Hansel 1-4: The Complete Series by Ella James Read Free Book Online Page B

isn’t me. Nope. Her. Disgusting.
    Pass.
    I dismiss her, then wrap a robe around myself and stick my head out the bedroom door. “Ray?”
    He’s right outside, in the apartment’s living area, sipping a can of Mr. Pibb and holding a clipboard. “Two more,” he says, passing the clipboard to me. I scowl down at the papers on it.
    “What is this shit?”
    “It’s the application, sir. We had another girl apply. Just now, in fact.”
    “So what? The deadline’s passed. How am I going to deal with someone who can’t do the first thing that I ask of them?”
    “Yes, I know.” He strokes his chin. “But you might like her. Her voice is as you like, and the images she sent look perfectly in line with what you need.”
    “I thought there was another one today. Besides this late girl?”
    “Bleach,” he said cryptically.
    I don’t do fake blondes—not because I have anything against them, but because I have to have a certain thing for this to work.
    I skim the hand-written application, scowling as I do. When I finish, I shove it back at him.
    “Whatever. But I want to see her here in ten—or no dice.”
    “Sir—”
    “Ten minutes.” I look down at my watch. “That’s all the time I have before I have to call a fucking escort.”
    I clench my teeth, because I want to lash out at Raymond. Instead, I take a long, slow breath before walking back into the bedroom. There I wait with my eyes shut, aching for someone I’ll probably never see again.
     

CHAPTER SIX
    Leah
Ten Years Ago
     
    The room has a cot, a small closet stocked with all-brown clothes, a desk stocked with paper, markers, and paint, and a few paperback books. I find the markers are dried up, and so are the paints. All part of the game, I guess.
    At the bottom of my door, there’s a hole about the size of a school textbook where Mother pushes a plastic plate through once a day. The food is good enough, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t really eat it. When I’m finished, I toss the plate outside the door. Sometimes, I can hear other people’s plates clatter against the hardwood hall. Occasionally I hear screaming, sometimes faint sobbing, and from the room to the left of mine, an intermittent sawing sound.
    It’s been thirteen days now. Thirteen days I’ve spoken to no one. Six days since Mother appeared at the small hole in my door and asked me how I liked the forest. Three days since Mother pushed a sheet of Disney stickers through the hole in my door. I thought I was finished crying, but today, I’ve cried all day.
    I’m lying on my back on the cot, staring up at the smooth, white ceiling, twitching as I come down from my latest crying jag, when a soft thunk has me flipping over on my stomach, looking over at the wall behind me.
    I’m stunned to see a small hole at the bottom. It’s roundish, a little jagged around the edges, and no larger than a compact disc. On the floor in front of the hole are two small pieces of sheetrock.
    I lie there for a second, staring, and wonder what kind of game this is.
    Then I walk slowly over.
    I get down on my hands and knees on the green rug and wrangle up the courage to peer through.
    I see a hazel eye, a dark eyebrow. He disappears momentarily from my sight before coming back in view a little farther back.
    “Gretel?”
    When his voice vibrates the air, I feel it deep down in my belly. It’s low and…nice.
    I look into his eyes, and he looks into mine, and I feel warmer. Even though I can only see a little of his face, I can read the sympathy there.
    “Gretel,” he says softly. “That’s what she’s calling you?”
    I nod a little. Tears have started up again; they flow down my nose, dripping onto the rug.
    “You’re crying,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
    I sniff loudly. “Are you Hansel?”
    “I am.”
    I nod, and start to cry again with disappointment. I was hoping he was here to rescue me.
    “What’s wrong?” he asks again. His voice is gentle, prompting me to cover my face and