Page 190 of Sinful Like Us
For this reason.
To catch this fucking intruder.
God-fucking-damn.With that final curse,I leave my frustration behind. Already moving into action.
I skulk more soundlessly into the kitchen and grab my gun from a drawer. I pull the slide back to load a round in the chamber.
“Someone’s in their townhouse,” I whisper more clearly to Akara.
“Mute the phone, put it in your pocket.”
I do as told, cell in my back pocket, and I attach my radio as fast andquietlyas I can. Adrenaline sobers me more, my blood super-charged.
The thought of some piece of shit intheirhouse. Intheirspace. It makes me want to pop a bullet between eyes.
Jane’s cats.
4 out of 6 cats are at the Cobalt Estate. Audrey is watching them, thank the fucking Lord. But there are still two left in the other townhouse.
The squirrelly little ones that dart every place—they were too hyper to corral in a cat carrier, so I told Audrey I’d take care of them while I’m here.
She wanted me to spit on her hand to promise. What the hell—I did it.
I switch comms frequencies. I can’t let anything happen to those cats. “Thatcher to Price,” I whisper to the Alpha lead. “I have movement and noise in the townhouse. Is anyone supposed to be there?”
“Not that I’m aware. Check it out and report back.”
“Roger copy,” I mutter in the mic, thengently—ever so gently—I push into the townhouse through the adjoining door.
I step on a cat toy, and the foil crinkles beneath the weight of my foot.
My pulse pounds.
Eyes narrowed.
I grip my gun with two hands, and I assess the first floor, the pink loveseat empty. Rocking chair is completely still. Pictures are upright on the mantel, and what little visual I have into the kitchen—it looks and sounds empty.
I peek into the kitchen archway. Glass litters the sink, window busted out. Enough space for a man to crawl through. How the hell did they cut the security alarm?
I shelve that.
First floor clear.I move forward to the staircase.
The ceiling creaks.
These stairs are the only entrance and exit, and so Irun.Bolting up the second floor, skipping steps with my lengthy stride, and I’m fast.
Quick.
I’m on the landing, and I swing open Jane’s door first.
Thoughts eject.
I’m on automatic, all action as I see a middle-aged white man with his dick out. He stands at the foot of the bed and strokes his erection, thrusting towards her mattress.
Two calico cats—Walrus and Carpenter—skirt around his ankles, biting his sneaker laces.
Right when he sees me enter the room, my gun raised, he freezes with big wide, bug eyes.
