Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 164

Chapter 164: Safe House

It turns out the "somewhere else" Logan ends up bringing me to is...

Well.

It’s... something?

Pretty sure more than one murder’s occurred here, among other unsavory things.

After a shopping spree at the local thrift store and dropping Princess Paws off at Marcus’s (who wasn’t home and, I’m pretty sure, didn’t know she was coming), I’m unusually concerned about his bank account, but decide not to say anything. If the man’s gone poor, he might not want to talk about it—

"I’m not broke."

My eyebrows fly up. "I didn’t say anything."

"I could see it on your face." He opens the apartment door with a faint smile. "It might seem unsavory, but I promise it’s clean."

I step into the apartment warily, half-expecting to find blood stains or a collection of creepy dolls based on the sketchy hallway. Instead, I’m hit with the scent of fresh paint and—is that new carpet? The place is immaculate. Like, staged-home-listing immaculate.

"Huh." I run my hand along a pristine countertop. "Not what I was expecting from the murder-hall entrance."

The contrast is jarring. Outside: peeling wallpaper, flickering lights, and the faint smell of cooked cabbage—which, yes, is a bizarre smell, but a lot better than what it could be.

Inside? It’s an open-concept living space with recessed lighting and—I glance up—crown molding. The furniture looks fresh from a catalog, but deliberately mid-range. Nothing flashy enough to draw attention when it was brought in.

The neighborhood isn’t quite unsavory, but it doesn’t necessary feel like I could walk around at night, either.

"Where exactly are we?" I ask, turning to Logan who’s locking the door behind us.

He tosses his keys on the entry table. "Safe house. Had it a long time."

I cross to the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator. Empty except for a six-pack of water bottles. Every appliance is gleaming and fingerprint-free, with protective film still attached. I peel back a corner of plastic from the microwave display.

"If you’ve had it a long time, why does everything look like it was delivered yesterday?"

Logan shrugs, moving around me to our haul from the thrift store down. "Required a remodel recently."

I wait for more, but he offers nothing. His face is carefully blank. I have the vague urge to poke him with a stick just to make him react, but I hold it in. Besides, there are no sticks in here.

Just knives, and that would be overkill.

No pun intended.

"That’s it? ’Required a remodel’? What happened, someone bleed out on the carpet?" I’m joking, but his face doesn’t change, and I narrow my eyes. "Wait, did someone actually—"

"Do you like it?" He cuts me off, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

Sounds like he really doesn’t want to answer that question, and it makes me nervous.

"It’s fine." I look around again. "Clean. Anonymous. Very IKEA showroom meets witness protection." I walk to the window and peek through the blinds at the street below. "But is it actually safe? How hard would it be for someone to find us here?"

He shakes his head. "Not easy."

"And it’s not under your name, right? Or Marcus’s?"

Another headshake.

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