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My eyes widen as my fingers wrap around something solid. With one final push, I manage to swing it at Harry. A sickening thud bounces off his skull as we both fall to the floor. Coughing, I manage to push myself away from him. My back hits the bar again, taking in the scene before me. The pain that wracks my body from old injuries and new, leaves me in agony and crippled with fear.
Harry lays on the floor face down as tiny droplets of blood pour from the open wound on the side of his head. My hand flies to my mouth as thick tears blur my vision and fall from my eyes.
Oh god, have I killed him?
My mind races, my heart is pounding in my chest. Pulling my knees to my chest, I take deep breaths as I try to work out what the fuck I should do. Slowly reaching out my shaky right hand, I place two fingers on his neck. Closing my eyes and concentrating for a couple of moments, I fall back against the bar when I feel a pulse.
Oh, thank fuck.
Running my trembling hand through my hair, I pull myself up and steady myself. Wasting no time, I pick up the bottle and rush to the sink, rinsing off the blood and placing it back where it was. Removing all trace of me from that room, I glance around again as Harry lays on the floor out cold.
Let’s hope he’s too fucked up to realize I hit him.
Reaching for my suitcase, I slam the hotel room door behind me as I escape to New York, with no intention of looking back.
Later that afternoon…
Stepping off the flight, the late-afternoon autumn wind causes me to shiver. Pulling my sleeves down, I try to cover my arms as the goosebumps rise.
Definitely different from the desert heat in Las Vegas.
I shudder while going through the airport, constantly checking my surroundings as I reach the luggage carousel. My heart skips a beat each time someone even looks at me. Keeping my head low, I finally spot my suitcase.
I spent most of the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, clutching onto the door handle for dear life as the driver clearly had a fucking death wish. I don't wait for a valet when the taxi pulls up outside the taxi rank. Pushing the door open, I take a deep breath of fresh air and stand on shaky legs.
At the check-in desk, I catch the young receptionist eyeing me curiously, with almost a smugness behind her fake smile. Feeling self-conscious, I catch myself studying my outfit. I suppose it wasn’t New York chic, but I doubt this little bitch has had to flee a second attack from her shithead ex.
“Can I help you miss?”
“My name is Summer Harper; I have a reservation for two nights.”
She nods, but I feel my petty side rearing its ugly head. As she taps away, I decide to go for an upgrade.
“I may be here slightly longer than anticipated. Please could I get a suite if there is one available?” I force a smile, which the receptionist matches.
“Oh, I’m sorry. The only suite available is the Venus Suite, that’s two thousand dollars per night.” Her drippy sarcastic tone gets even more patronizing.
Taking my credit card from my purse, I slap it down on the desk, sliding it over to her.
“That’s fine.”
Blinking a couple of times, she now appears flustered. As though she thought I would just waltz up to the hotel reception desk, ask for a suite, and not have the means to pay for it?
Fucking idiot.
“I’ll take this from here Jen.” A woman with dark auburn wavy hair and kind smile approaches.
The young girl I now know to be Jen looks visibly embarrassed, her neck almost snaps when she turns in the direction of the other women. Appearing flustered, she does eventually move from the desk and I eye the name tag.
Pamela.
Pamela takes over, she studies me for a moment, a sadness falls over her face for a brief second, but it’s only fleeting. If I wasn’t paying attention, I would have missed it.
Hesitating, she offers me the card machine to confirm my numbers. Hitting enter, I pass the machine back to her.
Jen stands behind Pamela, observing the situation. Her shoulders seem to visibly sag as the machine states the payment was accepted.
What the fuck is her problem?
