Page 59 of Riding Dirty

We just have to ensure that the fire department is not called too soon, and I’ve also got that shit handled. Not only do I have an in on the fire department, but considering I’ve also got a line in on the emergency dispatch, I think we’ve got this on lockdown.

I’ve never worried about a job before, but I have to admit, with the size of this one and the payout that’s on the line, I’m a bit nervous. Blast, Hippie, and Two-Pump seem cool as fucking cucumbers. Either that, or they’re just good at hiding their anxiousness about the evening.

“Let’s do this, then,” I mutter.

CHAPTER

FORTY-FIVE

ELODIE

“I’ve got the worst fucking hangover of my goddamn life,” Alex groans as he moves around the house.

We’re on our last cleaning for the day. To give him credit where credit is due, Alex hasn’t bitched too much about being hungover. But it’s late, I seriously hate coming to this house, and I know that he does, too.

It’s not because the house is any better or worse than the others, but because the owner leaves the television on when they’re at work… and it's on the news… full freaking blast. It’s so damn loud we can’t even have a conversation.

They work nights, so we can’t even come here until after dark. I took this job when we were desperate, and honestly, I would love to just never come back again, except the owner always pays in cash.

But the TV thing is so annoying, and they don’t want us to change the channel or turn it down. It’s irritating and no doubt causing Alex’s head to hurt even more. Plus, there’s the simple fact that we’re also both starving, which isn’t helping this situation in the slightest.

Typically, we would eat dinner before we come to this job, but I wanted to be done and home at a decent hour, selfishly, because I wanted to see Coast. I still feel somewhat uneasy about our conversation.

The talk we had ended on a good note, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely trusting of him yet. Which is stupid. I shouldn’t even be with someone I can’t trust, but try telling that to my body. Because my body betrays every single thought in my head the moment that man is anywhere near. I turn into a sex-crazed idiot. And I like it.

Alex still feels like shit. He’s ready to get the hell out of here, too, probably so he can sleep off the hangover. He still hasn’t told me everything he got up to last night, and I haven’t pushed him either.

I’m honestly stuck inside my own head today, hopeful that Coast will be waiting for me when I’m finished here. I’m tired, too, but in the best way. So, as much as it typically bothers me to be here, I’m having a hard time finding fault in much today.

But then something on the news catches my attention. It’s not the words, because while they’re loud, I haven’t been able to focus on them. It’s the background. Only when that registers do I listen to what the news anchor is saying.

I stop mid-mop in the kitchen when the reporter begins to speak. I must be mistaken. I can’t be looking at what I think I’m looking at. And then she speaks, and my entire body jolts. I don’t quite believe my ears.

Placing the mop handle against the wall, I take a step toward the counter, one step closer to the television, and I pause. The news anchor can’t be right. But then I see the image of the building with flames billowing from it, and my breath hitches.

I open my mouth to call out for Alex, but no sound comes out.

Thankfully, he must sense my absolute horror at what I’m witnessing. He calls out my name, walking in from the back of the house. I urged him earlier to work on the back because his head was hurting.

The television isn’t as loud back there, so I thought it would be better for him. But now I need him in here as fast as humanly possible, although I don’t have the voice. My throat isn’t working to call out to him.

“What’s going… oh my god,” he hisses.

Alex stops just a few steps into the living room, his back to me, but there is no mistaking the tightness in the way he’s holding his body. He is, without a doubt, completely and totally shocked, just like me. Watching the same thing I am. Frozen in place, unable to move, unable to even breathe at this point.

“You’re shitting me, bitch,” Alex finally whispers from beside me.

We stand there, in a house we still have to finish cleaning, staring. I start to tell him that I’m not shitting him, but nothing comes out of my mouth. My throat is instantly dry, and my heart races inside my chest, threatening to burst out and land on the floor.

“Holy. Shit,” he states, then he slowly turns his head, his eyes finding mine, and I watch as he swallows before he speaks. “They burned it down.”

“We don’t know that,” I murmur.

But even I don’t believe my own words when I say them. Because that’s exactly what happened. I know it just as much as Alex does.

This is no coincidence. How can it be?

I open my mouth again, trying to move my lips, trying to speak, but the words just won’t come. I know I have to look like a fish out of water, but I just can’t seem to fathom what is actually happening in front of me.