I have to find Andy.
“For fuck’s sakes!” Thinking about her makes anger swirl again. She was right here with me…safe. I could have been protecting her now while we went after Whitlock. But no, she had to run off and try to…to do God knows what!
I have to take Whitlock out. Now, more than ever, I know that. It’s the only way I’ll stop this fucking suicide mission of hers. Because I know she won’t stop until the man is dead.
I thump the heel of my palm on the glass in front of me, hearing the pane rattle, even though the multi-layers of glazing should have it firmly affixed. The more I think of how foolish her fucking mission is, the angrier I get.
“Why the fuck couldn’t you just trust me, Andy?” I bite out to nobody in particular. Because if she were here with me, I wouldn’t be feeling this rage. This hot fury at how she keeps taking away my power to protect her.
Dammit, I will find her if it’s the last thing I do. And when I get my hands on her, she’s going to regret it.
I’m going to tan that pretty little ass of hers till it’s crimson.
Chapter 3
Andy Carter
Showers have become my new favorite thing since my night with Matteo. Maybe it’s because I have a constant need to feel clean. Or perhaps it’s more about trying to relive those sweet moments when he held me beneath the rushing water. The closest I’ll ever get to having such tenderness in my world again.
Stop it, Andy!
If I’m going to stick to my plan, I can’t be mooning over Mateo and the thought of him wet and naked and…and… And, of course, the grimy shower cubicle I’m stepping out of now is nothing like the sophisticated granite, chrome, and glass version in his apartment. My cheap motel room isn’t big on luxury. But it’s a far cry from the hell-hole I was in before.
I pull open the plastic shower curtains and reach for a towel on the railing nearby. It’s been bleached to the point that its original color is long gone and so well-worn I can see through portions of it. Still, it’s clean, like the rest of the shabby little room. I couldn’t stomach the thought of hiding out in squalor another day. This place took cash, didn’t run my phony ID, and asked no questions. I’m hoping I’ll be safe here for a while.
Safe?
The thought makes me scoff. Right now, the biggest threat to my safety is probably me. What I have in mind is going to be the end of me.
I don’t bother to spare a glance into the blotchy mirror over the basin as I walk by. I know I’ll be pale and pathetic; I’ve been sick to my stomach since I got here. I’m half convinced I’ve managed to pick up a bug. Though God knows, my nerves are enough of a mess to cause some serious belly upsets. Luckily the Pepto I’ve been chugging finally seems to be working.
“You got half a burger down tonight, don’t forget that, girl,” I tell myself as I rub away the water. Hell, I’ve got to take my victories where I can get them at this point.
I wrap myself in the towel, squeeze past the toilet that’s seen me hunched over it too often, and shuffle into the adjoining bedroom. After giving my hair a cursory towel-dry, I flop naked onto the bed, just as I have for the past two nights I’ve been here. There’s no sense in getting dressed now. I’m not planning to head out tonight – I still can’t face it. The thought of dealing with people leaves me weak. Besides, I can scarcely open the closet door wide enough to get anything out; the double bed almost consumes the entire width of the room. Still, like the rest of the place, it’s clean. And cloaked in a bright orange quilt, it’s almost enough to brighten my mood.
Almost.
Though if the quilt doesn’t do it, I guess the red glow in the room could do the trick. Even with the matching orange curtains drawn, I can see the flicker of the motel sign that hangs directly beside the window. It’s probably why I got the room cheap. Not that I can’t afford more. I’ve managed to empty out the contents of my savings account thanks to an old friend with banking connections. A small fee assured me of discretion. Now there’s $300k in a battered knapsack I’ve shoved beneath one of the pillows. It should keep me afloat for the foreseeable future.
However long that might be.
I’m playing for the long haul, though. Maybe I’ll make it through. Maybe I’ll need that cash…
Yeah, right, Andy. You’re gonna die.
I reach for the remote control and listlessly flick on the television suspended on a bracket from the wall at the end of the bed. The damn thing looks like it was made in the 90s. For the first night, I was terrified it would crash straight off the wall. But it isn’t the weight of the TV that has my attention now. It’s the image flickering on the screen.
A news broadcaster is replaying scenes from the carnage at the club I escaped from…
That Mateo rescued you from.
It’s not that I haven’t seen this footage before. The first day after I got here, every channel was running updates…the number of victims and eventually their names – nobody I know. And certainly not Mark. Because right now, his face is staring at me from the screen. He’s with the police commissioner, speaking earnestly into the camera. I turn up the volume.
“It was carnage,” he says. “Absolute carnage.” He rubs his face as if fighting back emotion. “I’ve never revealed my identity as the owner of this group of nightclubs for fear of compromising my more conservative business dealings. But this unprovoked attack demands a reaction.”
The news reporter is nodding sympathetically. As if she’s not facing a snake. How could she know what he is, though? To everyone in the world, Mark Whitlock is a business mogul.
“Can you tell us about the events of that evening, Mr. Whitlock?” she asks. “Take your time. I know this is difficult.”
