Unlike her, though, I’m also going destroy the fuck out of whoever killed my parents.
My hands fist at my sides as fury seethes through me. Whoever did it, I’m going to hunt them down and ruin them. I’m going to make them pay. I’m going to kill them, and I’m going to make it hurt.
I don’t know how yet. I’ve never taken a single self-defense class. I’m a skinny girl without an ounce of muscle who can barely run a mile without passing out.
But I’mangry. I might have gotten a reputation for that, but no one knows just how fucking angry I can get.
They’re about to find out.
“Here we are,” Just Josh repeats, and I blink at him.
“Right.” I open the car door slowly, trying to drown my nerves under my anger. “By the way, can you give me your boss’ address?”
“Sure thing.” He hands me the business card to the car company. “Have a nice stay.”
I nod at him and he pulls away, leaving me standing in front of Astley Hotel, wondering what kind of an idiot I am.
Taking a deep breath, I head inside. The doormen look at me in surprise, likely recognizing in me the poorest girl in all of Astley. But they don’t say a word, and I walk resolutely up to the front desk.
“Yes, hi. I have a reservation for Piper Day.”
The woman there smirks. “I highly doubt that.”
I give her the middle finger and whip straight around, prepared to head back out. Of course. The only logical explanation hits me like a ton of bricks. This was just some stupid prank. The murderer isn’t here. Someone wanted to fuckwith me.
That’s Astley’s favorite pastime. Getting a rise out of Pissed-off Piper. How stupid am I to fall into that trap? I guess I figured they wouldn’t be heartless enough to fuck with me right after my parents’ death. But the Astley folk have proven time and again that they reallyarethat heartless.
I grit my teeth, my eyes burning like on that first day of fifth grade when Jax bullied me. Only this time, Iwon’tcry. My parents died and I didn’t shed a tear. I willdefinitelynot cry over some stupid heartless prank.
“Uhm, Piper?” calls out the woman at the front desk. I don’t even know her name but she knows mine. Everyone does.
I turn back around, my jaw squeezed so tight I wonder if it will break. I really don’t want to face her again. I hate her. I hate everyone. Why did I even turn around?
“You were right,” she says, clearing her throat uncomfortably. “Thereisa reservation in your name.”
She doesn’t apologize, but I’m not expecting her to. Anyway, her callousness is the last thing on my mind right now as I draw up to the desk again, my eyes wide. So, back to my initial theory. The murderer made a reservation in my name at Astley Hotel.
Why?
“Do you… do you know who made it?” I ask breathlessly.
She frowns as she looks up the details. “Nope, sorry. It was paid for in cash.”
Oh.I sag a little against the counter in disappointment. Then I think of something else. “So that means he came in. He paid in person. Right?”
“I guess so,” she says, scrunching up her nose. “Looks like he made the reservation this morning. I wasn’t in, though. I work the evening shift.”
“Who works the morning shift?”
The woman at the front desk seems surprisingly willing toanswer my questions. I guess that’s what happens when you’re staying in the penthouse suite. People want to make you happy.
“That would be Jen.”
“Can you call her?” I blurt out, my heart thundering.
“No can do.” Then she adds, “She just left for her honeymoon in Bali. She probably has no cell service anyway.”
I open my mouth to insist, but I can tell from looking at her it wouldn’t be any use. Anyway, I get the feeling there’s no point in asking more questions. The murderer wouldn’t make it so easy to find out his identity. I’m going to have to hunt him down myself.
