Page 16 of Take Me Under

Shit.

I shook my head, regretting the slip up immediately.

“No need to get jumpy. I didn’t go that far,” I said. “I turned around near Central Park.”

“That’s well outside the security perimeter set up for the Met Gala, and too far for you to go alone. You’re playing Russian roulette with your life, boss. I think it’s time we revisit around-the-clock protection. I can only split my time between you and the club so much. I want to bring someone else in.”

I pressed my lips together in a tight line, annoyed that he was pushing the issue again. I wasn’t naïve. I knew my rapid rise in status meant increased threats. I’d hired Zeke because he was the only person I could trust with my personal security and sensitive club details. He had all the training, skills, and expertise necessary. I wasn’t ready to bring someone else into the fold—even though I knew he was right. I was going to have to expand my circle sooner rather than later.

“We can start the vetting process for potential candidates next week,” I replied.

It was the only concession I would make for now. If there was one thing I was good at, it was self-preservation. I didn’t believe I’d ever trust anyone as much as I did Zeke, but knew it was in my best interest to heed his warning.

The motel loomed ahead, a grim picture against the more modern structures flanking the six-story building. Zeke pulled up to the curb and we silently got out of the car. The storm that had threatened most of the night had finally moved in, causing cold rain to needle at my cheeks. The wind kicked up, sweeping and howling within the man-made canyons. I tugged the collar of my jacket up to block the worst of it as I walked briskly toward the motel.

A neon sign flickered intermittently above the entrance,casting an eerie glow over the wet, cracked pavement. When I imagined Serena staying in a place like this, my disdain for the seedy motel only deepened.

The air carried a peculiar mix of stale cigarette smoke, marijuana, and an indistinct mustiness. The check-in counter had a sign noting that the attendant was at lunch. I scoffed. It was nearing midnight. Clearly, the desk staff had chosen not to return.

“This place is a dump,” Zeke remarked. I glanced his way to see his eyes sweep over the dubious surroundings, carefully taking in every inch of the place with his hawk-like gaze. His distaste mirrored mine. The motel’s infamous seedy reputation had preceded it, a fact that now seemed irrefutable as we ventured further down the corridor.

We reached the bank of elevators, and I pulled out the keycard that I’d taken from Serena’s purse. The envelope had room number 310 written on it. Pressing the button for the third floor, we ascended in silence. When the doors opened, we were greeted with a dimly lit hallway. The poor lighting couldn’t mask the faded gold wallpaper peeling at the edges. The red carpet was stained and worn, and the banged up wooden trim work was caked with layers of chipped paint.

The only solace I got from being here was the knowledge that Serena would never have to return—at least not if I had anything to do with it. The more I looked around, the more disgusted I became. If it were up to me, I’d have the place leveled.

When we reached her assigned room, I unlocked the door and pushed it open, but stopped on the threshold. I hadn’t expected the room to be in better condition than the hallway, but I didn’t anticipate finding complete and utter chaos. Clothes had been tossed from suitcases and left strewn across the floor. Dresser drawers were pulled out and emptied with reckless abandon. This wasn’t a mess created by laziness orsloppy living. It was bold destruction driven by something sinister.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I scanned the room. The bed bore the brunt of it. The sheets were a tangled mess atop a mattress that had been sliced open and shredded six ways to Sunday. Bedside lamps lay toppled, and pillow stuffing littered every square surface. The cracked mirror on the dresser reflected the aftermath of the upheaval, its broken pieces littered on the floor.

“What a mess…” I said as I stepped further into the trashed space.

I glanced behind me at Zeke. His right hand was inside his suit coat, fingers wrapped around the grip of his 9mm. His jacket was tailored so precisely, that only a trained eye would notice the holster and firearm. But I knew it was there. It was a job requirement.

“This is bad,” Zeke muttered as he took in the damage. His sharp eyes darted around the room for any signs of immediate danger. Appearing satisfied that there wasn’t any, he turned back toward the door and inspected the handle. Running his pointer finger along the jamb, he shook his head. “No damage here. Whoever did this had to have had key access to the room. But check this out.”

“What is it?”

Zeke closed the door so I could see the backside. Someone had spray painted a misshapen spiral with a childlike drawing of an eye. Its jagged and irregular lines seemed as though they’d been put there by a trembling hand. A rough oval encircled the design, giving it an unfinished, chaotic appearance, almost as if its creator had been hurried.

Zeke ran a finger over the paint.

“Paint is dry. Hard to tell if this is recent. What do you think it’s supposed to be?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No idea.”

“Kind of looks like a snake with an eye that’s too big.”

There was a disconcerting stillness to the air, and unease settled in the pit of my stomach. This went beyond intrusion of someone’s personal space. What happened here was violent.

“What do you think, Zeke? Random theft or something else?”

“Nah. A regular thief would have wanted to get in, take anything of value, and get out undetected. Destroying the place and spray-painting graffiti would be a waste of time.”

“This motel is such a dive. That spray painted thing behind the door may be old and completely unrelated to this.”

“True. But, I’m certain this wasn’t random. The way every drawer is pulled out, the mattress—this place was deliberately tossed. The question is, what were they looking for?” he said with a slight edge to his voice.

I thought about the ruby necklace Serena had been wearing. That alone made her an easy target, but something told me that the necklace wasn’t what the intruders were looking for.

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