’t stop me needing to know what the hell she’s doing.

Just call me curious.

My ragged sneakers are quiet as I cross the tile floors and head out into the night. Her apartment isn’t all that far from the strip—and it shows. The streets aren’t empty, and while that’s annoying, it works in my favor. I stay a ways back as I trail her, but not so far that I can’t see her clearly. People seem to part like the Red Sea for the woman, eyeing the dog as they step to the side.

I, however, don’t get that kind of response, and I’m left saying “excuse me” every fucking time I have to slip past someone. It’s frustrating, but that’s what comes with the territory of being mostly invisible to the world.

Maybe I should get a big ass dog.

Suddenly, Cher veers off down an alley on the right-hand side of the street, and I pick up my pace.

Where is she going? Does Henry know she’s out here? There’s a shockwave of excitement at the unknown, and my mind conjures up a million different scenarios. My resolute self needs answers, and there’s no harm in solving a good mystery, right?

Right.

When I reach the alleyway, it’s as disturbing as I expected. Dimly lit, narrow, and the kind of place I’d think a woman would want to avoid. Hell, I want to avoid it. But my eyes catch Cher, speaking with another woman. She’s got a hoodie on and is considerably taller than Cher. However, the ends of her hair stick out, and they’re a bright shade of blue.

Intriguing. Nothing like a good midnight rendezvous.

But then she hands Cher what appears to be a package.

My heart sinks, the excitement dissipating as quickly as it came on. I’ve seen enough drug exchanges to know one when I see it. What the fuck is she doing messing with dealers? Irritation burns in my chest. I have to tell Henry.

But something stops me from pulling out my phone as Cher gives the woman a hug. They chat for a while, and I stand there watching like a predator in the shadows. I halfway expect the two women to kiss or something. But they don’t. The woman gives Cash a pet, and then they part ways.

What the fuck are you thinking, Cher? I slink backward as she turns around, jumping out of sight just in time. I slip into a twenty-four-hour convenience store and pretend to peruse for candy as I watch carefully through the window, eyeing her as she passes by. The package is tucked away in her crossbody purse, and as soon as the coast is clear, I head back out into the street.

Part of me wants to stage a run-in, pretending like I was out and about, but the other part knows better—and that same part is getting some sort of sick thrill by following a pretty woman down the street like I’m somehow her protector...even though I could never be anyone’s. I’m too busy being everyone else’s bitch.

I’m cut from a different cloth–and no one knows the extent of that fabric. Not even me. I do know that I think about it though. I think about breaking free from my friends and doing whatever the fuck I want.

Too bad I’m too weak. The intrusive thought blasts through my mind as I keep a few car lengths between myself and Cher, the moment of inferiority ruining the high. As we reach the apartment building, I watch through the glass as she and Cash head right for the elevator…

And my fuck-up comes crashing down on me.

There’s no way in hell I can beat her back to the apartment.

And that means she’ll know the door was jimmied.

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