Page 89 of Reaper and Ruin

The wind was picking up. I didn’t need to get all twitchy just because slamming doors sounded a lot like gunshots.

I wasn’t back in the city. I didn’t need to worry about people shooting at me. Nobody knew who I was here. Nobody had painted a target on my back, just because of who my father was.

I put the caddy down and shoved my hands on my hips. “Right. Where to start…”

Bathrooms were always my go-to first stop, so I fell into my regular routine, spraying cleaning liquids around, wrinkling my nose at their fake lemon scents. As I moved into the kitchen,I hummed beneath my breath, any stress I’d had melting away with the repetitive work.

My father would have said it was beneath me to be cleaning other people’s shit stains and dirty kitchens. But I didn’t have a problem with it. It felt like good, honest work, and when you’d spent your entire life doing anything but, surrounded by people who had never worked an honest day in their lives, it was nice.

I found a mop in the bathroom cupboard and got busy with it. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, but I took great pleasure in shining them up, washing away the thin layer of dust and grime that had built up since the last time I’d been here.

“Just another day, just another chore,

Just another girl scrubbing at the floor.”

I jumped a mile, spinning around at the voice.

There was nobody there.

My heart rate picked up. “Hello?”

Nobody answered. I squinted, and inched toward the stairs, calling up them, “Anyone up there?”

When nobody answered, I slowly looked around the room. Gaze falling on a Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen counter. A green light indicated it was on.

“A friend once came and left just fine.

But second guests run out of time.”

That definitely came from the speaker.

I stared at it for a long moment, trying to comprehend what it had said. I didn’t get it. But the whole thing was creepy as hell. My Spidey senses tingled, and I wasn’t the sort of woman to ignore them twice.

“Yeah, fuck this.” I didn’t care what my father would have thought of me gathering up my things in a rush, eyeing a cheap plastic speaker like it had the ability to hurt me.

He would have laughed and accused me of being scared of badly delivered poetry.

But he wasn’t the one here listening to it, alone in a creepy house.

My purse falling off my shoulder, my cleaning supplies tipping over in the caddy because I hadn’t taken the time to stack them properly, I rushed for the door.

I had the distinct feeling of being watched, even though there was no one in sight. It was so strong, I paused before I left and flipped the empty room the bird. “See ya later, weirdo.”

I reached for the doorknob.

Twisted it.

It didn’t give.

“Sweep the floor and mind the grime. You’ve walked into the perfect crime.”

I searched for a lock I could flip, but there was nothing.

“Sweep the floor and mind the grime. You’ve walked into the perfect crime.”

Panic skated across my skin. I dropped the caddy, not caring that the contents spilled everywhere. With both hands, I grappled with the door, my fear disabling my brain so all I could do was act on pure instinct.

“Sweep the floor and mind the grime. You’ve walked into the perfect crime.”