Page 59 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
But when he speaks, I swear he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Do they? Well I certainly wish I had known. I would’ve definitely made a trip here if only anyone had told meGucciwas sold within these very walls—”
“Shut up, I get it, sorry.” I roll my eyes, then fold my arms across my chest and ignore the way my heart thunders against my wrist. But just as I’m about to move on to the part about us needing to hide, needing to get clothes, too, so we aren’t in the same thing we fled in, we both hear the sounds of a car driving up the entrance ramp, just out of sight, hidden by a stone column far to the left.
He moves before I do, closing the space between us and grabbing my wrist. I sprint with him, and he darts behind a black Nissan reversed in against the outer wall of the mall, the very last spot of the first row of the lot, fenced in by cement.
We crouch down as one, his gloved hand still around my bones.
Our gazes turned down the row, we watch as headlights beam through the space.
Sullen was right; this likely is the only part of downtown Alexandria lit so brightly at night, with all these overhead panels. For his thought process, it was a perfect location. But for two people hiding, right now it potentially just became more dangerous. We could be trapped in here.
Neither of us speak and in this position, tucked into a squat and the scent of oil and gasoline and mud from the parking garage overwhelming me, that nausea I had grows brighter and more urgent in my low belly. Maybe from the sedative—I can still feel the sting of the injection—or perhaps just the fear.
Maybe, though, it’s something deeper.
I do not want this night to end.
I do not want to let him go quite yet.
The car’s tires roll slowly over the pavement, sticky with the night rain. Their light beams reflect on the cement partition beside us, and for a moment, the low purr of the engine the only sound aside from my pulse in my head, they idle several feet from us, directly in front of Medici Mall’s entrance. I can’t see the vehicle itself; only the ominous blue-white headlights.
I press my hand over my mouth, careful to balance in my squat as I try to hold back the sick feeling swishing around in my stomach.
Sullen tightens his grip on me, his fingers wrapped just over my wrist. Despite the fact leather is between our skin, it is as if every nerve in my body lights up at his touch.
I think I would catch fire if he ever letmetouchhim.
Slowly, I turn to look at him, my hand still on my mouth.
His eyes meet mine as my pulse races. He looms over me even in our current positions; the hood shadows half of his face, and his free hand is toward the cement, three fingers touching the ground to keep him balanced.
He says nothing as we look at one another, and I have the wild, insane urge to burst into laughter.
We are crouching down behind a Maxima in a parking garage. Hiding from Writhe at God-knows-what hour of the morning. I have been sedated twice. I am barely upright. He tried to touch me in horrible ways and yet I knocked out my friend for this boy and I would do it again. I hit the former leader of my family’s criminal organization. He carried me through the streets of Alexandria in the rain. And now he is kinda, sorta holding my hand as we risk our lives for these stolen moments together.
And he is so unbelievablyhot,with sweat glistening along his cheekbones and those deep brown eyes intent on mine, broad shoulders tense as we wait.
This could be my own twisted fairytale.Once upon a timeat Medici Mall with the prince of Writhe. Maybe I could even get him into Gucci and we would really be living the dream—
A door slams closed.
I dig my nails into my cheekbones as he narrows his eyes on me and shakes his head so slowly in a caution.
The pressure on my bladder increases and I squeeze my eyes shut at the same time I lean in toward him. I can’t help it. It’s as if I know he will protect me and right now, that’s what I want.
He releases my wrist and shifts his arm silently around me, pulling me into his chest. If I didn’t hear footsteps over cement right now, I might gush over how easy our connection is in this horrifying moment.
But as I inhale his dark rose scent, my cheek pressed over his heart, I hear someone coming closer.
One slow step at a time.
Our bodies are behind the tire of the Maxima now that we’re together, but as one, we’re too wide to hide behind it completely. And if we move to the other side of the car, whoever is here will catch the sound.
I can do nothing but tremble in his arms with my eyes closed like a baby. And he holds me tighter, like he cares what happens to both of us.
The footsteps draw closer.
There is no urgency, and that scares me more.
