Chapter 26-The Stalker
Through the crack in the hallway corner, I watch the room service guy roll his cart toward the elevator—silver tray lids gleaming, champagne on ice, strawberries, chocolate, some fancy crepes—all that cliché honeymoon shit.
It would be funny.
If it wasn’t mine.
If that wasn’t supposed to be me in that room with her.
I step out before the waiter even sees me.
Quick.
Precise.
Like I’ve replayed this a thousand times in my head.
Because I have.
He barely has time to blink before I grab him.
One hand over his mouth.
The other holding a knife I slide across his throat.
He goes down easy.
Too easy.
Dead weight slumping against the wall as I drag him out of sight.
Pathetic.
Not even worth the effort.
I crouch, checking his pulse.
Dead.
Good.
I’m not here for him.
I’m here for her.
And for Gunner.
My jaw tightens as I strip off his jacket, pulling it over my shoulders, adjusting the collar, grabbing the tray.
Perfect.
No one looks twice at room service.
That’s the beauty of it.
People expect to be served.
They don’t expect what’s coming with it.
