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When I finally clear my mouth, I move back to the fridge, and this time, I take out a bottle of beer. I crack it open and alternate between pulls from the bottle and mouthfuls of cookie until the last three are gone. My stomach protests at the last bite, but I can’t waste it. It doesn’t matter how bad her creations are, my deep-seated need to consume every bit of Cassandra won’t let me throw them away.
The town we live in isn’t tiny, but it’s small enough and just far away enough from the bigger suburbs that the different taxi services rarely run here, and there is no public transportation. Which is good, because if I witnessed her getting into the back of a stranger’s car, I’d have my sniper rifle out and aimed at the back of the driver’s head before you could say psychotic.
It feels dry, and when I pick it up, little pieces fall off. But I’ll take my cookies crumbly over wet, like the last batch. Opening wide, I shove the whole thing into my mouth. My throat closes involuntarily, the intense campfire taste overwhelming my senses. But I chew. Needing a little help, I step to the sink and turn on the tap. I bend and put my mouth under the stream and gulp some water. Then I shove another whole cookie into my mouth. What the fuck is wrong with me? Not wanting to dirty one of Cassandra’s containers, and not willing to leave them behind, I stack the cookies to make
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“You’re not crazy.” I feel unreasonably angry hearing her say that about herself. Flipping on my blinker, I turn into the parking ramp just before the hotel. They have valet parking, but I don’t let other people drive my truck. Cassandra turns to me and lifts a brow. “No? I killed a man tonight.” She ticks the points off her fingers. “You have a room in your basement full of weapons and cameras aimed at my house. I watched you throw a dead body over a fence in the middle of nowhere. You’ve admitted to stalking me. You followed me to Mexico, where I saw you kill two men, but I know you killed
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This shouldn’t be sexy. Making so many enemies you have to build an actual escape tunnel that goes from your hidden Batman room to an old moldy gazebo shouldn’t be a turn-on. And yet, here we are.