A Wifey for the Bad Boy(29)

Mr. Kane tilted his head to the side, turning around slowly. “Follow me.”

She did. They went upstairs to the first floor of the building, walked down a few creaky hallways, and then they went up another staircase to the second floor.

The silence between her and Mr. Kane was unpleasant. He never glanced behind him at her—never smiled. He huffed and pouted, as if her presence was hindering him and not paying for part of the upkeep of this creepy home of his.

When he opened a door and hurried through, Melinda stopped on the outside of it. She saw a bed in the room—his room? She took a few steps, nervousness jittering through her.

“Are you coming in or not?” Mr. Kane asked.

“I…I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Just come in, already.”

She pressed her lips together and did as instructed. Taming her irritation, she glanced around. The room looked like it was made of several rooms; the lack of furniture making it all seem even more spacious.

Mr. Kane was standing by the back wall, by a table. On its surface was a pen and a few pages.

Melinda gave a pointed look at his bed, oddly in the center of the room, before she walked over to the table and grabbed the pen.

Mr. Kane spread out the pages and pointed out each spot where she needed to sign her name.

Melinda hesitated, her lungs freezing.

“You doing this or what?” Mr. Kane asked. “I haven’t got all day.”

She glared at him. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from all the lurking in the shadows you need to do today.” Huffing, she scribbled her signature repeatedly on the documents. Panic shot through her, but she ignored it and took a deep breath. “There. Can I go now?”

Mr. Kane cocked an eyebrow. He stared at her for a long moment, making a point.

Melinda continued to glare at him for a few seconds longer. Then she turned around and got the hell out of there.





Chapter 2

The following weeks did not get much better. Although Melinda enjoyed making her new basement-home more cozy and decorative, it remained dark and dank. The lamps she bought did little to illuminate the space. If anything, it made the dark corners seem darker.

Melinda sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her shivering form. The remote was clutched in both of her hands as she changed from one channel to the next. Paranoia taunted her mind—made her skin tingle with apprehension—and she couldn’t help but glance behind her every so often.

The bathroom was the only room that had thick walls around it. All the other rooms had thin boards for walls, and it was easy to hear sounds on the other side of them.

Melinda strained to listen for something suspicious, something threatening. When she heard nothing, she returned her attention to the TV.

Travis was working at the docks, where he spent most of his time nowadays. He refused to take any days off—overtime pay, and what not—which revealed his good work-ethic and determination, but it left Melinda alone. What was worse was that she was getting used to life without him.

She saw a blur in the corner of her eye. Gasping, she snapped her attention to the side and muted her TV.

There was nothing there.

Her heart hammered, disbelieving of what she saw. Slowly, she observed the area around her and listened intently.

There was still nothing there.

Melinda released a long breath and relaxed. At this point, she didn’t care if Travis came back; she just wanted someone to be with her for moments like these.

Something whispered.

Melinda leaped to her feet and spun around. The blanket slid to her ankles, the remote remaining in her tight grip. Her gaze darted about.

There was still nothing there—

A face in the dark corner. Melinda’s blood went ice-cold, and she was sprinting out of the basement before she could confirm whether or not it truly was a face staring at her and not some trick of the light.

Her blood was ablaze, her mind hazy from her panic. She rushed up the stairs, through the dark hallways, and then up the second staircase. She hadn’t realized she remembered exactly where Mr. Kane’s room was until her fists were pounding against his door.

“Mr. Kane?” she said loudly. She hit the door harder. “Mr. Kane, are you there?!” She continued to knock, not knowing what she would do once she accepted that her mysterious landlord was not in his room.

Melinda yelped when the door was swung opened, a disheveled Mr. Kane on the other side of it. He was in nothing but his boxer shorts, his body covered mostly in dark hair and tanned skin.

Melinda blushed, her eyes roaming the sight.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Mr. Kane barked.

Melinda’s blush darkened, albeit for other reasons. She narrowed her gaze at her landlord. “Of course I know it’s late, which is why I would disturb anyone—much less yourself—unless it was urgent.”