20. Paige #2
We drive for another ten minutes, taking a winding route, and doubling back twice. When Vanya’s satisfied we’re clear, he pulls out his phone. “Head downtown. Millennium Towers Hotel.”
I don’t know the place, so I keep following his directions.
All the while, he taps on his phone. “Gotta love these apps. All you need is an email and a credit card number, and you can get anything under any name.”
By the time I pull up to the gleaming, well-lit building, he’s secured a reservation, a digital key card on his phone, and has already checked us in.
“Park in the lot. We don’t have keys, so we can’t use valet.” He sighs as we drive past the young guys in uniforms.
As if I don’t already know that the clotheshorse persona he uses is a mask. He picks his wardrobe more for function than fashion.
In all that shopping, he never changed his suit. Not only is it tailored, but I’ve leaned against his body enough to know he has extra pockets sewn in. That’s where he extracted the tool kit from earlier.
I can’t help but wonder what else he has on his person.
And what I might be doing when I find out.
That thought wobbles my heart as I zip into the parking spot.
Vanya doesn’t seem concerned. He climbs out, waits for me to join him, and heads toward the elevator.
From there, we cross the shining marble lobby without incident. No human interaction required, and no faces to remember us.
I catch glimpses of myself in the mirrored elevator walls. I’m flushed and wild-eyed, with my hair falling out of its bun. Alive in a way I haven’t been since I was fourteen.
We get out on the twenty-third floor. Thick dove gray carpeting swallows our footsteps, the wallpaper a subtle damask. Sconces toss about warm light that’s designed to be flattering and romantic.
The overall effect works.
This establishment is so much nicer than the motel he took me to. My new boots don’t even stick to the carpet.
Vanya stops at Room 2347 and holds his phone to the lock.
The accommodation is stunning.
Floor-to-ceiling windows take up two entire walls. The open curtains reveal the Chicago skyline, the dark night a brilliant contrast to the plush cream carpet.
The spacious sitting area features a velvet sofa in deep navy, flanked by accent chairs that match the hallway carpet. Abstracts in complementing, muted tones decorate the walls.
In the center of it all, dominating the space, sits a king-sized bed.
Crisp white linens, a mountain of pillows in varying shades of gray and cream, a duvet that surely costs more than my car…
My wrecked car, thanks to the mafia thugs who tried to kill or kidnap me.
I peek at Vanya.
The man who’s the source of everything that’s happened in the past two days. A rational person would run screaming the second they got the chance.
For some crazy reason, my body hums with that terrifying cocktail of fear and adrenaline that’s been building since the moment he waltzed into my library.
A bit of dread.
A whole lot of excitement.
I’m coming alive, and I crave more.
Everything in my body wants to continue living like this, with Vanya, and that scares the crap out of me.
I’ve been here before. I was determined to have it all. The thrill, the danger, the exotic local boy who promised me an exhilarating night.
I didn’t even know his name when I followed him into the woods, kissed him in the dark, and believed every word he said about getting away from our families and living wild.
Pop. Pop-pop-pop.
When the shooting began, we were making out in the trees with heavy rain pounding around us. He pulled away and peered at me with wide, terrified eyes.
Then he ran and left me behind, only for his body to jerk like a marionette with snapped strings and collapse, never to rise again.
I remember screaming, and the long, rain-drenched run. It wasn’t just rain, though. It was a full-blown storm. Wind knocked me down, stealing my shrieks before they could reach human ears.
Not that anyone had time to care about one yelling teenager. Dead people were everywhere. In front of the hotel, on the roads, in the lobby. A little girl ran for a house, not to get inside, but to hide under it. Like some kind of alternate version of The Wizard of Oz.
And fire.
The way the smoke mixed with the rain, creating a fog that hovered just above the ground, I couldn’t tell what was burning. I just sprinted toward the hotel.
With the sirens still blaring overhead and the distant chorus of other people’s screams, I stumbled on another body. Looked down. And recognized it.
Mom, with her arms outstretched.
My father found me there hours later. He stared at me like we were total strangers.
He told me that she’d been with him when the shooting started. That she’d bolted to find me instead of heading to safety.
Ran straight into a gunfight. To protect me.
Though many people died that night, I only knew two of them.
My decisions got them killed.
Dad made sure I never forgot my role in my mother’s death. And he never forgave me.
I saw it in his eyes every day for the next three and a half years, until I turned eighteen and never looked back.
Blame. Resentment. The knowledge that if I’d just stayed in my room, stayed safe, stayed boring and careful and good, my mother would still be alive.
That night taught me the only lesson that mattered.
Leaving the path of the straight and narrow only leads to death, destruction, and pain.
For fifteen years, I’ve lived by that lesson. Built my entire life around the moral of my own story. Rules and order and control, because control means safety, and safety means no one else dies because of my selfishness.
Vanya stands by the window with the city lights behind him like a still of fireworks. He’s watching me with those golden mountain lion eyes.
If I continue, I’ll destroy the careful facade of safety I’ve constructed.
And it might destroy him too.
Because that’s what I do. I get people killed.