Chapter 19

19

Leah

T he second season of Academy of Ghosts plays on the hotel TV. I’m not really watching it, but I can see why Danica loves the show so much—it’s comforting.

And I need comfort right now. When the stay isn’t for fun, a hotel room is really fucking lonely. Gray carpets. Gray curtains. A faded blue bedspread, generic dresser and nightstands. An abstract painting in blues and grays, probably the same print as in every other hotel room in this building.

Calling Danica would help with the loneliness. And the boredom. But I haven’t told her about moving from Dmitri’s place. She might ask why, she might threaten to beat him up for being a bad host, she might see through the whole situation and realize he and I hooked up.

Ugh. I need to stop thinking about how he and I hooked up.

I don’t even have work to distract me. After receiving the ominous message and photos, I canceled my tutoring sessions today. I don’t feel comfortable meeting with my teenage students when threats are hanging over my head. I realize I’m the target, but seeing my students in those photos? It scares me.

While paranormal drama plays out on the TV, my phone chimes with a call. Eager for a distraction, I pick it up and see Detective Wentz’s name. He had me save his number in my phone after our last meeting.

“Miss Shreve, this is Detective Gerald Wentz. I’m glad I reached you,” he says. “I wanted to check in.”

“Have there been any developments? Did you find out what’s going on?”

“No, unfortunately. But I have some theories to discuss with you. I could swing by. Are you still staying with your friend?”

“No, I’m at San Esteban Stays.”

“Will you be there tomorrow morning, around nine?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” I don’t want to meet him in my room because that seems far too intimate with the king-sized bed taking up the bulk of the area. “Call me when you get here and I’ll meet you down in the lobby.”

“Great. See you tomorrow, Miss Shreve.”

The call ends, and I’m left staring at my phone. I wonder what Wentz has to say about Mick or the maybe-loan-sharks who think I can pay off Mick’s debts.

My phone screen lights up with a call from Dmitri.

I ignore it.

Dmitri

Having Leah on my couch never felt right. That’s because I wanted her in my bed.

But now she’s gone entirely, it feels even worse.

I don’t see how some shitty hotel is going to make her feel better.

I fucked up so bad.

When I get home from work, I call her. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I need to make things right. I’ll apologize, of course. Beg her to reconsider. I probably can’t convince her to stay. But I guess it doesn’t matter because she doesn’t answer.

I collapse onto the side of the couch where she usually sits. The blanket she used is folded up next to me. I pull it into my lap and try to find her scent. A little flowery, a little sweet.

That was the best sex of my life, here on this couch with Leah. My dick hardens as I recall the way she lifted up and down on me, her eyes wild with lust. The control I had when I restricted her breathing, the way I played her body.

The way she played mine.

I can’t resist reaching for my waistband, unbuttoning my jeans, easing the ache.

It doesn’t take much with the memory playing in my mind. Four strokes, five, six—it won’t take long. I don’t care, I need, need, need?—

I need her. And she isn’t here.

I erupt over my jeans and shirt. A big fucking mess.

It’s the saddest orgasm I’ve ever had.

Gage

No matter how far I run on the treadmill in my home gym, I can’t escape thoughts of Leah.

I can’t explain it, but I’m genuinely worried about her. I find myself wanting to call her. If only to hear her voice and make sure she’s all right.

My apartment is large. Large enough for another person, easily. My spare bedroom is available. It has never even been used, because I’ve never invited anyone over.

This entire line of thinking is preposterous. She’s staying with Dmitri, anyway.

On his couch, if the glimpse I had into his house is anything to go by. It doesn’t look large enough for two bedrooms.

Are they sharing a bed? The thought arouses envy and lust, both. I’ll never be close enough to a woman to allow her into my bed; I made my peace with this fact a long time ago.

Yet the mental images I’ve stored of her taking his cock in her mouth, and then later the way she rubbed her cunt on my thigh while he and I played with those delectable breasts of hers…I want more of that.

I spent so many of my formative years being watched. Now I want to be the one who does the watching.

Leah

I went to bed lonely. I’m waking up lonely.

I check my phone to see if Gage texted last night. He doesn’t owe me anything—he went above and beyond by getting me to Dmitri’s house.

But that moment we had…it was special. Maybe not to him, but it was special to me.

I contrast that with the moment Dmitri and I had. Also special. Then he had to go and ruin it.

There’s no text from Gage.

The missed call notification from Dmitri glares up at me, though.

Rolling over in my hotel sheets, I groan into the pillow. Sexual involvement with two guys wasn’t on my bingo card. Neither is romantic entanglement. Dmitri told me a relationship isn’t possible. Gage has given no indication that our fun together is anything more than that—fun. So I’m trying not to have feelings, but how can I not? I’ve had feelings for Dmitri for years.

And Gage is magnetic. He hasn’t given much away about himself, but I want to know more.

It’s eight a.m., and Detective Wentz said he’ll come by at nine. I open the lonely gray curtains and drag myself to the shower to start my day. The warm water is therapeutic, but I miss Dmitri’s shower gel. It had a faint lemongrass scent. The hotel brand smells like antiseptic.

Everywhere I turn is another reminder that I’m not living with Dmitri.

My stay with him wasn’t even a full two weeks, but I got attached to that couch.

Okay, fine. I got attached to him. And I was attached before I started crashing at his place.

As I rinse the shampoo out of my hair, I resolve to have a better attitude. I need to be fully present when Detective Wentz gets here. I didn’t like how he asked me if I own a gun at our first meeting, like he thought I could be responsible for Mick’s murder.

Should I get a lawyer? Can I even afford one? I don’t even know how much they cost.

An alarm starts blaring, loud over the sound of my shower.

“Shit, fuck!” I stumble out, grabbing a towel before dropping it. No time to dry off. I yank on my underwear, jeans. The fabric catches on my wet skin. I skip the bra and pull on my hoodie.

The alarm is deafening. I pull on my hood in a futile attempt to cover my ears. No time to gather my stuff. I don’t have time to search for my phone; I must have dropped it in the blankets somewhere. But I grab my hotel key card and jam it into my back pocket. My phone and everything else is more or less replaceable.

Hopefully this is a false alarm.

The elevators aren’t working. A few people hurry past me toward the stairwell, footsteps thundering, echoing off the walls. I follow them, but I get stuck behind three slow-moving guys. I have to follow them all the way to the stairwell. They don’t speed up in the slightest. In fact, it feels like they’re slowing down. Surely they realize there’s an emergency, with the strident alarm blaring in our ears?

“Excuse me, can you hurry up a little, or let me pass?” I ask.

No response. Rude. But we’re on the third floor. We only have a couple more flights of stairs to go. I hop from foot to foot. Aren’t they worried about the alarm? If there’s a fire, we don’t need to be running or anything, but they’re moving at an amble.

Nobody is behind us, so it’s just me that has to wait. I bounce in place, looking for an angle. Maybe I could squeeze past. When I try, though, they use their giant frames to block the stairwell.

“Let me pass, please,” I say, more firmly. Fuck being polite; this is an emergency. “I need to get by. Move.”

They don’t respond. Can’t they hear me? Do they not speak English? They don’t even turn around until we get to the second floor.

The guy closest to the stairwell door opens it, looks down the hall, and says, “All clear.”

So they do speak English.

The other two move so fast, I don’t realize what’s happening until I’m in their arms and being lifted.

I start to shriek. “What?—”

The biggest guy reaches out, flat hand flying toward my face. “Shut up.”

The impact is sudden and strong. My eyes water from the pain and my cheek throbs.

I don’t understand. It’s a fire alarm, we need to get out of the hotel. Why are they grabbing me?

Mick’s loan sharks.

No fucking way am I going to be quiet. I scream until one of the guys covers my mouth. The sound is swallowed up by the alarm, anyway. It’s still going off, echoing in my brain.

I kick, frantic, and use my elbows against the guys holding me.

One of them nearly drops me, but the other guy tightens his hold. He squeezes my arms against my torso. It’s so tight I can’t move.

My muscles strain. My head is full of white, blind panic. I scream against the hand on my mouth.

Where is everyone? Probably outside, in front of the building, waiting for the all-clear from the fire department.

Several feet away, a door opens. Finally. Salvation. Someone is still left in the hotel. I can’t see who it is, but I’m grateful. They stayed back despite the fire alarm and they’re going to help me. At the very least, they’re a witness. They can report this to the authorities.

I scream and struggle more, but the guys holding me go toward the door.

Too late, I realize that getting me into this room was their goal all along.