Page 164 of Rattle the Cage

That anxiety sat on my chest like a cinderblock as I lounged back on the couch. I must have reeked of cortisol, because Butch was curled up by my feet, his eyes shut but his ears turned toward me.

Desperate for some air, I pushed aside my laptop and turned up the volume on the TV.

Anything to get my mind off of this nightmare.

Hearing the siren call of his favorite show, Butch got up and moved closer to me, tucking his tail neatly over his toes. The glittering sands and wide open waters of Sweetheart Shores were a far cry from this fucked up little town. But they weren’t without strife of their own.

The finale was fast approaching, and fucking Chad was still paired up with Bethany. This was her last chance to ditch his cheating ass before the last bonfire. If she did, she might not win, but at least she’d have a shot at happiness.

For the love of god, if she doesn’t dump him…

Just as the tension was starting to ratchet up though, the front door swung open: Tess.

I scrambled for the remote, trying to shut off the TV before she could laugh. I was a hunter, a kingpin, a killer clown. I wasn’t supposed to like this corny shit.

But it was too late to save my dignity. Butch had rolled onto the remote, and I was too slow fishing it out from beneath him. By the time that he hopped up to greet Tess, she’d already clocked the TV screen.

I lifted the remote to shut it off, but she stopped me with a wave of her hand. “Leave it on.”

My eyes locked onto her as hers locked onto the screen. “You watch this garbage?”

“No. But clearly you do.” Her expression was placid, though a small smile cracked over her cheeks once she set her eyes on me. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to ruin your good time.”

My heart was beating out of my chest as she hung up her coat and took a seat on the couch beside me. It was stupid, getting an adrenaline rush from her proximity.

But she acted like it was the most normal thing in the world: coming home, cuddling up to Butch, watching my show with me. A part of me wondered if this is what a regular life would feel like.

It wasn’t something I’d ever wanted before, but with Tess, I could almost picture it.

The pressure is making me soft.

Unsure how to handle the confusing swell of emotions in my chest, I turned my attention back to my laptop: a distraction from my distraction.

But after a few moments of silence, I could feel Tess peering over my shoulder. This time, I didn’t try to conceal the screen: it seemed increasingly useless to hide from Tess.

Unlike Sweetheart Shores, what was on my computer wasn’t exactly a secret. Though seeing it through fresh eyes made me realize just how intensive my cashflow spreadsheet must look.

Columns of red and green numbers tracked everything from my taxable income to my ROI on every property. Most of the calculations were automated, making it easier for me to move quickly on buying and selling hot ticket properties. But the pages cataloguing the properties I owned, as well as my list of potential new investments, were managed completely by hand.

Tess pursed her lips as she scanned the sheet over my shoulder. “Fuck. Do you own all of that?”

I nodded, watching as her eyes tracked down toward the bottom of the sheet.

“Forty-seven.” I offered, saving her some counting. “There’s forty-seven properties. So far.”

Her eyes nearly bulged from her skull, but she swallowed hard and tried to gather herself. “Forty-seven, like… houses?”

“Some of them. Some are apartment buildings, businesses… warehouses.”

“Why?”

“Blade and Nash are counting on me for stability. At first, that meant getting cash: starting things like the dealing or our Oracle hunts. But crime isn’t a retirement plan. Investment properties can be.”

Her eyes narrowed at a familiar stretch of addresses along Clancy Street. “You own Split Happens?”

I nodded.

“Is there a single building in Valemont you don’t own?”