My throat closes up, and I struggle to breathe. “I didn’t—Damian just left me. I don’t know?—”
Arden smirks. “Sounds like him. You think he’d actually stick around for someone like you.”
That hits harder than it should, and I swallow the hurt. “He didn’t seem like?—”
He shakes his head, cutting me off again. “Doesn’t matter. You won’t make it on your own. You can crash here for a bit, but it’s not safe to stay the night. When I’m done here, you can come home with me. I guess you can figure out a way to pay me back later.” The way he says it makes my skin crawl. I push myself to nod, even though every instinct I have is screaming at me to get the hell out of here. But what else can I do? Damian’s gone, and I need help. Arden gives me a once-over, his gaze lingering on my bloodstained dress. “Might want to clean yourself up before we go. You look like you crawled out of a grave.”
He walks out, leaving the door half open. I hear him talking to the woman with the terrier, his tone smooth and friendly, and I can’t figure out why my stomach is in knots. I should be grateful he’s helping me. Shouldn’t I?
I close the door all the way and quickly change clothes. I stay put for a while, but the room feels suffocating. I stand up and pace back and forth, trying to piece together what the hell I’m going to do next.
If Arden is willing to take me to his place, maybe he’d be willing to drive me to the airport and I can buy a plane ticket home. Or we can just go straight to the police. That’s probably the safest thing. I definitely look like I’ve been attacked. I just won’t tell them anything about the Cross family, keep them out of it.
Why am I still thinking about them?
I hate that I’m second guessing myself. I don’t trust my own instincts. When I listened to my gut before, it got me burned. Maybe I should just get out of here. Trusting Arden isn’t the best idea, he’s giving me serious ick vibes.
I inch the door open, just enough to peek through. Arden’s back at the front desk, chatting with the terrier’s mom. I’m about to close the door again when I see a car pull up outside, sunlight glinting off chrome.
I squint, heart pounding, as four men get out. Joel’s the first to step through the door, his face twisted in irritation. My stomach plummets, and I pull back from the crack in the door, trying to make myself as small as possible. The terrier immediately goes ballistic, barking like it’s trying to scare off an intruder. The woman shushes it, but Joel snaps, “Shut that rat up before I put it down.”
The woman shrinks back, clutching the dog to her chest, and I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound.
Then I hear it. Arden’s voice, low and steady. “She’s in room three.”
My stomach drops. My mind goes blank for a second, like it’s refusing to process what I just heard. Arden. Arden called Joel. That asshole set me up. A surge of panic shoots through me, and I stumble back from the door, my pulse pounding in my ears. What am I going to do?
I close the door and flip the lock. My knees tremble as I glance around the room, searching for something, anything, that I can use as a weapon.
My eyes land on a tray of tools on the counter. I grab the first thing I see, a long metal instrument that looks sharp at one end, I have no clue what it’s used for. My hands are shaking so badly that I drop it twice, slicing my palm with it once. I ball a handful of tissues against the cut and curse under my breath.
Footsteps shuffle down the hallway. I swallow hard, backing up to the small window above the sink. I shove the tool into the edge of the window, trying to pry it open. It doesn’t budge.
A loud knock echoes through the door, and I let out a small gasp.
“Lucky!” Joel’s voice calls out smoothly. “Come on out, sweetheart. I just want to talk.”
My heart races as I jam the tool harder into the frame, putting all my weight into it. The wood creaks, and finally, the window pops open a crack. I drop the tool and push with both hands, forcing it wide enough to crawl through.
The doorknob rattles. “If you make me break down this door, you’re going to regret it,” Joel growls.
I don’t have time to think. I heave myself up, slipping through the narrow gap, my arms scraping against the frame. My foot catches, and I tumble out, landing hard on the ground. The impact jars my shoulder, and pain shoots down my arm. Fuck, I left the knife-thing inside!
I groan and roll flat on my back.
Two massive guys block out my view of the sky, glaring down at me with cold, unfeeling eyes. “Gotcha,” one of them says.
I scramble backward, my palms scraping against the rough ground. I swallow down the scream building in my throat, forcing myself to think, to move. I can’t stay here. I can’t let them take me. But before I can even make it to my feet, a pair of rough hands grabs me by the shoulders and yanks me upright. I kick out, trying to fight, but they’re too strong, too solid.
“Joel’s gonna be real happy to see you,” an ogre-looking guy sneers, his grip tightening.
I thrash, trying to break free, but it’s like fighting against a brick wall. I look over my shoulder, half expecting Arden to be standing there, smug and satisfied. But he’s not. My stomach twists with fear, and I struggle harder, kicking and clawing, but they just laugh, dragging me toward the front of the building.
Joel steps around the corner, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Well, well,” he drawls. “That was easier than I thought.”
I stop fighting for a second. The reality crashes over me like ice water. Arden betrayed me. And once again, Joel wins.
Chapter Thirty-Five
