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I screw up my face. “Can’t you lie and pretend we are safe?”
He shakes his head and keeps walking. “No.” We get into the elevator and push the button for our floor. “Give me the gun.”
“Why?” I fumble through my bag. “What do you think is going to happen?” My eyes widen. “Do you think they are going to be up here?”
Oh God, shit just keeps getting worse and worse.
He shrugs as he pulls the gun open to check the ammunition, and then he turns to me. His eyes scan my face and he smirks.
“What?” I ask.
He grabs my hair and straightens it. “Your hair is on crooked.”
I instantly grab the wig and straighten it up. “That’s the least of my fucking problems,” I whisper.
The elevator comes to a halt and Stace tucks the gun in the back of his jeans and we slowly exit into the hall. Looking both ways down the long and scary corridor, we walk quietly to our room, and when we get to our door Stace puts his finger up to his lip to order my silence. He then points to the other side of the hallway. “Wait over there,” he mouths.
Oh God, he thinks they are in the room. I take my place over at the far wall and he swipes the key card and opens the door. He peers in as I hold my breath. The room is dark and silent.
Are they in there?
He waits for a moment and then he disappears into the darkness.
“Please don’t be in there, please don’t be in there,” I whisper again and again. He turns on the light and then checks the room and comes back to the door. “The coast is clear.”
I let out a deep breath and walk into the room before he closes the door behind me. We stand still for a moment looking at each other as we process what just happened.
“We are going to have to stay here for the night.” He sighs. “Try and get some sleep.”
“Are we safe?”
He shrugs. “Safer than we are out there.”
It’s at this time I get a good look at his face and I think that guy has kicked his cheekbone in. One half of his face is swollen. “Stace.” I frown as I put my hand up to his face. “Your cheekbone is broken.”
“It’s fine.” He winces as I touch it.
“We need some ice,” I murmur. I think for a moment and then pick up the phone and call reception.
“Hello, room service,” the bored operator answers.
I fake a calm voice. “Can I please get a bottle of champagne and a bucket of ice brought up to our room, please?” I glance at the clock. It’s 2am. God, what must they think?
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.”
I walk Stace into the bathroom and sit him on the side of the bath and he winces. A deep cut is above his right eye and is still trickling blood, but it’s his left cheekbone that I am worried about. I wet a cloth and start to clean him up and he sits and watches me.
“You okay?” I ask as I wipe his forehead and push his hair back to look at him. “You’re very quiet. Are you really hurt?”
He nods and rolls his lips as if he wants to say something but is holding it in.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
He shrugs. “I just wonder why you are so worried about a little blood when you are the only one…” He stops himself midsentence.
“The only one that what?”
