Page 75 of Victor's Lethal Desire
The driver's eyes flick to the rearview mirror.
I catch his gaze and hold it.
"Not a fucking word."
He shrugs, returning his attention to the road. "Being young is when you're supposed to have fun."
Fun.
If he only knew what I've been through. The bodies I left behind. The gunfight in the penthouse. The way Victor pinned me against the window before...
I clench my jaw and shake my head.
I give the driver the name of my hotel, and we start moving.
I stare out the window as the sun climbs higher over the city. Couples stroll hand in hand. A woman sits outside a café, sipping espresso and reading a book. Normal people living normal lives.
I glance down at my ring. I just need to deliver this to Ivan. Maybe take a long vacation somewhere remote. The middle of the damn Amazon, maybe, any place where there's no cell service and no chance Victor can find me.
But even as I picture it, I know I'm talking out of my ass. I could be on the moon, and I'd still be thinking about him. He's in my head, under my skin, weaving through the very fibers of my being.
I've never wanted something I so desperately can't have.
Is this what people in relationships experience? This is crazy.
The taxi slows, pulling up to the front of my hotel. I reach for my wallet, then remember I don't have anything. Even my dignity at this point is questionable.
"Shit."
The driver glances back. "Problem?"
"Wait here."
I shove the door open and bolt out before he can respond, bare feet slapping against the pavement. A few tourists stare as I sprint past them into the lobby, Victor's shirt shifting around my thighs.
The concierge looks up from his computer, his polite smile freezing the moment he sees me.
I plant my hands on the marble counter. "I need cash. For the taxi. Bill my room."
He blinks. His gaze drops to the torn shirt, the bruises starting to form on my arms, the bloodstains.
"Room number?"
"407. Oh, and I need another key."
He types something into his system, his expression carefully neutral. After a long moment, he makes me a new keycard and slides it across to me.
"Here you go, Ms. Lankiscko. Did I say that right?"
"Yeah, sure." It doesn't matter. It's fake anyhow.
"You can go up to your room. We'll handle the payment and bill it to your room."
I don't blame him for wanting me out of the area as soon as possible.
I grab the keycard, and as I walk away, I turn back to him and say, "Being young is when you're supposed to have fun."
It doesn't make me feel any better, and it doesn't deter the judging eyes of the others in the lobby.
