Page 45 of Retribution

He’s not as rude as I initially thought, he just isn’t used to being around people outside of his patients. This is his version of being an empty nester. He didn’t tell me how his wife passed away, and there’s no photos on the walls to give me any hints.

Either way, it’s none of my damn business.

Going over the paperwork, I bite my lip as I read something that doesn’t seem correct.

“You only want six hundred dollars for rent?” I ask. “I thought you wanted twelve hundred…”

“I’m allowed to change my mind,” he says, shrugging. “You seem like a nice, hardworking girl. I need someone to take care of the place, make sure that if something breaks, they’ll be here to open the door for the handyman. It’s silly to call you a house sitter, but that’s essentially what I need.”

“Oh,” I say, blinking slowly. “This is really nice. In fact, it’s overly so. I have my rent money, so I’m going to pay you two months in advance. If at some point you decide to raise the rent, I’ll be happy with that as well.”

“I won’t,” he insists. “You remind me of one of my daughters, figuring out her way in the world. I will only take one month's rent, and that’s that.”

Well, you can’t say I didn’t try. Pulling out six hundred dollars, I hand it to him and sign the leasing agreement. He didn’t ask anything that I thought he would for how careful he was about asking me questions about myself.

I’m kind of glad I’m his tenant, because there are too many bad people in the world.

“You can move in as soon as you’d like,” he says, staring at the cash for a moment before shoving it in his pocket. “I’ll sendyou a link to your email for rent a few days before it’s due so that you can pay that way. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No, I think I’m all set,” I say, watching as he hands me the keys.

“Perfect. Email will work for any questions that you think of. The house is yours for as long as you’d like,” Mr. Adamíc says, leaving. “Goodbye.”

I stand there for a moment before walking to the curtains to twitch it open to look out. Mr. Adamíc looks around at the house as if saying goodbye to it as well before he gets in his car and drives away.

This feels like a big deal for him, and I find myself feeling sad for the man who doesn’t know what to do with himself after raising children.

Walking to the kitchen, which I missed during my tour, I find that it’s fully stocked with both appliances and food. Someone really enjoyed cooking, and there are lots of spices and a single serve coffee machine as well.

Walking slowly, I check all the locks on the windows and doors, and find that everything is in order. Now, all I have to do is bring in my things.

I’ve lived in rentals with minimal furniture for years, and no one has bothered to stock the fridge before. My mattress hasn’t had a real box spring because I’m so used to sleeping on the floor. I guess it’s time to enjoy the more normal things in life.

Even if that means accepting kindness from strangers. This house is modest, but it may as well be a mansion that’s just the right size for me.

Chapter Eleven

Isolde

Despite how clean the house is, I still pull out the cleaning supplies to clean to my standards. Years of sleeping on the ground have left me with the need to know what went into cleaning, otherwise I can’t get myself to believe that it’s clean enough.

Curtains get steamed, couch cushions cleaned, and wooden floors are swept and mopped. It’s not until I’m taking a break with my hair up in a messy bun because I’m so warm that I check the phone.

Oh shit.Disbelief fills me as I glance outside and find that it’s dark. I fixated so close to the sun that it went down. I told Lucas that I’d call him, but it’s after six and my stomach is growling. Since no one has my number, there’s not a single call or text from them and I feel a bit guilty because that’s my fault.

My location can’t be traced, so I don’t see a reason not to call them so my alphas can have my phone number. Yes, maybe I need a touch less space.

Lucas’ number is easier to find than Alesso or Oliver’s. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I listen to the phone ring onand on. Torturing my bottom lip, my heart sinks when it finally goes to voice mail. Unbidden, tears threaten to heat my eyes.

“This is silly,” I whisper. “Lucas is a busy man and he probably screens his calls. This was a dumb idea anyway. I’m sure they thought I forgot about them.”

My words only make it worse. Taking a ragged breath, I turn toward the fridge to make myself a sandwich. I’m actually not great in the kitchen. I never learned how to cook, and it’s always been something I wanted to be better about.

There are many reasons why I haven’t been able to gain weight. It’s a hard situation to face, because every time I do it reminds me of Jefferson fucking City Auction.

Lucas:

I missed a call from you, but don’t seem to have this number saved. Can you tell me who this is?