I send a quick text to Sable letting her know I'm with the officer and he's taking me to a hotel now, so I’m safe…ish. I don’t say the lastpart, though. She’s got enough to worry about with Rogue there.
“Didn’t pack a bag?” Officer Nichols questions, pulling my attention back to him.
He nods down at my hands before we turn and head down the hallway. At least this time, I’m not being dragged out in handcuffs while the entire hall watches.
“No time. But would you mind just driving me to a hotel? My friend is out of town tonight,” I lie, hoping like hell he doesn’t call Barry to confirm that.
He frowns, concern creasing between his sparse brows. “Well, I don’t think that’s safe, ma’am. Too many entrance points for the Locksmith. Is there no one else you can stay with?”
My right eye twitches, irritated he refers to Lionel by his moniker rather than his actual name. I wish people would reduce him to the simple man he is, rather than the infamous serial killer people are undoubtedly fascinated with.
“There really isn't,” I say, my smile somewhere between sheepish and a grimace.
He hums, twisting his lips as he contemplates my request. I mean, honestly, I’m not giving him much choice. Where else could he possibly take me but his own house?
And while I could kiss the man, I sure as fuck won’t be going home with him.
“I suppose I can post up outside your door for the night instead,” he relents, the corners of his lips curling down.
He’s not pleased, but I can’t exactly blame him. At least at Sable's house, he would've gotten to park outside and keep watch from his car. Now, he'll have to actually sit outside my door. He’s trading a cushiony driver’s seat that reclines for a likely very uncomfortable chair offered by the hotel.
I feel terrible, but not enough to change my mind. If keeping Sable off my father’s radar means giving a cop back pain for a night, then he can go find a goddamn chiropractor.
This time, my smile is grateful. “I really do appreciate it. I admittedly don’t have many friends here, so—” I shrug, letting the unspoken implication hang.You don’t really have a choice.
His displeasure quickly morphs into a boyish grin that instantly makes me feel awkward, sensing what’s coming before it happens.
“Anything for the pretty lady.” He winks and then bites his lower lip, bobbling his head a little, like he just delivered the smoothest line known to man.
Oh, dear God.
Just put me down like a dog with rabies.
I’m so fucking over men tonight.
I’m grimacing my way through another smile and averting my attention to the main entrance right as we approach it. He opens the door for me, the rush of freezing air cooling my flushed cheeks.
It’s a lovely reminder I probably look like a goddamn wreck. Between the panic attack and the sobbing that likely turned my eyes bloodshot, I can only imagine what a beauty queen I am right now.
And the fact that the cop decided now was the best time to flirt with me only deepens my dislike for men.
What positive biological impact do they have on this planet again?
It’s truly hard to remember these days.
Just as I take the first step, a loud, blaring alarm rings out, nearly sending my heart straight out of my asshole. Officer Nichols shouts, jumping back with a hand over his heart.
The fire alarm.
Someone pulled the goddamn fire alarm.
Doors bang open a second later from both the first and second floor, students pouring out from their rooms into the hallways, shouting and screaming while trying to figure out where the fire is.
But I know damn well there’s no fucking fire.
Lionel or Dread?
My heart pounds as Nichols and I look at one another with wide eyes. I don’t know if he’s thinking what I’m thinking, but regardless, we need to get the fuck out of here.
