Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Rayna
We’re almost through South Carolina by the time we stop for the night. The leisurely route we’d planned—stopping by various oddity markets and mom-and-pop shops—has evaporated. Dalton seems more than eager to make it to Oak Hollow by the Funeral Celebration now.
I think this has something to do with our new friend. Well, my new friend. Dalton looks ready to claw out his eyeballs whenever he opens his mouth to speak.
If he’s jealous, he has no reason to be. Despite crushing our baby under the brake pedal, Dalton is still the best thing that’s ever happened to me. No one can hold a candle to him, even if they’re a six-foot-seven male model who happens to love taxidermy.
We grab our things from the car and head into the motel lobby. Like me, Samuel travels with little more than a backpack. Meanwhile, Dalton struggles to haul his two suitcases from the trunk. A nomadic life hasn’t exactly been easy for him.
“Need some help?” Samuel asks him. He steps forward and reaches for the larger bag, but Dalton pulls it closer to his legs and shakes his head. Samuel lifts his hands and smiles. “Suit yourself.”
Knowing he absolutely does need help, I grab the smaller bag, and we start inside.
The lobby is dark, and the color brown is the only way to describe it.
Walls, carpet, desk, chairs—everything is some shade of diarrhea brown.
Stale cigarette smoke clings to everything in sight, despite the large sign on the lobby desk stating that ciggies are off-limits.
When the older woman behind the desk smiles, I can easily figure out who the culprit is by looking at her yellow-stained smile.
“Oh, are we having a fun little party tonight?” she says with a wiggle of her shoulders. Her smile falls when she looks at Samuel. “Sorry, honey. No pets.”
“Not even dead ones?” He wiggles the raccoon, and the woman realizes her mistake.
“Goodness, why?” she asks as her hand flies to her chest.
My hand flies to my chest, and I look at her with a straight face as I say, “Goodness, why not?”
The woman purses her lips and clears her throat before pulling her chair a bit closer to the desk and banging on the noisy keyboard. “What sort of room do you need? Single? Double?”
“Two rooms, please,” Dalton says, and he even holds up his fingers to make sure she gets the memo. When he tries to pay with cash, however, things go a bit south.
“We require a credit card in case our patrons decide to trash our rooms. An insurance policy, if you will.” She glances around the dark space. “It isn’t exactly cheap to replace things which have been ruined by rowdy guests.”
Could have fooled me. You could easily replace any of this shit with something you’d find at a local flea market. Bonus points if the items wear a cloak of cigarette smoke.
“We don’t carry a card,” I say. “Perhaps we could throw a little on top as an insurance policy?”
She places her hand to her chest again, this time mocking me the way I mocked her. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”
Before I can launch myself over the lip of the desk and rip out her eyeballs, Samuel steps forward and pushes a credit card across the sticky wooden surface.
The woman snatches up the rectangle of plastic, giving Dalton and me no room to argue.
She’s swiped it and printed two receipts faster than we can take our next breath.
On the way outside, Dalton tries to give Samuel the cash, but Samuel shrugs him off.
“You guys are hauling me across the country. The least I can do is spot you for the night.”
Dalton opens his mouth to argue, but I grab his arm and pull him through the lobby door and into the chill fall air. If he wants to be jealous, that’s fine, but I draw the line at sabotaging a chance to save some cash. He needs to keep his pride to himself.
We part ways with Samuel as we reach the rusty stairs on the side of the building. He gives us a smile and heads down the row toward his lower-level room, and we head up the dangerous tetanus steps. Dalton doesn’t return Samuel’s smile, but I do. It’s just good manners.
The air in the motel room is stale, but at least it doesn’t smell like the desk lady’s lair. I sit on the edge of the bed. I’m disappointed when it’s like sitting on a wooden box instead of a cloud. Disappointed, but not surprised. We don’t exactly have the funds to stay at the Hilton.
Van Gogh will stay in my bag for the night.
I hate the thought of him in that dark space, all cooped up without any fresh air, but I’m scared to death the rip in his side might spread.
Plus, seeing that gash makes me uncomfortable.
It was an accident, so I’m not angry with Dalton, but it still makes me sick.
“Nice to finally be alone,” Dalton says as he drops the bag on the floor and flops beside me on the bed. He rolls onto his side and traces the floral print on the comforter with his extended finger. “You feeling kind of tired, or . . . ?”
I grab his hand and place it on my thigh. “I’m tired, but I could use a little stress relief to help take the edge off of today.”
“Mmm, say less.” Dalton inches closer and nips my inner thigh. “You wanna play with Raul? He didn’t get his moment, thanks to the train.”
My heart soars when he mentions one of my newest treasures. Dalton is always game to do what I want, but sometimes he requires a little coaxing. I like it best when he willingly throws my kinks into the mix.
I scramble off the side of the bed and pull Raul from my bag.
After placing him on the side table so that his little glass eyes can watch my man work my body, I step into Dalton.
He sits on the edge of the mattress with his hands between his knees.
His fingertips brush my shirt hem, gripping that thin edge and raising it until his breath whispers over my bare breasts.
He dips lower, nipping my stomach and lashing my skin with his tongue.
“What are you thinking about?” I whisper.
“That woman in the front office,” he growls against my skin.
Instead of feeling jealous, I moan and run my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Because he isn’t thinking about fucking that woman. He’s thinking about killing her.
“How would you do it?” I push his head lower, and he drags his warm tongue over my hip bone before lowering my shorts.
He smirks against my skin, then admires my pussy before putting a voice to his imagined fantasy. As he talks, he dips his fingers into my warmth, teasing my clit and making everything slippery with desire.
“First and foremost, I’d make sure Van Gogh is there to witness it, just for her sideways remark,” he says. “Then I’d tie her to the chair and break open a vein. Not enough to kill her, mind you. Just enough to make everything red and spread a little panic through her soul.”
I imagine her blood, how it would make everything so slippery. “Keep going,” I beg.
His fingers pick up speed, running faster, harder circles over that sensitive place. “Once she’s good and terrified, I’ll bring you into the room. I’ll strip you down, bend you over, and push Raul into your tight little asshole, all while she watches.”
“Fuck yes.” I roll my hips, chasing the pleasure he tempts me with. “Make me come.”
“I’ll make you—”
A knock at the door silences us. We freeze and stare at the window to the right of it, wondering who in their right mind would bother us when it’s nearly midnight. Dalton looks at my clothes on the floor, but there’s no time to dress. The knock comes again, and it’s a little louder this time.
“The knife,” he whispers, and I nod and pull my hunting knife from my pack before moving to the other side of the bed and dropping behind it, leaving only my face exposed.
If I have to charge someone naked, fine, but they don’t get to look at my goodies for free unless I want them to.
And whoever this is doesn’t have that privilege.
Dalton creeps to the door and peers through the peephole. His shoulders droop immediately.
“Who is it?” I whisper.
He sighs and steps away from the door. “Put your clothes on. It’s your little friend.”
I like Samuel, but his timing is not the best. I’ll give Dalton that much. Still, it’s not like we can’t politely shoo him away. We don’t have to be dicks to him.
After I pull on my clothes, Dalton opens the door. Samuel offers a friendly smile, complete with a wave. Dalton returns neither gesture.
“Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” he says with a shake of the bottle in his hands. “Figured I’d see if you guys wanted to share a drink. It’s just some cheap whiskey I picked up on my travels, but it’s good enough for a nightcap.”
“I think we’re good for the night, thanks.” Dalton tries to close the door, but I bolt forward and wrench it open.
Forcing a smile, I motion him into our room. “Sorry, he’s a bit tired. He gets rude when he hasn’t had a nap.” I pin Dalton with a glare as I lead Samuel into our accommodations.
Look, I get it. He wants to be alone with me, and I want that as well, but we’re talking about the surgeon who will repair my ailing baby. We need to play nice and get on his good side, especially if we hope to get this done at a price we can afford: free.
“If you guys need to go to bed—”
“Nonsense,” I say, waving off Samuel’s comment.
Dalton dies a little inside, but he stomps over to the bed and flops down without any other argument.
This is really throwing a stick into his spokes, but we’re almost to Florida.
Once Samuel patches up Van Gogh, things can go back to normal.
Until then, I’ll just have to continue navigating this very tense situation.