Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Quinn
When I open my eyes, my quirky German neighbor is the last person I expect to see, yet there he is.
His silent lover stands beside him as he speaks to Aven.
The woman holds an orange-capped stick in her hand, which she tosses to the floor when she sees that I’m awake.
She tugs on the German man’s arm and points down at me.
“Ah, the prostitute is conscious once more,” he says. “Are we needed further, or may we leave now?”
Aven clears his throat and tosses a towel into my lap as I sit up and try to clear the fog from my head. “She’s not a prostitute, pal.”
“Technically, I am, but we prefer the term sex worker.” I use the towel to cover my breasts. The evening’s events come rushing back to me, and I remember why I’m shirtless. “Shit, how bad did I fuck everything up tonight?”
“We can handle it from here,” Aven says as he begins ushering the elderly pair out of my room.
The woman stops and grabs the German’s hand. She scrawls something on his palm with her finger, and he nods before turning to Aven.
“The epinephrine may not be enough. I am content to leave her to die, but Rose feels—”
“Content to leave me to die? Epinephrine? What the fuck is happening right now?” I look down and spot the pinprick bruise on my thigh. “That was an allergic reaction?”
“Aye, wee lass,” Aven says, his voice a touch softer than he usually speaks. “When you went off camera, I came right over and found you collapsed on the floor.”
I place my hand to my head as the room begins to spin. “I think I’m going to vomit.”
Rose pushes a trash can in front of me, and I lean forward and retch.
My entire dinner lands in the bottom, and let me tell you, shrimp scampi does not taste as good coming up as it does going down.
The sight and smell are enough to make me gag until I only have frothy yellow bile to offer the trash-can gods.
Aven kneels beside me and pats my back. “That’s it, lass. Get it all up and out. But what would convince you to eat shrimp when you clearly have a shellfish allergy?”
Rose passes a damp rag to me, and I wipe my mouth. “I’m not allergic to anything other than turmeric, same as my father. My mother said it was his parting gift before leaving my siblings running down her thighs.”
Aven’s brows pull together, but he turns back to the couple. “I’ll get her down to the infirmary if she shows symptoms again. Could you be a friend and go ask Chef Maurice what he put in the scampi tonight?”
“No, we do not have any desire to be of future service to you. We planned to try painting with our anuses this evening, and you are killing our vibe, as the children say.”
“Seriously, Grim?” Aven opens his mouth to argue further, but I place a hand on his arm.
“Just let them enjoy their literal artsy-fartsy stuff. We can speak to the chef later.”
“I am offended you would insinuate we would release gas onto the artwork.” He scoffs. “It would ruin the composition! Dieser Dummkopf!”
Rose offers a polite, apologetic smile as Grim grips her slender arm and leads her out of the room. He slams the door as he exits.
I push the trash can away with a groan. This couldn’t have gone any worse if I’d planned it. Not only did I blow my chance to make a serial killer come, but I potentially fucked up this entire mission. If that was Desmond, there’s no chance in hell he’ll be baited back to my room anytime soon.
But if that was Desmond . . . why didn’t he kill me?
The toe of Aven’s boot bumps against my foot. “You okay, pal? You scared me pretty good there.”
“I thought we weren’t friends,” I say as I struggle to my feet. I nearly crash to my ass, but he steadies me. I snatch my arm away. “Stop being so nice. It doesn’t go well with your mean face.”
“Ach, I don’t have a mean face,” he mutters, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look genuinely hurt. “You said your mother told you the allergy came from your dad, aye?”
I nod.
“How is that possible if you’re a Carter sibling?”
“I don’t know. I probably got the allergy from her, and she made it up so that I’d never learn who my father is. Which, to be fair, was the better call. The moment I found out, it justified my bloodlust.”
“I never should have told you,” he mutters.
I steady myself and wobble to the closet, where I pull a baggy t-shirt from my suitcase. This day needs to come to an end. I feel like shit. After sliding the soft fabric over my body, I pull off the flashy panties and crawl into bed, then cover my head with the pillow and pray for death.
“Could you cut off the light when you go?” I yell through ten pounds of feathers.
Instead of answering me, he sits on the edge of the bed and sends me rolling toward him.
“If you’re going to be so big, could you go do it in your room?”
“For tonight, this is my room.”
I toss the pillow away and bolt upright. “Like hell it is! I feel like shit and just want to sleep. How can I do that if you’re just sitting here? If you want to be a creep, again, go do it in your room. You have fifty cameras on me at all times anyway.”
He folds his hands in his lap and looks at the carpet.
“You’re serious, aren’t you.” I say this more as a statement than a question. “You really mean to sit in my room all night. There is no way I can sleep if I know someone is watching me, Aven.”
“And why is that? Because you’re too worried you can’t curate your image while you’re unconscious? Newsflash. I couldn’t care less if you snore and fart in your sleep.”
“No, I’m not that self-centered.”
His head slowly turns to face me.
“Okay, maybe that’s part of the reason, but I seriously can’t sleep if you’re just sitting there on the edge of the bed like that. If you’re going to stay in here all night, could you at least sleep like a normal person?”
He grumbles something under his breath, then walks around the edge of the bed and flops down on the other side. With his shoes on, I might add.
“Manners,” I say, and I wiggle my fingers toward his boots.
More grumbles follow as he pulls off his boots and sends them crashing to the ground. With a huff, he folds his arms over his chest and lies back.
I click off the light and snuggle under the covers. The soles of my feet and palms of my hands still itch like fire, but I try not to scratch. I’d hate to give him a reason to rush me down to the infirmary and cut out even more of my beauty sleep.
But as I lie here, sleep won’t come. I’m too worried about the plan Jim and I concocted and how badly I’ve bungled this shitshow.
After tossing and turning for what feels like forever, I finally find a little comfort in the warmth behind me.
I hope he doesn’t notice when I snuggle a bit closer.
If he does, he doesn’t move away from me.
I just hate that it has to be him. Why couldn’t the Jolly Green Giant stick around and care for me?
Jim knows who my secret guest was. Would he tell me his identity if I asked? He wasn’t Desmond, that much is clear. He was too shy. Too nervous. It was kind of cute.
With a smile, I snuggle into Aven a little more and imagine it’s the big green monster.
They’re roughly the same size, though I think the stranger was probably stronger.
Or maybe that’s just me and my sour grapes.
Aven didn’t want me when I practically threw myself at him, so now I’m reaching for the next best thing.
But Green Guy could be the better thing .
. . and there’s only one way to find out.