The lace of his boot hanging down into the glass of whiskey sitting on the desk. Ashes worming their way across an old porcelain plate - unsmoked, forgotten. Ankles crossed up on the age-worn table. He had his arms behind his head while listening to his comrade read through text messages, names, contact information. Listening for clues as to which one might be his daughter. Emails, though none of the literal thousands of junk proved to be Kisa. There were photos of the blonde with random people. Photos of her on stages in smokey rooms. Photos of her and her husband in erotic selfies for her own personal entertainment. Sighs of impatience while he motioned with a hand to continue on without all the stupid steamy details. There had to be something. Kids these days used their damned phones for everything. This bitch didn't have messages, except for fans sending photos of them together. Anyone that knew her would know that she didn't care for instant messages, chatting by phone, or hitting each other up on social media. She'd only opened an IG to promote her music, and share fan photos, edits, and art. Just to keep engaged with them. A frustrated grunt as Vitaliy grabbed the phone and threw it across the room. The fragile piece in the cheaply printed Misfits case shattered immediately. He crossed the room in a few angry strides and disappeared behind the door that lead to the basement, the dungeon basically.
They had moved her while unconscious to a room that smelled of stale sweat and blood. The floor cold, and as she shifted, the chain around her ankle felt heavy. She was also extra weak from all the beatings, and not having anything in her belly for as long as they'd had her. The walls unforgiving, no windows to give light. Then a creak of the door, heavy steps descending, rough breathing. Immediately she tried to turn on her side to cower and protect herself, but she'd realized then that there was what felt like a leather strap and chain around her neck as well. Elvis lyrics were there somewhere, except she wasn't going to be treated like a little teddy bear.
"You f***ing useless little nymph. A wet cunt, nothing more." He spoke so viciously through his teeth while undoing the belt buckle on his pants. The violent zip before his pants came off let her know where this was going. A frail voice, raspy with dehydration attempted to beg for him not to. "Where's my daughter?" He asked again, his lips on the back of her ear while positioning himself over her backside. A slap, a fistful of flesh that would definitely leave a bright red mark against her creamy white skin. The waif of a blonde cried out in pain as he brutally yanked her hair, and bit into her neck, then down her shoulder. "SPIT." He growled as his disgusting large fingers filled her mouth and dug around for saliva. They were filthy and tasted of cheap tobacco and copper. "I saw your photos and videos with loverboy. Don't play shy. You like this." He crooned into her ear, his voice shaky as he wet himself with her spit and forced himself deep within.
It's funny, the word forever. It describes so many different measurements of time. As a child, that half hour of lunch would fly by before having to return to class, but those last few hours before going home felt like y e a r s. Before one realized, school transitioned to work. Work might seem like ages, but something like a concert took a heartbeat and a half to be over. They were children, then teens, adults, then seniors. The seniors especially understood how fast time could fly by. It was like someone pressed fast forward on the fun things, while almost slowing things like this to a torturous halt.
"Lttle rock star." He grunted into the back of her head while continuing to take her from behind. "Now you will have something to tell your road friends about." Though it seemed as if five or six hours had passed by, it had been only a little shy of twenty minutes before he grunted and collapsed on her, murmuring words in his language about how tight she was for being a busy little whore. One more shove inside her before he pulled his deflated beast free. "If anything I'll keep you alive for more of that whether you talk or not." Then he laughed cruelly at her exhausted whimpers "then again whores like you are a dime a dozen." Her fingers were raw and bloody from digging down into the cement floor. She felt hollow, broken, and maybe she'd had a reputation before and during the early stages of her marriage for being the Siren of Sin, for glamorizing gloryholes and acting like a little sex puppet.. This wasn't enjoyable, she felt as filthy as the floor, two inches tall, and she wanted. to. die.
When he rolled off her and pulled his pants up, the men listening at the top of the stairs to her weak screams, and pleas for him to stop, scurried and pretended they were busy with other things. They secretly hoped Vitaliy would allow them to have at her, but instead he reappeared at the top of the stairs and grunted for them to "Get that bitch dressed up. I want to send some motivation out to her friends and family. See if anyone is willing to speak on her half about where my daughter is." This crusade of his had seemingly lost direction. It was a little impressive to him how much this young girl would take from him and his men, and she still wouldn't betray his daughter's trust. He thought for sure that forcing himself on her would break her, get her to talk. Nothing. Well, nothing but the sweet sounds of her begging and screaming in pain and humiliation. Vitaliy had a thing for degrading people, he got off on it if he were being honest with himself. Mashing her tormented and screaming face into the dirty floor, imagining it again now, made him almost want to go for round two. He'd do that later, business first.
His boots echoed in the empty room while he walked over to grab the shattered phone. The screen itself cracked all over, but it still worked. His calloused hands didn't feel any glass while scrolling through the messages. He had already made a mental list of the people that he would contact as his men called up to him that she was dressed. Making no mention of the fact that they got a little handsy in the process, but she was still crying. Her ego had taken quite a big hit on this. The girl had seen and done some sh*t in her life, but none of it compared to this. The beatings, being f***ed like a dog without a choice, the feel of his victory as it dripped down her inner thigh. Praying to all the Gods to have mercy that this wouldn't be the one time that she was breedable. Being an entertainer was one thing, being a parent was another. She couldn't do both, hell, she couldn't do the latter even if she wasn't traveling the world and singing for her supper. Her and Mal had already decided that kids were outta the question. They'd had too much fun being able to do things without little crotch-nuggets interfering.
"Wipe her face and take her outside." He commanded of the men who moved quickly. One using the edge of his sleeve to wipe her face, not sweetly. There could be no romance behind his actions though he found her vulnerability attractive. The other grabbed a satin rope and tied her arms up behind her, then forcefully shoved her outside. It was then that she realized she wasn't even in a city. It was dark, but she could make outlines of things. There seemed to be an abandoned field. Her eyes hurt though, hell, everything hurt.
They took photos of her on her knees. First with a gun to her head, then between her lips. They took photos after shoving her and making her fall. They took photos of her arms tied up. For each message sent from her phone to her dearest contacts, they took photos of her in compromising positions.
Mal: This slut is your wife? Where is my daughter. Pray that this bitch speaks or we kill her at dawn. I will have her again before her pretty face is splattered all over this yard..
Spidy: Do you know where this whore is? She is here. I will have her again before her death at dawn if she doesn't tell me where my daughter is.
PapaCroc: This slut is your daughter? Pray that she talks or she dies when the sun comes up. She knows where my daughter is. I will have her before sunrise then she will have her last breath.
There were other people that she had texted, Wolfy, Roadhoe, but from skimming messages alone, they didn't know how close she had been to these people, some of them were much older texts suggesting she hadn't talked to them by this way in awhile. Waylon was listed as Papa because it reminded her of Papa Doc from 8 mile, well, it rhymed anyway. There were clear indicators that she was close to this Spidy as well. If all else failed, they would round up a new set of photos for other contacts on the list. They would hunt each and every one until they either found Kisa, or found someone that could convince the little whore to speak.
AN| Those mentioned are welcome to reply to this however they wish, it can be played out, but it's also not necessary. No pressure! I had added more to this while editing the bulletin, however, while switching back from another tab, it refreshed and I lost everything new. There will be at least one more post in this little series of sorts. Providing the status of my adhd meds, muse, and free time, it'll hopefully be tonight or tomorrow. Thanks for reading. ♥
Hello, thanks for accepting my request. ♥ I truly appreciate it. I hope we can get something going. Preferably in character but I'm here to bend an ear for chat, venting, the like.
Character blurb: Miranda Roxanne Moretti (nee Wyatt) is the only remaining member of The Perfectly Wretched. 3/5 of her band perished in a random house fire while they were sleeping. Her best friend and guitarist couldn't continue living. He had survivors guilt, and tragically took his own life. She's been through hell and back. From childhood to homelessness, she didn't let any of it hold her down. She still performs.
Far from a hero arc, or living the life, she's still the whiskey drinking, weed smoking, trash mouth songstress. Usually found in bar fights, or on rooftops having a drink with a friend. Though she's tough, I don't mind her in the villain's grasp for a good story. I'll place her in any situation to build a story.
Writing Preference: Comments, but I won't turn away messages, blogs or group writing. I write anything from one line banter with friends, to novella, depending on a few things like character charisma, and if we've built enough of a story together. I wouldn't mind some status banter, either.
I look forward to hearing from you, but please don't feel rushed to do so. ♥
A putrid smell hung in the air. Delphine Wyatt lay in her own vomit. Her tiny daughter yanked at her arm to try wake her up, but the alcohol stole her away to a deep slumber.
Miranda had only just turned 6 that day, and in school the teacher had given her a cupcake, and everyone got a handful of popcorn on a piece of brown paper towel. The class sang Happy Birthday together to the young girl in unwashed clothes with a mess of blonde hair.
When the bell signalled it was time to go home. The young girl was cornered by some kids and asked if she was going to have a party, if it would be Halloween themed. Could anyone go? She shook her head and said that they had other plans, that her dad was having a big surprise party for her at Planet Hollywood and there would be a ton of celebrities there. Maybe even Madonna. The children looked at her with pity. They knew it wasn’t true, they all knew.
One girl handed her a small piece of construction paper, pink with a white plain paper insert. It had a messy scrawl of letters wishing her a happy birthday. The tiny blonde would treasure it forever. The girl wasn’t her friend, and this didn’t bond them in any other way, but she appreciated it all the same.
With that stuffed into her pocket, Miranda rushed home to see if her mom had some sort of surprise waiting for her. The year before, Del was supposed to go out to a Halloween party, but her ride had fallen through and nobody else came to get her. So they had scrounged up some money and got some tube cinnamon buns, and pull apart and bake frozen cookies with little pumpkins and ghosts on them. The small girl never knew that her mom was only doing it to kill time, to her? It was the greatest birthday in the world.
She had a box of pancake mix on the counter. They could make pancakes and maybe even use the cupcake tin to make cup sized pancakes in there. There wasn’t whipped cream or syrup, but a sprinkle of sugar would be okay. She just wanted to spend the day with her mom. The beautiful blonde she worshipped.
Her excitement dashed when she entered and found her mom passed out. She put on a pot of oatmeal knowing her mom hadn’t eaten all day. The younger blonde tugged her mom up into a sitting position, proceeding to wipe her face and hair free of the vomit. She turned and went to stir the oatmeal, then grabbed a dirty rag, wetting it and squeezing it out as best her small hands could, then went to wipe her mom’s face.
“Mama, look.” She ignored her mom’s annoyed groan and sigh.
“This girl Sara, she made me a card. See? The whole class sang Happy birthday to me, and we had popcorn and they made me a cupcake. I saved you a piece.” She pulled the partially wrapped piece and tugged it free from the paper, then put it in her mom’s hand.
“Pass me a ciggy, hon.” Her voice hoarse, her cornflower irises surrounded by red veins, glossy and swollen.
Miranda looked around the messy table for a pack that wasn’t empty, then found one on the floor. She dropped to her knees and dug under the sofa for a lighter. Putting it between her small pink lips, she sparked the lighter and brought it to the smoke. Once ignited, she coughed.
“Pass it here, what did I tell ya about inhaling?”
She got a light swat over her head before the smoke was taken.
“Silly girl. How old are ya again?”
“Six mama. Remember last year I was five?”
“Oh f***, right. Gimme a moment, hon. I need time to wake up.”
Her mom grunted, pushed herself up and sauntered to the bathroom to clean herself up some. She balanced the cigarette on the bathtub ledge, gave her face a splash. Rinsed her mouth out and looked at herself. She was still beautiful. Not wanting to stick around the house, she wondered if Allan Jones was busy. Maybe she could hit him up for some dinner.
Outside the bathroom, a tiny voice asked. “Mama, you wanna make pancakes with me?” She didn’t want to mention her birthday again, she didn’t want to annoy her because she might just go back to bed.
Hell, she already forgot it was the kid’s birthday.
“Hon, how about we go out for dinner, huh? It’s your special day after all. We can’t just sit around here and hide from the kids that come bangin’ on the door and beggin’ for free candy. If we had candy, we’d eat it ourselves, right? Whaddya say. We can go to Denny’s or somethin’.”
The tiny blonde’s eyes went wide and she grew super excited. “Really, Mama? You mean it?” She immediately dashed to the closet the two shared and looked for her one good shirt. It was dirty but it didn’t have any rips or tears in it. Mama told her that it brought out her blue eyes, and made them glitter like the stars.
They walked towards another house and mama told her to wait down at the bottom of the little pathway then made her way up.
“It’s Halloween, Del, I got my kids here. I can’t go anywhere tonight. Give me a call in a couple of days when they’re back home with their bitch mothers.”
“Allan, I miss you. Come on. Can’t you spare a couple of hours for dinner?”
“Del… if I could, you know I would but not tonight.”
“It’s my kids 7th birthday, come on. I promised her dinner.”
“Then take her to dinner.”
“I don’t have any cash Allan. Please, you don’t even have to stay.”
“Look Del… here” He pulled out his wallet and peeled some 20s free of the stack and handed them to her. “You take your kid out for her birthday. You can make it up to me later.”
The woman stomped loudly down the stairs and grabbed Miranda roughly by her little hand, and tore down the street towards town. Denny’s it was, and no company of a man.
Sauntering over to the counter and getting comfy on a stool, a quick nod to the barkeep indicated her usual. Double shot of whiskey, neat. Kicking her heel up onto the vacant seat beside her, she ran her hand up from her heel to knee. The new thigh highs she intended on breaking in were cutting deep along the zipper line. The platinum blonde found herself slightly relieved she wasn’t performing tonight.
“Savin’ that seat for anyone special?” A gruff voice asked, his eyes roaming each inch of her stem.
“Nobody’s special.” Kicking the seat, she dropped her foot to the floor and turned to down the double shot placed beside her.
“On the house, Rox.” The barkeep called over the music.
“Maybe you just ain’t found the right kinda special.” He placed his hand up high on her thigh, teasing the edge of her skirt.
Brave little bunny.
“Maybe so.” A wink at the barkeep in thanks before turning her stone cold gaze to the unkempt beast with wandering paws. “but it seems I just keep gettin’ the short bus kinda special ‘round these parts.”
Insulted, he pulled his hand away from her with a dirty look. Her stern gaze didn’t falter, simmering temper.
“Damaged goods.” He grumbled and stalked off.
Think the pretty little blonde would get a breather?
From the other side, while turning to nod for another double, a cleaner looking drugstore cowboy pulled up a seat and called for the barkeep to get him the same.
“Gal like you’s gotta be out on the hunt tonight, lookin’ that good.”
Tongue running over the inside of her cheek while she ignored him. She knocked back the second whiskey double like it was water.
“Impressive, impressive. That one’s on me.” He said to the bartender, and turned back to her. “Might just drink me under the table.”
At no point did she give him any acknowledgement, but to him it seemed that she didn’t give any rejections either, so he continued.
“I think we could do a lot of damage to each other if you wanna go somewhere quiet. Maybe back to my place.” His hand moved up to her icy blonde hair and pushed a lock back from her face.
“You’d be prettier if you smiled.” His voice going soft, raspy.
… he did not …
Her hand caught his wrist and twisted it down and back. From the look on his face he definitely wasn’t expecting the tiny thing to cause so much pain.
“Touch me again and I’ll bust your f***in’ kneecaps.” She released her grip on him, shoving him back.
A look of pride on the barkeeper’s mug while he slid her another drink. He didn’t need to worry about this one, he knew she could handle herself. She always had.
“Psycho bitch. You’re a bloody psycho bitch. All’s I was trying to do was give a little charity f*** to your drag queen looking ass. All’s ya had to say was no.” He held his injured wrist close to him, his words shaking while he called her down. “Why dress like a slut if you don’t want that kind of attention, huh? You’re a dyke, I get it. All’s you had to say was that you weren’t into d*ck!”
The bartender picked up his phone to call for one of the bouncers but it was already too late. She’d been called a slut. She’d been called worse. She’d been called every name in the book. What set off her fuse? His rampant homophobia. Why did the rejected always have to bring sexual preferences into their insults? The chair she’d been perched on slashed him across the knees to knock him down, then she pounced. Teeth bared, fists flying.
Blood decorated the surface around him while she repeatedly slammed his head down on the old wooden floor. He was down for the count when the burly man from before grabbed her from behind and swung her around to throw her against the bar. Winded, she reached over the counter, cheesy western style, grabbed a bottle and turned to break it over his head. Liquid E V E R Y W H E R E.
“F***in’ cunt!” He growled, staggering back towards her, his ham fists swinging erratically. He didn’t care who he hit on the way. Of course there were a few casualties since a few morons just wanted to catch it on their phones instead of getting the hell out of the way. A girl was hit and folded by his elbow. Her partner caught her unconscious body and handed her to the person next to her, then started taking swings at the beast.
A drunk pick-me girl decided it wasn’t going to be two against one, and sided with the beast. Double Rox’s weight, she ran full force at the blonde and grabbed a handful of hair.
Jesus Christ.
Rox growled, she’d been with a few guys who yanked harder than this. Grabbing a fist full of the brunette lightning’s hair, she yanked her head back and slammed it into the woman’s head. She saw stars immediately, and blood spewed from both of them. She took a brief moment to collect herself before throwing a fist into the woman’s face.
By the time the woman was down, it had become a full fledged brawl. Rox came in for drinks, but she’d been in a m o o d, and this seemed to scratch the restless itch.
A fist missed it’s target and caught her right on the cheek. Welcoming the sting, and the rush of adrenaline that came from it, she turned and threw a left hook into the offender’s face. Someone else brought her to her knees by busting a pool cue over her back. A burst of stars as a knee caught her in the face. Maybe she was seeing stars, but the ugly sucker that did it was going to be seeing galaxies as her fist shot up into his groin. His scream rivalled those of the women around them.
She got up and staggered over, her fist connecting with the jaw of someone who was about to break a chair over someone else’s back. The delicious sound of glass breaking, women screaming, and men yelling cliche insults rang like music to her ears. She craved this, her soul cried for chaos.
Author’s note: Please, if anything, let this serve as a random starter, or refresher if we’re already writing. Show up and fight. Be a cop and break it up. Be the one that bails her out of jail, or pulls her from the fight. Wherever your creativity takes you.
I prefer this story to take place in comments. Let it play out long and hard. No ‘one reply wonders’ where everything’s fixed right away. We’ll see where it goes from there.
If you’re only here to read, I appreciate that too. More than you know. xx
21 years on the planet and a good half of those being the classic wild child, rebel without a cause. The rail thin aspiring goddess of rock had been in every position imaginable. In her teens she rid herself of any inhibition and dove into her sexual awakening with reckless abandon. No kink too freaky. If someone wanted to try something but they were too scared with anyone else, they could count on her giving it a go at least once. No judgment. If she didn’t like it, she just simply wouldn’t do it again and would let the person know.
When on the road with the new band members, touring places like Australia, and Asia, the tiny siren dabbled in lesbian ero and found she enjoyed it. That probably wouldn’t sit too well with her best friend though. After all, if she wanted to try something sexual with a female why wouldn’t Jo be her top choice? Maybe she knew that Jo wouldn’t have been a one night stand. With her it would mean something and on tour — Rox wasn’t looking for meaningful.
Now here she was with a man she barely knew. A man she didn’t even actually know his last name until she spied his signature on the marriage license. Hardly the marrying type, of course it was eventually going to be culture shock to the atomic blonde. At least it would when the whiskey and weed wore off and let her think clearly about what had happened in the last day or so.
Malek, this really hot guy that what.. worked at the gym she’d gone to? Ran the gym? Owned the gym? Whatever it was, she had gone to hit the ol bag a few times and work out some frustration when she’d met him. A couple of guys had come to try intimidate her and if she hadn’t been set on beating around the punching bag, she might have worked her frustrations out on Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb as f’uck. Instead, he approached and like the Wizard Howl, he had the men on their way almost as if they were under a controlling spell.
Impulsive, feisty, and never a goddamned coward.
When Malek challenged her. When he took her up on a silly moment, joking about girls that weren’t like her. The clingy types. The ones that wanted baby daddies, and husbands. He bluffed and talked about marriage, and one thing led to another, the two were on a plane to Vegas. Signing their lives away on a certificate in a drive through dime a dozen wedding chapel.
Gotta love Vegas.
Counting inwardly, she knew his last name. She knew about the gym and that he had some power of some sort over people. Not like actual wizard s’hit, but that he spoke and people listened. So that was two things. He liked whiskey and bacon. I mean, they could build a good foundation on that right? People got hitched with less knowledge than that. Arranged marriages! Some people didn’t even see each other until their goddamned wedding day at the altar.
There was no big to-do. No fanfare. No confetti. However, there was alcohol, and there was sex. Nothing wrong with that. Not. a. damned. thing.
Lil wifey things though. Hell, she didn’t know the first thing about what married people did. In fact, she didn’t even think twice about it. Once they boarded the plane and headed back.. she couldn’t wait to get back to the f’uck house. Always filled with chaos and random people. That was home to her.
It wasn’t discussed previously so unless he wanted to talk about it, she would return to her old life and have it as some wild crazy story to tell when she went on tour again. One of those “one time in Vegas” stories.
Nobody was going to believe it.
Miranda Roxanne Moretti; she had just opened a whole new chapter in her life’s story.
"What's the point of selling your soul if ya can't cheat death?"
December 31st 2018, the last eve.
I don't remember much of the night, f*** it. To be painfully honest — I don't remember any of it. It started out at an open mic night along the boardwalk somewhere. People were partying on the beach. They wanted to count down to the big 19. After that everything is hazy as f***.
Sometime after midnight I legally died. My heart stopped. I was found on the beach — yada yada, ya effin da.
William, son of my best friend was the one that brought me back to life and stayed with me until I was better.
I don't want to go into details. Chances are, if you know me, you've heard it already.
I just wanted to give a brief look back at why I agreed to this damned mission in the first place. Operation Kitten, I think that was the final name she had settled on one night. My life was spared. I was given a second chance, and I swore to every higher power out there that if given the chance I would pay it forward as best I could. If it meant giving my last dime to someone who needed it more than me, I would.
— now if only I could have found someone who needed a goddamned dime.
( Present )
"If you miss people, why don't you just tell them?" The Glamazon said. She was spread diagonally across the hotel bed. The lights from outside flickered and danced on the walls, blues, reds, and yellows. In the land of Neon lights and LCD billboards. The city didn't sleep, it didn't even nap.
I was looking over some things from my past when she spoke up. I didn't even realize she had been watching me. My eyes lingered over faded photos.
I could have burned these.
I should have burned these.
"It ain't that simple Kitten." Maybe my words came out a little more forcefully than I'd meant them to, but she didn't seem bothered by it.
"When I miss people I just say hi when I see them again."
"ain't gonna see them again" I sparked up a cig' even though this was clearly labeled a non-smoking floor. I didn't care. My head was starting to hurt and I really didn't want to talk right now.
Free hand through my hair and rolling over on to my back, the photos fell to the floor with ashes.
"I miss people too but I get to go home soon. You're coming back with me right?"
Did I want to go back there with her? F***, did I even want to be here? The answer to that was no, but she needed somebody and that somebody had to be me. As naive as she could be I didn't doubt she'd get herself discovered in a heartbeat if I didn't tell her how to go about getting out of the hotel.
I shrugged.
"I'm going to miss the toilets. All the different kinds of buttons on it. I wish I could take this toilet with me, and the people. They're so friendly! I love the guy that gives towels at the pool he said my name was really pretty. He couldn't pronounce it right at fir--"
I looked up at her slowly and she grew quiet. All 6'1" of her shrank down into the bed.
"I only said it to him a few times. Not many people were around. Nobody will know Rox, it'll be okay. Don't don't.."
We were almost home free. I was almost free of this self-appointed hell. I didn't have much to go back to, but I had enough to want to be there and not here.
Just then there was a knock at the door. It wasn't the secret knock either. It was more of a leather gloved "Shave and a hair cut." followed by a gruff "Room service."
Protocol, what was the protocol? What was our plan for this? I needed to stop panicking.
"Get to the balcony and wait there. Here, take the bags!"
Even if it was a false alarm, we had to be prepared.
I grabbed a gun, held it behind my back and leaned against the door. Slowly peering out. The man didn't look Japanese.
"We didn't order anything."
The tall Russian slipped her shoes on and went to the balcony, the far corner. I could hear her breath shaking from where I was. She was scared. My pounding heart (which confirmed I had one) told me I was scared too.
"It's on the house.. just open the door. You don't want to miss this." Hearing more of his words, I could tell he was Russian as well.
F***.
Shoving the square steel framed chair under the door handle, I ducked just as a silenced bullet came through. Feeling myself here and there, I made sure I wasn't bleeding, then dashed for the balcony. From here it was to the next room. Through that door and to the back stairs. As long as nobody was waiting outside the room we had a small window of time.
She didn't need to be told. Quickly she tossed the bags onto the second balcony and started unlocking the door while I maneuvered around the little barrier between the two balconies. The door was pounding behind me. The chair was a lot sturdier than it looked, thank f***.
"Go go go!" I said when she turned around to try and wait for me. I locked the balcony door behind me and pulled the drapes. This one was rented for this specific reason. Just in case we needed it.
She stopped and quieted herself, both hands over her mouth. I slowly opened the door and kept the gun ready. It was clear. Either two guys entered the room or he was traveling alone.
We bolted for the stair-case that would take us down and out the back of the hotel where our second vehicle waited. I stopped to grab a bag from her to lighten the load, but the tall slender woman was a lot stronger than she looked. She shook her head and kept going.
Driving away, we were safe.. for now.
Swallowing and catching my breath while driving, I silently cursed under my breath.
