Hideout by Jack Heath (iphone ebook reader txt) 📕

believe, as long as Thistle can convince them to keep their mouths shut until our next escape attempt.

She doesn’t need me to chain her up. ‘I have to get back before they realise I’m gone,’ I say.

‘Okay. Good luck.’ Thistle goes to hug me, and then realises she can’t bring herself to hug a cannibal. She pats me on the shoulder instead.

I want to wrap my arms around her, in case we don’t make it out of this. But there’s a wall between us now. One I’ll never be permitted to cross.

‘You too.’ I walk back out into the morning light.

CHAPTER 30

How do two homes become three, while acquaintances live inside?

When I get back into the house, it’s silent. I slowly open Fred’s door. He’s still asleep, rolled over so I can’t see his face.

A sudden bolt of fear. I forgot that Zara saw me take Fred’s keys. It wasn’t supposed to matter. I expected to be gone by now.

I peer under the bed. She’s gone. What will she tell the others?

I tiptoe across the room, lower Fred’s keys into the bowl and sneak back out. I need to shower before anyone sees me. I’m still grimy from rolling around in the dirt with Thistle. I grab a change of clothes and a towel from my room, then creep into the bathroom and shut the door.

A shower is a good substitute for sleep. When I turn it on, the steam clears out my sinuses and opens my pores. I close my eyes and step under the flow, rubbing the scalding water into my scalp, scrubbing my armpits with my hands. Trying not to think about how unfair it is that I get this moment of relief while Thistle is stuck out there in the cold.

The bathroom door opens. Someone else is up.

I clear my throat. ‘Occupied.’ Which is dumb, because they must know that already. The water is making plenty of noise.

No one replies. The door closes again. Has the person left, or are they inside the room?

I listen. There’s a soft rustling sound, possibly from outside the door, possibly not. Then just the hissing of the shower.

I leave the water running, wanting whoever it is to think I assume they’re gone. Someone has left a razor in a shower caddy, but it’s not much of a weapon. I grab the caddy itself—it’s stainless steel and heavy enough to do some damage.

Who’s out there? Fred, here to punish me for touching Ivy? Donnie, here to kill me after finding out that I tried to get Thistle out of here?

Zara opens the shower curtain and steps in. She’s naked. I have to step back to avoid touching her, my buttocks touching the cold tile.

She reaches forwards, testing the water temperature with an open palm, and then steps right into my personal space, the water trickling down her chest.

‘About last night,’ she says.

I just stare at her.

‘In Fred’s room,’ she prompts. ‘I caught you stealing his keys. Remember?’

I clear my throat. ‘I caught you stabbing him in his sleep, that’s what I remember.’

When someone has information you don’t want them to share, your two options are typically threats or bribery. To threaten someone, you need to know what they’re afraid of. To bribe them, you need to know what they want. In Zara’s case, I know neither.

She squirts some shampoo into her hand and raises both elbows so she can massage it into her scalp. She waits for me to look down.

I don’t. But I can sense all the flesh below my eyeline. My stomach growls.

‘Are you threatening me?’ She smiles, as though daring me to try.

‘No. Are you threatening me?’

‘No. You can put that down.’

I lean past her and lower the shower caddy onto the floor. She doesn’t give me much space to do it.

‘I didn’t hurt Fred,’ she says. ‘But I could have. I enjoyed the possibility.’ She bows, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. ‘So what were you up to?’

‘I wanted some alone time with the lady FBI agent,’ I say. ‘Away from the other prisoners. I don’t like to be watched.’

‘Hmm, a private tryst. I like a man with a sense of romance.’ She picks up her razor from the caddy and starts shaving her legs.

She’s trying to get a rise out of me, literally. But is she doing it for fun, or is she trying to work out what makes me tick?

‘I brought her back after,’ I say. ‘She’s locked up again.’

‘Is she? You overpowered a strong woman like that, all by yourself?’

I nod.

‘Wow. You must be even stronger.’ Zara stops shaving and rests a hand on my chest. She can feel my heart racing, but she’s probably wrong about the cause.

I’m starving. She’s in danger.

The easiest way for Zara to get into Fred’s bedroom would be via his bed. ‘Won’t Fred be angry if he finds us in here together?’ Or if he finds Zara dead and me covered in her blood.

‘Fred doesn’t get angry. It’s a point of pride for him.’

‘What kind of relationship do you two have?’

‘You mean, is it open?’

‘I mean, how long have you been together?’

‘We’re not together. It’s a transaction. He’s straight, I’m straight.’ Her hand traces down my abdomen. Fondles even lower. ‘Nice to know that you are, too.’

You’d think that psychopaths would be better at no-strings-attached sex. No emotional connection, no jealousy. But in my experience, they’re actually worse at it. Psychopaths are more inclined to see their partners as their property. Something being stolen.

‘But the real transaction isn’t what he thinks it is.’ I try to ignore what her hand is doing. ‘Right?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He gets to fuck you, and you get to lie there fantasising