Page 166 of Seeking Vengeance

Layla

I pacethe carpet of the dirty hotel room for hours, only taking short intermission breaks to inch the cheap plastic blinds apart to see what’s going on outside.

Cars come and go on the busy street, the frantic traffic driving by like a thousand and one potential threats.

I’m hungry.

Tired.

And although it’s hard to admit, I’m scared, too.

Fear didn’t eat me like this when I was under Emmanuel’s roof. I’d felt protected. Stupidly immune because Matthew was by my side.

Now he’s not here, and I’m unsure what will happen if the Costas find me.

“Hey. Open up.” The reception guy knocks on my door. “I found that car of yours.”

I remain quiet, my heart trembling, my feet cautiously creeping me toward the entry.

“I said, I found that stolen car of yours,” he says louder. “Are you going to open up or not?”

“Keep your voice down.” I double check the security chain and open the door a crack, finding him an inch away, his acrid breath turning my stomach. “What do you want?”

He eyes me from face to feet and back again. “I hope you’re not bringing trouble my way.”

“I’m not.” I try to close the door only to have him lean his hip and shoulder into it.

“Well, you might like to know someone was calling about a woman fitting your description earlier. Said it was important they got in contact with you.”

My pulse skips a beat. “Who was it? What did you say?”

“They didn’t give a name.” He runs his tongue over a rotting front tooth. “And I told ’em nothin’, but that payment of yours is only going to go so far if I’m getting caught up in something that’s not my business.”

“You won’t.” I pull the door a smidge wider to chance a peek outside, then begin to close it again. “I’ll be gone soon.”

He thumps the wood with his hip. “How soon?”

“Any goddamn minute. Okay?”

I’m hoping Cole is already in Denver. If not, he has to be close.

“All right, Gucci belt. But just so you know, if I get another phone call, I might be tempted to sing like a little canary.” He runs a hand down his chest to his stomach. My gaze isn’t tempted to follow the path farther as he jerks his hips. “If you want we can come to an agreement on a cash-free transaction that will ensure my silence. What do you say?”

“Go to hell.” I shove the door shut and secure the flimsy handle lock.

I return to pacing, my fluctuating adrenaline having me hyped one minute and heartbeats from being comatose the next. I’m starving, scared, and nauseated. Helpless, hopeless, and horrified at what’s to come.

But it’s the familiar tone calling out, “Hey” ten minutes later that has every hair on my body standing on end.

I tiptoe to the window to peek through the plastic blinds, finding a black Mercedes pulled into a nearby parking space with Salvatore standing at the open door.

“I said, hey.” He focuses to the left of my room. Remy is nowhere in sight.

“What do you want?” the creep from reception calls back. “I’m busy.”

Oh, shit.

I slowly glide the blind back into place and sidestep to the door, holding my ear close to the frame.

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