Read Online Eerie by Blake Crouch Jordan Crouch - Free Book Online Page A

the gore in the toilet. Hard to believe that his sister, small as she was, had that much inside her. Sprawled on the bathroom floor, sheet-white and still dripping with rain and sweat, she looked like a full-on heroin addict.
    “All right,” he said. “Until I figure out what we’re dealing with.”
    “Give me your phone.”
    “Why?”
    “So I’ll know you’re one hundred percent with me. So I don’t have any more surprise guests showing up at my door.”
    “You don’t trust me?”
    “After that stunt you pulled with Don?”
    “I’m not giving you my phone.”
    “Why? Planning on making some calls?”
    “It’ll make you feel better?”
    “Yes.”
    He tugged his phone out of his pocket, dropped it in Paige’s lap.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    She tried to stand, but her arms didn’t have the strength to push her onto her feet.
    Grant reached down and pulled her up by her hands.
    “You know, there’s an upside to this approach,” she said.
    “What’s that?”
    “Now that you’re here, you can see what happens to my clients after I black out.”
    Paige left the bathroom, and Grant stood at the sink, holding his hands under steaming hot water while he scrubbed every last speck of blood off his hands with a furious focus.
    He finally shut off the tap and looked up into the mirror.
    He flinched.
    Don stared back at him—his face frozen in that moment of grimacing purpose just before he’d opened his throat. His lips didn’t move, but Grant heard his voice as clearly as if his friend had been standing beside him, whispering into his ear.
    You don’t know anything.
    You don’t know anything.
     

Chapter 11
    Grant changed into dry clothes—loose-fitting jeans and a T-shirt belonging to one of his sister’s clients. He helped Paige clean the wet floors, the bloody upstairs hallway and downstairs bathroom, and generally return the brownstone to the jazz-brimming, candlelit brothel that had greeted him ninety minutes prior.
    When the doorbell rang, Grant slipped into an empty closet beside the wet bar, pulling the door closed as Paige moved into the foyer.
    She’d skimped down into something so lacy and see-through he could barely bring himself to look at her. But she’d somehow managed to work magic with makeup and foundation, upgrading her appearance from heroin addict to the sexy emaciation of a Paris runway model.
    Muffled sounds reached him through the closet door.
    Hinges creaked in the foyer.
    An exchange of voices, barely discernible, but low and seductive.
    Approaching footsteps moved into range, followed by laughter.
    Grant heard the clink of ice dropping into empty glasses.
    A cork sliding out of a whiskey bottle.
    Liquid pouring over cracking ice.
    Paige and her client stood at the wet bar, three feet away.
    “You look tired, baby,” she said, her voice pure saccharine.
    “Here’s to hoping you can fix that.”
    Grant’s stomach twisted.
    “Cheers,” the man said.
    “Save any lives today?”
    “No, actually. Car accident. Couldn’t find the hemorrhage in time.”
    “Sounds like a bad day at the office.”
    Grant had been fully prepared to despise whoever entered this brownstone with the intention of fucking his sister, but as he eavesdropped from the closet, he couldn’t find the rage. He’d stood in this man’s shoes countless times. Paid for sex with women who were undoubtedly sisters of other men. Whatever brotherly anger he felt was doomed to be laced with hypocrisy.
    “I don’t know how you do it, Jude. Life and death every day.”
    “The good days make it worth it. Also, they pay me a fortune which helps my fragile ego. How you doing, Gloria?”
    “Aces.”
    “Yeah? ‘Cause you’re looking a little peaked, as my grandmother used to say.”
    “I’m fine. It’s just—”
    “Eleven o’clock at night.”
    “Exactly.”
    They moved away from the wet bar and Grant heard the squeak of leather as they sat down on the sofa cushions.
    In the darkness, he reached