Twenty-Four
Whistle could swear he heard her voice. He was scrounging for the last of whatever was in the fridge when the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. The hairs went flick, straight up to their ends. He heard it again, a tinkle of a laugh in the hallway. Like the sound of an angel. His heart pounded in his chest. Edging closer to the front door, Whistle pressed his ear to the wood and heard the murmurs of their elderly next-door neighbor.
Unable to stop himself, he swung the door open and blinked.
Tasa.
She was back. It’d been ninety-one days. He’d counted.
His blood ran hot, cold, hot again, and then rushed south to his c**k.
Her thick sable hair cascaded over her shoulders, and f**k if he didn’t want to wrap it in his fist and drag her through the door and straight int
