Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
SLOANE
Ashadow moves along the balcony.
My breath catches and I fling back the plush white covers on the bed and swing my legs around, then plant my feet on the floor.
The balcony curtains are gauzy and milky gray, a sconce light affixed to the wall outside—I noticed it earlier during my cursory inspection of our suite.
The sliding glass doors are closed, the scenic view of the hedge maze and gardens and fountains and pool beyond are gorgeous.
But there was a person-shaped shadow.
My pulse thuds quick in my chest and I glance over my shoulder and down the hall, where the bathroom door is closed, the light on inside.
Storm is in the shower; after being on our feet for hours and a midnight walk to the food truck outside the venue for shrimp tacos, I was ready to come back here.
We agreed we’d head down to the hotel bar if we wished, but there was vodka and mixers in the mini fridge and Storm poured us both a drink after he got ice in the golden pail meant for it.
I showered first and my hair is still wavy and damp down my back. My feet are bare, and the only thing I’m wearing is a lilac night dress with thin straps topped with black silk bows.
I glance at the solid wood nightstand on Storm’s side of the bed. My heart gallops again and this isn’t because of the shadow.
We’ve slept together, but only in the literal sense.
Tonight, though, the alcohol and his arms around my waist at the concert and the way he didn’t let me go for more than a minute all night is floating around my brain and I want to do so much more than kiss him.
It surprises me that we haven’t. Most boys move fast, I’ve noticed.
But maybe it’s the men who don’t.
My eyes find the gun though, still in its holster, the black buckles and loops themselves are intimidating, and that’s nothing to the dark barrel of the gun they contain.
He took it off while staring at me.
By that time, the glass cup in my hands had melted my reservations. Now my drink is gone, set on the dresser, but I may need another one if he plans to leave that beside our bed all night.
The shadow falls over the white sheets, the maroon walls.
I whip my head around, my mouth dry.
The balcony door is locked, and all I see now is the glow from the porch light, and the night sky beyond.
I stand anyway and take a deep breath in. A slow one out.
Who is it?
But no one could be out there.
They’d have to come through here first. We’re on the seventh floor.
I inspected every inch of this suite when we checked in; I’ve never been in a hotel this nice. My parents gave up on taking us to many vacations when all they ever seemed to do was fight and scream no matter where we were or how beautiful it was around us.
It was hell inside.
But…
I lift my chin as a cold chill slides down my spine.
I didn’t check the place when we got back.
Why would I?
Surely Storm did. He seems like the type. When I was in the shower, when I brushed my teeth, when I did all my skincare routine so I could fall asleep right after he fucks my brains out… He must have looked. He doesn’t play pretend.
There is no one out there.
I think of Caspian coaxing me through my first swing on a golf course. No one is watching you and no one cares about you.
I glared at him and he grinned at me. “I do, of course,” he’d said with his hand over his heart like he couldn’t believe I’d count him out of such a thing.
No one is watching me.
But the coffin nails and Storm’s alleged cameras, they’re warping my fear.
No. Fuck this. I’m not going to be afraid of my own mind.
I take a breath and roll my shoulders back, then walk between the couch and the television mounted on the wall, my bare feet pressing into the thick padding of the rugs on the floor.
The green of the hedge maze is visible through the glass, so is my own reflection, the hair down my back, my lips pressed together in determination. I can hear the multitude of fountains down below from here, but just as my fingers graze the handle of the balcony, I hear movement from the bathroom.
The one Storm is inside.