Page 8 of Talk Howly to Me

"I'm sorry you had a rough night," he said, his deep voice carrying genuine regret that surprised her. "And sorry about whatever brought you here. But you're safe here, and like I said earlier, you can stay however long you need."

He moved into the room ahead of her, and Sloane followed, then stopped dead in the doorway as her eyes took in the space that was apparently hers.

This has to be some kind of mistake.

The guest room was enormous—easily twice the size of her entire apartment back in the city. A king-sized bed dominated one wall, its frame carved from the same honey-colored wood as the corridor, dressed in linens so crisp and white they looked like they belonged in a luxury hotel. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered what would probably be a breathtaking view of the mountains in daylight, and a stone fireplace created a cozy seating area with leather chairs that looked like they cost more than she made in six months. There was even a small kitchenette tucked into one corner, complete with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances that gleamed under the warm lighting.

This isn't a guest room. This is a suite. And they're probably going to charge me accordingly.

Her stomach clenched as she mentally calculated how long her eleven thousand dollars might last if she was staying in accommodations like this. She'd need to ask about switching to something more affordable tomorrow—assuming they had anything more affordable.

Kozue set her duffel bag down near the bed with careful precision, and when he straightened, the air in the room seemed to shift. The space that had felt enormous moments before suddenly contracted, the distance between them crackling with an energy that made her skin feel too tight.

She stepped further into the room, hyperaware of his presence. "Thank you. Again."

The simple words felt inadequate for everything he and Ronan had done for her tonight, but gratitude had never come easily to someone who'd learned early that accepting help usually came with strings attached.

Kozue moved toward the door, but paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the frame as he looked back at her. In the soft lighting of the room, his features seemed more sharply defined, and the intensity in his green eyes made her pulse spike despite every rational thought screaming at her to maintain emotional distance.

"Goodnight, Sloane." Her name sounded different in his voice—warmer somehow. "Breakfast is at seven, if you're interested."

Then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Sloane stood alone in the luxurious room, surrounded by more comfort and safety than she'd experienced in years, and tried to ignore the way her skin still hummed with awareness from his presence.

This is temporary, she reminded herself firmly. Just until you figure out who's after you and why. Don't get comfortable. Don't get attached. And definitely don't start thinking about how his eyes darkened when he looked at you.

Sloane crossed the room to where her duffel bag rested near the bed, lifting it with ease and carrying it to the polished oak dresser that dominated one wall. The bag felt lighter than usual—everything she owned in the world reduced to a few changes of clothes, toiletries, and the remnants of a life she'd built from nothing.

This place doesn't feel real.

The guest room stretched around her like something from a magazine spread, all warm wood tones and carefully curated comfort. The windows revealed nothing but darkness beyond the glass, but she could sense the vastness of the wilderness surrounding them.

The silence here was different from the city—deeper, more complete. No sirens, no traffic, no sounds of neighbors fighting through paper-thin walls. She caught her reflection in the dresser mirror and paused, studying the woman staring back at her. Bruised knuckles. A cut on her cheek from where Roxy had managed to land a lucky hit. Hair still damp with sweat from the fight that felt like it had happened in another lifetime.

You're awake. This is real. Those men really tried to take you, and you're really here.

The mirror didn't lie, but everything else about this situation felt like stepping into someone else's dream. The luxury surrounding her was so far removed from her studio apartment with its leaky faucet and neighbors who played music until three in the morning that she might as well have been transported to another planet.

She began stripping off her clothes with methodical precision. The hoodie came off first, revealing the sports bra underneath that had supported her through hours of training and one brutal fight. Her boots followed, kicked off with relief as her feet finally escaped the confines of worn leather. The jeans were last, peeled away from skin that bore the marks of a life lived on the edge—small scars on her thighs from a childhood fall and a faded bruise on her hip from sparring with Tasha two weeks ago.

Standing in nothing but her black sports bra and matching panties, she felt more exposed than she had in years. Not because of her state of undress, but because of where she was. This level of comfort, this degree of safety—it was foreign territory.

A shower. That's what I need. Hot water and twenty minutes to think.

But the ensuite bathroom made her breath catch in her throat. Marble surfaces gleamed under soft lighting that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere. The shower alone was larger than her entire bathroom back home, with a rainfall showerhead that looked like it belonged in a five-star resort. Glass walls revealed heated floors, fluffy towels that probably cost more than her monthly grocery budget, and amenities arranged with hotel-level precision.

I've seen bathrooms like this in movies. Never in real life.

She moved to the shower controls, running her fingers over chrome fixtures that gleamed like jewelry. The system was more complex than anything she'd ever encountered—multiple heads, steam options, temperature controls that looked like they belonged on a spaceship. After a moment of experimentation, hot water cascaded from above like warm rain, steam began to rise, and she stepped under the flow with a sigh that seemed to come from her bones. The water pressure was perfect, and the temperature was exactly what her battered body craved. And for once, her muscles began to unclench as the heat worked its way through the tension she'd been carrying for far too long.

How long can I really stay here?

The question surfaced as she reached for what had to be the most expensive shampoo she'd ever touched. Even if they gave her a job—and that was a big if—places like this didn't come cheap. Her eleven thousand dollars might last a month if she was careful, maybe two if she was lucky. But then what?

Maybe I could fit in here.

The thought surprised her with its intensity. She'd been thinking about Ronan and Kozue since Kozue had left her room, trying to make sense of the way they'd looked at her and the way they'd reacted when she'd shaken Ronan's hand and brushed against Kozue's fingers.