Page 193 of Ruin Me Gently

That got him to lift his head, but his expression didn’t change. “Never heard of him.”

Finn leaned into me and whispered, “We should’ve brought cash.”

I ignored him and stepped forward, levelling my gaze at Tuck. “Let’s try this again,” I kept my tone flat. “Guy in his thirties. Blond. Really gross, creepy eyes. Face all over the news right now for beating the shit out of a woman in an alley.”

Tuck swallowed, his fingers tightening slightly around his phone.

I tilted my head, eyes locked on his. “Ring any bells?”

“I don’t know, man. We don’t keep tabs on guests.”

Finn tapped hisfingers on the counter. “Oh really? I’m pretty sure a place like this probably has some other records you don’t keep tabs on either then, huh?”

Tuck’s mouth twitched, eyes flicking toward the register.

I leaned in, my voice still calm. “Like, for example, how you’re not declaring at least half the income you take in.” I let that hang in the air for a second, watching his throat bob. “You ever heard of tax fraud?”

Tuck froze.

Finn grinned, nudging me with his elbow. “See my buddy here? He’s got connections. He’dloveto make a call to the IRS. Hell, he could have this place shut down in—what do you think?” He turned to me. “A week?”

I tilted my head at Tuck. “A week’s generous. Could probably get the health department here too.”

He cracked immediately. “Look, man. I don’t want any trouble.”

I didn’t say a word—only stared.

His jaw tensed, fingers tapping anxiously against the counter before he finally caved. “Alright, Jesus. Room two hundred and seven.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “But if anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

Finn slapped the counter like we’d just wrapped up a business deal. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

I nodded. “Good choice.”

Tuck grumbled under his breath as he slid a key across the counter. I took it without another word, turning toward the hallway.

As we walked, Finn held out a fist. “That was some real bad cop, worse cop shit. I respect it.”

I smirked and knocked my knuckles against his in return.

Room two hundred and seven.

Time to beat this asshole into the ground.

We exchanged a glance that said‘No more casual bullshit. Spy mode engaged.’

I slid the key into the lock slowly, testing the weight of the door as I twisted the handle. Finn stood to the side, body tense, ready. We pushed it open a crack, enough to get a glimpse inside. Then, we moved.

Finn kicked the door the rest of the way open, and I was inside in seconds, ready to tear this fucker apart—

But it was empty. And it stank. The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes, sweat, and something worse. Like rot. Like the lingering stench of someone who hadn’t showered in weeks.

My chest burned with frustration.

No Clark. No movement. Nothing but an unmade bed, fast food wrappers littering the floor, and the kind of grime that made my skin crawl.

We were too late.

Finn stepped inside, nudging an empty fast food container with the toe of his shoe. “Well, I don’t see a bleach-blond piece of shit, so I’m guessing he’s gone.”

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