Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I exhaled hard, knowing there was no going back now. I’d agreed to the job. I knew the details. This crew wouldn’t let me walk away without getting what they wanted.
Besides, I needed the money.
“Yep,” I agreed, falling in at his side as we made our way toward the steps that led up.
And, wouldn’t you guess it, more cameras. On the treads of the steps, looking down from the banister, up above us on the side of the house.
This was “big brother” dialed up to the max.
Except it wasn’t the government.
“The fuck you need a crotch-height camera for?” Dezi asked aloud to the owner who was probably listening via those cameras. “You wanna see it, I could whip it out.”
“Dez,” I warned.
“Not my fault he’s a creep,” he mumbled under his breath before raising his hand and pressing the intercom button. Endlessly.
Until, with a frustrated whip, the door flew open.
“Was that necessary?” the man standing there in his weirdly all-white outfit (white linen shirt, matching pants, white slides) asked.
“Didn’t know how that thing worked,” Dezi lied. I had to give him credit; he did it convincingly, too. I got the feeling that he was nowhere near as dumb as he let a lot of people assume about him.
The man, Ben, ignored that.
“Leave your shoes out here.”
Dezi shot me a Can you believe this shit? look that I shrugged at as I reached down to undo my laces. Dezi leaned down to do the same, revealing bare feet that made Ben look green.
“Here,” he said, reaching to produce a pair of—I shit you not—those paper shoe covers that doctors, floor guys, and real estate agents insisted on.
Thankfully, Dezi bit back whatever he had to say to that as he slipped on the booties then nearly shouldered his way into the house.
I took one last deep breath before following.
The inside of the glass house was somehow more disarming than the outside. Because on the outside, the windows were mirrored, reflecting back the greenery and sky. Inside, it was like you were inside the forest, but up in the trees. It made me feel a little unsteady for a moment as I stepped in.
Behind me, the door closed with a hiss, then a click as a lock slid into place.
Turning, I saw a little solid red light on the handle, letting Ben know with one glance that the lock was engaged.
Aside from all the views around, I took in everything else.
The white tile floors. And I’d never seen grout so clean in my life. White granite kitchen counters, white cabinets. White stone end and coffee tables. An off-white couch.
And everything inside had a mix of a bleach and lemon scent.
There were several whirring sounds, making me look around to try to find their source.
HEPA filters.
Six of them.
The more I noticed them, the louder they seemed to grow until they were all I heard.
“One at a time,” Ben said, waving toward the stairs that led upstairs.
Dezi gave me a look but followed behind Ben toward the steps.
“Christ,” I said, raking a hand down my face, feeling like a trapped rat in this weird, too-clean house with no fewer than a dozen cameras inside as well.
“Um, hi,” a soft voice called, making me whip around to see a woman descending the last step where Dezi and Ben had just disappeared.
She was average height and gently curvy, with golden hair and a warm smile.
What struck me, though, was that just like Ben, she was wearing all white: white linen shorts, a white shirt, a white chunky sweater, and a pair of white fluffy slippers.
“Hey,” I greeted, surprised by the punch of desire.
“I’m Lolly,” she said, seeming unsure of herself.
“Nave.”
“Nave,” she repeated, and I couldn’t look away from her mouth as she said my name. “That’s a unique name.”
“So is Lolly.”
“Crazy parents,” she said with a wave. “Can I get you some coffee?”
I was surprised anything not white was allowed in the house.
“That’d be great.”
She waved an invite over toward the kitchen, and I watched as she reached into the cabinets to produce a paper cup and lid. Each drawer she opened contained paper and plastic products. Not a single real plate or cup or… anything.
“I know,” she said, her voice so low that I could barely hear it. “Not super environmentally friendly, is it?” she asked, going over to the coffee machine to stick a pod in. “Ben likes things clean.”
“I noticed,” I agreed, glancing around.
There was nothing on the counters. Not a single crumb. No bowl of fruit. Not a dish in the sink or a dishtowel hanging from a hook.
“How do you cook?” I asked as she fiddled with the smartwatch on her wrist, seeming uncomfortable.
“Oh, uh, I don’t.”
“Not a fan?” I asked.
“I actually love to cook.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“We eat takeout,” she said instead of answering. Then, her voice nearly a whisper, “Ben is particular about his food.”