A fucking mouse just ran across my kitchen floor.

I set the box I’m carrying on the counter before taking a few tentative steps toward the stove where the little bastard disappeared. I pull my phone out of my pocket, turning on the flashlight app and shining it in the darkness between the cabinet and stove.

Nothing.

But I know I saw something.

Getting to my knees, I smack my hand against the oven door, hoping to startle the little shit out of its hiding place.

Still nothing.

I bang harder, grabbing onto the handle and trying to jostle the appliance around a little.

Not a peep.

I must be losing my mind.

I climb back to my feet with a shrug, my knees popping from kneeling on the hard linoleum floor. It’s yellowed with age, the dingy material appearing to have once been white with little blue flowers. Now, it just looks like Uncle Joe’s tobacco teeth, dark stains marring the yellow surface from years of abuse and wear and tear.

I grab the box again before walking to what is supposed to be the bedroom. In reality, it’s a glorified closet. A tiny twin bed, which came with the apartment, fills the entire room, leaving only about a foot of space on each side. I set the box on the bed, pulling a can of disinfectant spray out of the various cleaning supplies inside.

I’m going to need about ten more of these suckers before I can even consider lying on that bed.

After I’m sure all the creepy-crawlies have been thoroughly doused, I head back out to the living room and grab the few bags I packed when I left Alec’s place. Pretty much everything in that apartment was his. My clothes and a few other belongings fit in a small suitcase and a duffel with room to spare. All the kitchen shit was his, and if I’m honest, in the two years I was there, I didn’t use those pots, pans, and whatever the fuck else once. Alec was a great cook, and I was always willing to test out his creations. I sure as hell am going to miss that. My cooking expertise extends to toasting bread and boiling water. And, ninety percent of the time, I can’t even accomplish those simple tasks.

I grin to myself as I unpack, pulling the expensive-ass coffeemaker from the bag in front of me. This was Alec’s, too. But I’d be damned if I let him have Gertie. We have a connection. She understands me in ways I don’t even know myself. It is some next-level shit. Our bond is downright spiritual. So, Alec can fuck off. Gertie is mine.

I gently walk her into the kitchen, cradling her against my chest, as I show her through our new digs. She doesn’t look impressed. Can’t say I blame her. It’s got to be hard, going from marble to Formica. Gertie deserves better, damn it.

I’ve just plugged her in, caressing her face as she beams up at me, when I hear a throat clear behind me. Turning at the sound, I find myself staring at two smiling faces. The two men look to be a few years my junior, and they must be new in town, their fresh faces not yet showing the ravages this city can bring. I return their smiles, wiping my hand on my jeans as I cross the room to greet them.

I take in their appearance as I approach. The one closest to me is slightly taller, his dark hair buzzed down to his scalp. His friend might be shorter, but he’s got at least fifty pounds on the first guy. I wouldn’t say he’s fat. Pudgy maybe. Like he still has a little bit of baby fat he just can’t quite get rid of. This guy’s hair is also cut short, though the red curls are a lot harder to tame. Between the hair and his cherub face, he looks like he belongs on a bottle of sunscreen, a scraggly dog pulling his underwear and showing his bare ass.

The taller one extends his hand to me before I have the chance. “Hey there. I’m Elder Fisher, and this is my companion, Elder Sullivan. We heard someone might be moving in up here today. Thought we’d come and see if we could lend a hand.”

His words catch me off guard. Elder and Elder?

Unless their parents hate them, I’m guessing those aren’t their actual first names. That means I’ve just moved into some sort of weird religious cult, and they’re going to try to get me to change my name to Elder, get a stupid haircut, and wear horrendous basketball shorts and baggy T-shirts.

No, thanks.

Don’t drink the punch, Quinn. No matter how tasty it looks. Just don’t drink it.

I snicker to myself, the smile on my face widening at the thought of these two dressed in ceremonial robes, chanting and praying to the god of the brainwashed as they sip their Kool-Aid.

Too bad, too, because the tall one is sort of cute. If circumstances were different, I might be interested in seeing which team he played for.

The one called Fisher must mistake my grin for cordiality because he drops my hand and takes a step inside my new place. His partner follows closely behind him.

“I think I’m all set, boys. Thanks for the offer though. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Fisher’s hands rest on his hips as he takes in my living room. “You know, this is the same setup as our apartment when we first got here. Didn’t work out too well for us since there wasn’t room for two beds in the bedroom. So, we reconfigured things. Made it a bit more comfortable. The living room is now the bedroom, which sounds kind of odd, I guess. But let me tell you; it works out so much better that way. It doesn’t feel like you’re about to be crushed by four walls. We could help you move things around if you want.”

My ears perk up at the two-beds-in-the-bedroom comment. Why in the hell would these boys want to share a room? Unless I misjudged them. Maybe this isn’t some freaky religious thing. Maybe it’s a fetish thing. They’re the Elders, and they want me to be their little altar boy. Or whatever the fuck floats their boat.

While that is slightly more appealing than the former option, it’s still not something I’m into.

But the thought of not having to sleep in that tiny excuse for a bedroom has piqued my interest, so instead of kicking their sadomasochistic asses to the curb, I find myself nodding and saying, “That would be great.”

There isn’t much to the apartment, but trying to do this on my own would have been difficult. Between the three of us, it only takes about a half hour to move the bed out to the living room and the dilapidated sofa into the bedroom. The guys even run downstairs to their own place, returning five minutes later with an old dresser.

“We’ve got two down there, but really, all our stuff fits in one. And it’ll free up some extra space if we get rid of it. I’ll just let Elder Hansen know we lent it out. It’s yours until they need it elsewhere.”

I thank them for their generosity, the dresser proving to make my life easier for the time being. Or at least more organized. I won’t have to live out of a suitcase for the foreseeable future. Still, I make a mental note to take a trip to IKEA as soon as I have some cash saved up. I don’t like the idea of owing these guys anything.

Once everything is in place, the three of us stand around the bed, taking in our work. An awkward air fills the room, and I suddenly want them out of my place before they get any weird ideas. Reaching into my back pocket, I take out my wallet, ruffling through the last few dollars I have tucked inside.

When Fisher sees what I’m doing, he immediately puts his hands up, waving me off. “No, no. We can’t accept that. We were just being neighborly. It was our pleasure, really.”

Grateful I won’t have to give these two my last ten bucks, therefore being able to feed myself tonight, I fold my wallet and tuck it back into my jeans. I clap Fisher on the shoulder, nodding to Sullivan in the process. He’s barely said two words the whole time they’ve been here, making it clear that Fisher is the leader of the two.

“Well, thank you so much for your help. I appreciate it more than you know. Just knowing I won’t have to sleep in that coffin disguised as a bedroom already has me breathing easier.”

Fisher laughs, shrugging out of my grasp and taking a step back. Interesting. Maybe they’re not looking to be my Christian Greys after all.

Fisher extends his hand out to me again. “It was great to meet you, uh…” He trails off, as if just now realizing I never introduced myself earlier.

“Quinn,” I supply, not offering him my last name.

I still don’t know what this guy’s story is, and if there’s one thing LA has taught me, it’s not to give too much information to people you don’t know. That’s how you end up buried in the walls of a creepy house and on the front page of the LA Times.

“Quinn,” Fisher repeats. “It was nice meeting you, Quinn.”

Sullivan finally finds his voice, taking a step forward and offering me his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Quinn,” he parrots.

“Yeah, you, too,” I say, giving his hand a quick shake before dropping it. “I’m sure I’ll see you boys around.”

I make a move toward the door, trying to indicate that I’d like them to leave now without actually saying the words. Sullivan seems to get the hint, backing up until he reaches the door, his hand resting on the knob as he waits for Fisher to join him.

Fisher, on the other hand, appears to have missed my subtle prod, the big grin I saw when he first appeared in my doorway plastered on his face once more.

“Actually, Quinn, is there a time this week you’d be available to talk with us? You see, we’re missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and we’d love to share the Lord’s message of salvation with you.”

Oh, fuck me.

“Uh, actually, my week is pretty busy. Two jobs and all that,” I explain, my eyes dropping to the floor in my discomfort.

“Understandable,” Fisher says. “You let us know if anything opens up. I think you’d really like to hear what we have to say.”

Yeah, okay. I’ll be sure to do that. Maybe I can get a root canal while I’m at it.

“Will do. Thanks again, guys.”

This time, they leave without a fuss. As soon as the door closes behind them, I throw the dead bolt and slide the chain into place, effectively locking out anyone else who might be lurking. That’ll teach me to leave my front door open even if it is only for a few minutes.

I grab my phone off my bed and walk into the kitchen. Gertie is right where I left her, and I lean my elbows on the cheap countertop next to her, unlocking the screen on my phone and pulling up the internet browser. Once it’s loaded—the service in this dump sucks ass —I type in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The words struck a chord in my brain when Fisher said them, but I can’t seem to place where I’ve heard them before.

As soon as the page loads, I groan.

Mormons.

I live upstairs from goddamn Mormon missionaries.

The idea of crazy fetish freaks suddenly doesn’t seem so bad.