His Prize (The Cleaners book 1)
““What the fuck?”
The light was on, dimmed so as not to wake him, and he swore under his breath when he saw her open suitcase. Disappointment sat heavy in his gut. She wouldn’t get very far if she’d run, but, dammit, he’d hoped she wouldn’t. He’d have to kill her, and that thought made his gut twist in horror.
Fuck.
He deliberately hadn’t locked the door, testing her, safe in the knowledge that he’d wake up the minute she stirred and thus would be able to stop her. The fact that he hadn’t, and judging by the stone cold sheet on her side, she had been gone a while didn’t sit well with him. He never slept that soundly, so what the fuck was that all about?
Pulling on some joggers, he took the stairs three at a time, and stopped dead when he yanked open the fire door at the top.
Someone was cooking breakfast, and there was bacon involved, unless he was very much mistaken.
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