Page 31 of Property of Rattler

She goes to the rear of the kitchen, which leads into a boot room, and from there to the outside via another door.Another exit or entry point to guard,I mentally note.

“What do we do with all this?” She gestures toward the food, in danger of defrosting where we left it on the counter.

“Let me check.” Pippa wouldn’t have gotten the prospects buying up half the grocery store if there wasn’t somewhere to store our purchases. I slide the bolts on the rear door and take a step outside. There’s a path that leads to an outhouse. Noting the wires attached that flow back toward the cabin’s roof, I’m hopeful of what I’m going to find.

And, yeah, opening up the wooden shack, I discover a generous chest freezer, and that the small building also houses a generator. Good news if we’re stranded here in the winter, though fuck knows I hope we’ll be long gone by then.

Turning, with the intention of going back to collect the food, I bump straight into Ames. Both of us reach for the box that’s started to tumble out of her hands.

“Fuck, woman.”

“You should have looked where you’re going,” she smarts.

Both of us glare at each other.

How the fuck am I going to survive a few days, let alone weeks, and heaven forbid, months?

We get the freezer stocked without too much issue, then start bringing in the rest of the food. After she’s getting in my way more than she’s helping, I leave her to put the perishables away and stock up the cupboards while I make the trips back out to the truck.

When we’ve finally got everything squared away, I pop the top off a beer while she opens a soda. I stay in the kitchen to drink mine, and she wanders off to explore.

I hear her feet clunk on the ladder-like stairs that lead to the upper floor. Only a minute or so later, I hear her climb back down.

Her brow is furrowed, and her jaw is taut. I raise my bottle toward her. “What the fuck’s up now?”

“There’s only one bed,” she says tightly. Then hisses, “Don’t take that marriage certificate as meaning anything between us is real. I’m not fucking sleeping with you.”

I huff. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you paid me. Only one thing you’ll be giving me money for is providing protection.”

Her eyes widen. Huh, guess she didn’t like her lack of charm being pointed out. Then, she asks the practical question, “So where are you sleeping?”

In the fucking bedis on the tip of my tongue to say. But luckily, I don’t let the words escape. While I’ve not served in any of the armed forces, nor been professionally trained in security, it doesn’t take a genius to know I can’t be secreted away safelyupstairs while she takes the couch. That would put her in direct line of any enemy coming through the front door.

Fuck me. This day keeps getting worse,I think to myself, eyeing said couch dubiously. While I’m not the tallest man in the club, I’m way too big to stretch out on the small two-seater.

As I’ve said before,fuck my life.

While I’m seriously considering whether there’s any chance I could get away with calling Bullseye and telling him I’m already done with this shit, despite the ink barely being dry on our wedding license, she brings up something else.

“There’s no bathroom upstairs.”

I look at her. She looks at me. Then, as if of a single accord, we glance around the cabin's interior, which we’ve already explored.

Spinning on my heels, I go to the kitchen and outside once more. This time, I don’t follow the fork in the path that leads to the freezer and generator room. Instead, I continue it around to the rear of the cabin, and yeah, that’s where I find it. Another wooden shack that houses a laundry room, shower, basin, and toilet.

I feel her shudder beside me as she, too, looks inside. “Tell me there are no spiders in there.”

I don’t answer. I can’t tell her there aren’t. And I certainly can’t admit how I’m not particularly enamoured of those eight-legged insects myself.

When I do respond, it’s to inform her coldly, “I’ve got shit to do. Why don’t you get a meal together?”

“I’m not here as your slave.” She places her hands on her hips. “And what shit could you possibly have to do?”

I round on her, forcing her to take a step back, which brings her up against the wooden slats of our primitive bathroom. Placing both my hands on the flimsy wall, trapping her, I snarl, “I’ve got cameras and sensors to install. You want me to forgo allthat to cook you dinner, Princess? Want me to leave it so your brother can waltz straight in without us knowing?”

She breathes out heavily. “I’m sorry, Rattler, no.” She pinches the brow of her nose. “I didn’t realise. Can I help?”

“No, you can’t fuckin’ help. It’s man’s work.” I want the cameras installed, not dropped and broken for fuck’s sake. I storm off, leaving her to make her own way inside.