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Or I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.
“Hi. I’m meeting someone. The room is under Ray. C— No. Wait.” I reach for the name as I muse. “Maybe, it’s C.Ray?”
“This is so fucked up,” Kenno mumbles and I hear Chloe hit him somewhere low and out of sight.
My hands shake, so I rub them down my thighs, the jeans I chose increasing the warmth of my discomfort.
The concierge stares at his computer, typing away before swivelling to collect a white electric key-card. He stares at Chloe and Kenno with sharp eyebrows cutting a line across his serious face. “Mr Ray has requested no visitors or housekeeping. Just his…” His dubious gaze rolls over me. “Sister. He’s not feeling well.”
Sister?
Is he my age?
A small comfort?
Maybe not…
I forgot the name on the booking, so the concierge knows I’m not Mr Ray’s sister. Setting a smile, I try to temper the anxieties that play there.
“Okay.” My voice leaves in a trail of fear, but I take the card, my head nodding to abate the dread wrapping around my muscles, filling them with adrenaline, urging them to flee, to hide and—
My gaze hits Chloe’s face, her wide eyes set into an expression of helplessness and anger.
“No,” is all she says.
“Go have a drink at the bar—”
She silences me with a look that slaps. “Stop! If you’re not back down here in ten minutes,” she grounds, “I’m calling the police.”
The card has room 2003 carved into the underside. I stuff it into my pocket in case Chloe decides to snatch it from me—or I accidentally-deliberately throw it. “And say what?”
“The truth.”
We step away from the counter, my arm reaching for Kenno, hushed as I say, “I’ll text you the wallet number thing when he gives it to me, and you can send the funds immediately, yeah?”
“Fuck.” He can’t even look at me. “Fine.”
“If I don’t text Kenno in fifteen minutes, then call me. But you have to allow the funds to go in. Don’t call the police. We will all get in shit,” I whisper to Chloe, and without thinking or burying myself further in doubt, I force my feet towards the elevator, my hands vibrating and sore, my legs buckling with each hesitant step.
People know I’m here.
Know I’m upstairs.
He has more to lose than me.
I think.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
kaya
The airin my throat feels like an expanding ball, choking me as I gape at the shiny silver badge glistening on the wooden door of 2003.
My breath shifts hard.
I hear it in my ears.
Forcing my legs forward, I slip the card into the slot, watching with bated breath as the red light flicks to green and a click signals it’s unlocked, ready to be entered.
