Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Are you going to go up and join the dance party?” Hans asks, ever the cheeky bastard.
“No,” I reply.
“Sounds like she’s having fun. You might have fun too. It can be contagious.” What did he just say about sarcasm? He wears it much better than I do.
“Anyone would think you’re on her side.”
“There are no sides.”
My head snaps back from the ceiling, and I study him. He’s doing the perfectly impassive crap he’s so good at. “And here I thought you were going to pull the stunt where you don’t speak English.”
That earns me a swift grin. “No English,” he says in German before following that up by repeating it in at least ten other languages.
I sigh. Right as more dust falls from the ceiling.
“You had better go check on her before the whole house comes down,” Hans advises. One eyebrow rockets up to his non-existent hairline. “Are you sure it isn’t a T-Rex up there?”
“Not that I know of.” Not just because they’re extinct or anything.
“Let me know if you need the tranq gun,” Hans casually says as if it’s no big deal.
“Why the hell do we have a tranq gun? Please tell me we don’t have one of those.”
He shrugs. “You never know. What if it's really a T-Rex rocking out to death metal.”
I get up, rubbing at my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but it is stiff as fuck today. I must have slept on it wrong, which I’ve pretty much trained myself not to do, but sometimes, I wake up on my right side, cursing life and not being able to use my arm for the rest of the day.
I exit my office and take the stairs two at a time. The death metal gets louder and more ominous the closer I get. Everleigh’s bedroom door is open a crack, and I knock, but the leaping and banging and death metal keeps raging from the inside, drowning out my knocks. I push the door open and stare at the vision in front of me. It’s more than a dance party.
She’s doing what I can only call rocking out, and by that, I mean seriously getting into it. She’s screaming and growling out scary things right along to the song. She’s head banging, her hair flying all over the place, roaring with the music, and doing all manner of lunges and squats and hand gestures in time to the music. It would be cute if that dude weren’t going on and on about bleeding eyeballs, forked tongues, and gore, gore, and more gore.
“I like it,” Hans suddenly says, and I nearly jump out of my skin. He’s standing right beside me, and I didn’t even realize it. I wasn’t aware he’d followed me up. “I like it a lot.”
“For the love of death metal, go downstairs. I can deal with this,” I tell him.
Instead of following my instructions, Hans points out the tablet propped up on the dresser in front of Everleigh. The screen is on, and there are people on the other end. She’s video chatting. Or, I guess, video moshing.
“Don’t get your heart torn out, boss,” Hans shouts into my ear. My mouth drops open. “The song,” he clarifies. “The song.” He points to Everleigh, who’s doing a clawed hand, a slashing and tearing motion, and banging her head up and down again. She looks like a raptor gone rabid.
It’s freaking straight-up awesome.
She still doesn’t see me, but whoever is on the other end of the tablet, a woman with a bright pink scarf wrapped around her head who looks a lot like Everleigh—it has to be her sister—can see us. She waves quickly and giggles. Then, she waves her hands in front of the screen to try to get Everleigh’s attention. She’s currently leaping up on the bed to the crescendo of the growling in the song, and holy shit, did the guy in the song just say something about tasty toes? She does a spot-on ferocious T-Rex impression before leaping off the bed and landing on all fours, her back facing the tablet. Now I’m worried about Hans making good on his promise. Her head snaps up, and she looks right at me.
And screams.
There’s a mad scramble off the floor after that, and she grabs her phone from the dresser and quickly shuts off the music. There’s laughter. Everleigh’s sister, if that is her sister, is laughing her ass off.
Everleigh looks devastated, but the laughter continues, and then I start, and she can’t help it. She has to smile. “I’m sorry,” she says sheepishly. “Was it too loud?”
“It might have been a bit loud,” I admit, and heaven help me, I’m already cracking a smile like a big old softie.
“I thought the house was built soundproof and that noise wouldn’t travel…and then, uh, I kind of got really into it.” She studies the floor intently. “Oh my god, this is how I die. Death by mortification served up hot and spicy.”