Sorry, I’m late tonight. I had a meeting that ran over and then I wanted to double-check the edits.
This week you are getting a large excerpt from the next Pyte/Sentinel Novel, because the ladies at FB helped me out and I promised them this 🙂
I hope you enjoy it the teaser 🙂
I do not have a title or a release date for this novel yet, but I will keep you informed as the information becomes know.
As always, this Chronicle is meant for adults, 18 years and older and is not suitable for children.
“I swear to God that if you don’t open this door and give me back my purse that I will kick your ass!” Cloe snapped, slapping her hands flat against the basement door before she followed it up with a small kick when her threat was once again met with silence.
She still couldn’t believe that the bastard had done it.
If she had known that the bastard was going to steal her purse when she went upstairs to grab her bags, she wouldn’t have left it on the table. Hell, if she had known that he was going to use the last three hours to try and convince her into staying, she wouldn’t have left her bags here in the first place.
“Asshole!” she growled, shoving away from the door as she tried to figure out what she was going to do.
Staying here wasn’t a choice, not unless she could manage to ask Christofer to crawl into bed with her at night and keep her safe without dying of mortification. Since she was pretty sure that she couldn’t manage that, leaving was her only option. She wasn’t weak and she’d be damned if she let anyone think that, especially the bastard that she was going kill as soon as she got her hands on him.
Last night had been a fluke for her. She’d been taken off guard by old memories and she’d reacted. It wasn’t something that she was proud of, but at least she hadn’t broken down and sobbed hysterically no matter how tempting it had been. She hadn’t cried, hadn’t taken her pills, run screaming into the night or begged Christofer to take care of her.
He’d done that all on his own and right now she hated him for it.
She didn’t want to need someone the way that she needed him, not when it would hurt too much to lose him and she would lose him. One day she would have to move on. The need to leave, to put some more space between her and her past would take over and leave her with no choice but to accept a new job. She’d be forced to say goodbye to him and the longer she stayed, the harder that would become. That was only if he didn’t leave her first, which he probably would.
He’d either get sick of dealing with her baggage, get sick of her, find someone else, or die, leaving her behind to deal with sudden loss of no longer having him in her life. She couldn’t do it. Didn’t want to do it. There was a reason why she didn’t stay in any one area too long. It was also the reason why she cut ties with everyone as soon as she moved on to a new job. She never wanted to deal with the kind of pain that went along with losing someone that she cared about again. She’d already dealt with enough loss in her life and didn’t need anymore. She should have remembered that this morning instead of looking for an excuse to prolong her goodbyes.
Now the bastard was downstairs with her purse. He had her ID, money, credit cards, and keys and she was left here fuming as she tried to figure out a way to get her stuff and get the hell out of here. She needed to do it before he figured out another way to keep her here and she was left with no choice but to beg him to stay with her for another night. Since that wasn’t going to happen, she needed to figure out a way to get the basement door open and quickly. It was times like this that she wished she’d made friends with the criminal sort so that she knew how to pick this damn lock. Then she could go downstairs and kick his ass!
“Asshole,” she muttered again, simply because it gave her something to do as she tried to think of a way to-
“Now, that wasn’t very nice,” the bastard that she was going to kill with her bare hands said as he opened the basement door and leaned against the doorframe.
Eyes narrowing, she quickly looked him over, hoping to find her purse, but there was nothing in his hands. That was fine with her, she thought as she pushed past him, half-expecting him to stop her. When he simply stepped to the side and let her step past him, she decided that she could just as easily ransack his room as she could kick his ass.
“You’ll never find it,” he said, chuckling as he followed her downstairs.
“Uh huh,” she said, pausing at the foot of the stairs as she surveyed the large finished room.
Unlike the rest of the house that looked like it was stuck back in the 1950s, this room looked modern. It looked more comfortable and it definitely was more guy friendly. The loveseat by the back wall was large and looked comfortable, as did the bed, which was neatly made. That shocked her, but not as much as the fact that the rest of the room was clean and tidy. Given how much Christofer seemed to hate doing household chores, she’d assumed that his room would have resembled something out of a frat house.
Instead his room was clean and everything seemed to have a place. There were no posters of scantily clad women on the walls, empty beer cans littering the floor or the smell of food rotting away somewhere in the corner. Then again, there wasn’t much to leave on the floor, she realized as she looked around the room and noted that besides the laptop computer and an insane amount of books lined up against the walls, there wasn’t anything personal in the room.
The only furniture in the room was the bed, a small dresser, a large refrigerator in the corner, and a few bookshelves that were crammed full of books. She’d seen hotel rooms that looked homier than this room. As far as she knew, he’d been living here all of his life, but it didn’t show. It looked more like he was just passing through. It made her heart break a little more for him.
He was living in a town where he was obviously not wanted, had no friends, hid out in the barn most of the time, and spent whatever free time that he had making sure that his sister was taken care of. Well, his version of taking care of her, she amended, pursing up her lips in thought as she looked the room over again.
“How exactly do you plan on finding it?” he asked, walking past her as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the incredible torso that she may have enjoyed snuggling up against last night.
“By tearing your room apart piece by piece until I find my purse. Then I’m going to beat you with it, say goodbye to Marta, kick your ass again and then leave,” she said, somehow managing to look away when all she wanted to do was to walk up to him, wrap her arms around him, and soak in the comfort that he only he could give her one last time before she left for good.
“That sounds like fun,” he said around a yawn as he flopped down on the bed on his stomach. “Just try not to wake me up, okay, mein Shatz?” he said, sounding amused when he should be frightened.
And what the hell did mein Shatz mean anyway? She considered asking him, but she didn’t want to take a chance giving him something else to torment her with. Sending one last scowl in his direction, she made her way to what she assumed was his bathroom. After a quick check, she decided that her purse wasn’t in there so she moved on to his closest with no luck.
Fifteen minutes later she was ready to kill the bastard. She’d searched everywhere with absolutely no luck. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she thought as her gaze locked on the refrigerator in the corner, the refrigerator that was currently locked and no doubt held her purse.
“Open the fridge,” she demanded as she walked over to the bed.
“No,” he said, shifting onto his back with a sigh as he settled in once again for a nap.
“Just give me my purse so that I can leave,” she bit through clenched teeth, praying that he cut the shit and just let her go, because she seriously didn’t know how much longer it would be until she snapped and did something that would require her to apologize to Marta and probably face a little time in jail.
“Let me think about it for a minute,” he said, folding his arms behind his head, not even bothering to open his eyes as he added, “No,” with a little smirk that had her eyes narrowing to slits and her hands twitching with the need to grab a pillow and smother the bastard.
“Christofer,” she said, pausing to close her eyes and take a deep breath before she continued, “I’m seconds away from killing you with my bare hands. Just give me my purse so that I can be on my way and you can continue breathing.”
“No,” he simply said, leaving her with no choice but to kill him.
Furious, she stormed over to the bed, grabbed a pillow and climbed onto the bed and straddled his thighs just as she shoved the pillow down on his face. She held it over his face for a good thirty seconds or so before she asked, “Are you going to give me my purse?”
“No,” came the muffled reply and god help the bastard, but it sounded like he was laughing.
“Last chance,” she warned, giving the pillow a slight shake to show him that she meant business.
With a sigh, Christofer pulled his arms out from behind his head and grabbed the pillow. Before she could stop him, he flipped the pillow back and raised his head as he settled back more comfortably against it. When she went to grab the pillow back and finish the job that she’d started, he grabbed her hands and carefully entwined their fingers.
“Let go,” she demanded as she tried to pull her hands away, admittedly not trying very hard and hating herself for it.
She liked where she was a little too much, which was just a reminder that she really needed to leave before she did something stupid like let herself fall for the jerk. As it was, she was already too close to liking him. It probably wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge and make her come up with a lame excuse to stay.
“No,” he said, gently caressing his thumb over the back of her hands.
“I need to go, Christofer,” she said, feeling herself soften as she looked into his beautiful baby blue eyes.
“No, you really don’t,” he said with a simple shake of his head as he continued to caress his thumbs across the back of her hands.
© R.L. Mathewson, 2014. All Rights Reserved for the R.L. Mathewson Chronicles.