Page 59 of His Last Nerve

“You got shit at the hotel?” I asked.

She nodded, confusion lingering in her green eyes.

“Let’s go.”

I led her to my truck, passing by Beau, who was standing on the sidewalk on his phone. He murmured something to her, but I didn’t listen. I opened the passenger door for her but didn’t touch her. Instead, I got in on my side and drove the short way to the hotel.

“Room key,” I demanded, holding out my palm once I parked.

“I don’t want to say out here alone,” she said weakly.

“You aren’t. I need to sweep the room before you enter it, though.”

She handed me her key, from the back pocket of her jeans. I got out and moved around to open the door for her, but she was already sliding out.

I didn’t like that.

I stepped forward, crowding her against the door of the truck. She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving but she didn’t have fear in her eyes. No, there was something else lingering in her green.

Something I should run away from.

But I couldn’t. Not now.

“You don’t get out of the truck until I open the door for you, understand?” I growled.

“Denver—”

“Do you understand me?” I clipped, looking down at her.

She nodded, and I grunted and pulled back. We went inside the hotel, and the old man who ran it greeted me. “Heya, Denver.”

“Bart,” I greeted, heading for the elevators. Once we were inside, she punched in the floor and off we went.

“Bart’s nice,” she murmured, looking down at her boots.

I stayed silent.

The doors opened and I followed the signs and the numbers. Once we were in front of her door, I unlocked it. “Stay here,” I ordered , before stepping inside.

My eyes scanned the small room, noting how tidy she was. The bed was made—not by hotel staff. Her laptop was on the desk, her charging cords wrapped on top of it. Her suitcase was tucked away. I stuck my head in the bathroom, expecting to find a hurricane aftermath of girly shit.

No. Everything was arranged nicely.

Tidy.

Clean.

I opened the door for her, and she stepped in. “Get your stuff together.”

“I have to stay here tonight,” she said.

I looked at her. “You aren’t staying here tonight.”

“But—”

“Pack your shit.”

“I don’t check out until tomorrow morning,” she explained, brushing past me. I stiffened. She was leaving.

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