12. Cash
12
CASH
T he events that happened tonight were no accident. I’d checked the only doors leading to the dressing room and hallways. They had been locked with a security guard on duty five minutes before the hall was swarmed. I never told Monroe about the bouquet of roses sent to her room. I don’t want to take her back there since the location has been compromised.
Cold wind blows against my cheeks. Monroe hugs me tighter, her body flush against mine as I weave in and out of cars. There’s too much damn traffic for this time of night.
I can feel every nerve ending in my body. It’s like my skin is on fire, my instincts roaring at me that something is wrong—very fucking wrong—with this night.
There’s an inside man. There has to be. It’s someone on the team.
If I bring this up to Fidel or Danny, they’ll insist it was a mistake—something that shouldn’t have happened, but unfortunately did .
I haven’t figured out if Fidel is intentionally putting Monroe at risk or if he just doesn’t truly have a grasp on the basic concepts of keeping a high-profile client safe from harm. Shit like this can’t happen. Shit like this wouldn’t happen if everyone on the team did their jobs … and if we didn’t have a snitch.
Tonight, they did their jobs. I made sure of it. The security guard outside the door didn’t even have a key to it. He was just stationed there as a precaution.
I need to go through the venue’s list of employees and find that guy. He’s got some explaining to do.
“Are you cold?” I turn around to ask her as we pull up to another stoplight.
“Just my hands,” she mumbles.
I finally take a moment to feel her against my back. She’s holding on to me for dear life. Her breasts are pressing into me, and I try to ignore the sensual warmth spreading through me, instead focusing on where the fuck we’re going.
Safety. All we need is a safe place for the night, which can’t be the hotel we’ve been at.
I researched several of them the first time I moved her. One of my top choices was close to here, but we didn’t go with it because her manager didn’t think it was upscale enough. Admittedly, it was a lower-end hotel, but that’s why I chose it. No one would expect her to be in a place like that.
We pull up to a four-way stop. One corner has a liquor store with neon signs. The other one is a hole-in-the wall restaurant, and right beside it is the sign for a motel, tucked back between two buildings. It looks nice enough for me, but she might balk at it .
I pull into the parking lot. There’s a spot near the front office. I take it, placing my boot on the ground to support us as Monroe stiffly removes her arms and climbs off. I look up at her, expecting to see rage or fear, but she looks elated, excitement sparking in her bright blue eyes.
“That was … thrilling,” she says. Her skin glows in the orange neon lights. A smile spreads across her lips before a laugh spills out of them.
I’m in so much trouble.
She’s so addictive. I just watched her serenade seventy-five thousand fans, but here I am, alone with her on a stolen moped in a city where we don’t even speak the language. And I’m captivated—no, mesmerized—by this secret, hidden version of Monroe Blue that nobody else gets to see.
I clench my teeth, looking away from her as I step off. “Well, we made it out alive—somehow.”
“Everyone is going to think … well, who cares what they think? That was fun. The most fun I’ve had in ages . You really know how to drive that thing.”
I smirk, pulling the key from the ignition and slinging her bag over my shoulder. I stretch up to my full height. I’m used to full-sized Harleys.
“I have a motorcycle.”
She tilts her head, hiding her hands in the front pocket of my hoodie she’s still wearing. Her face is a mask, but I detect a hint of lust in her gaze.
Not good.
Or maybe I’m imagining things I want to see.
“Let’s see if they have a room.” I indicate the door behind her with a nod .
She turns, stepping toward the door. I reach over her when we get to it to push it open for her.
“Thanks,” she says.
An older woman, who could be anywhere between sixty and eighty, is sitting at the plain white desk by the back wall. She’s sipping from a cup of tea and watching a K-drama on a tiny TV in the corner, way too far away from where she sits to see the screen clearly.
She lifts the remote to turn down the volume as we approach. She greets us.
“Hello. Need a room?”
Monroe chews her bottom lip—a distracting habit I’ve noticed she does when she’s nervous.
I clear my throat, looking at the few keys hanging on the wall. “Yes, we need a room.”
The woman pulls a key off the hook, setting it on the counter. “You’re in luck, we have one left.”
She says something else in Korean, but Monroe and I just stare at her before looking at each other. I set the duffel down to reach for my wallet in my back pocket.
“Oh, I, uh, I can pay you back tomorrow,” Monroe says. “I just realized I have nothing with me, except my clothes. Ember has my phone and … everything.”
“It’s no big deal. I’m sure you’re good for it.” I wink at her.
Why on God’s green earth did I just wink at her?
Her cheeks tinge a shade of pale pink. She drops her eyes to the floor, nibbling her bottom lip again. At the sight of her flushed cheeks, I feel blood pooling down in my groin.
That’s fantastic. And I’m the moron who got us into this mess .
“Uh, can we get two beds?” I suddenly choke out, looking back at the woman.
She clicks her tongue, taking the card I hand out to her. For safety reasons, I don’t think I can let Monroe stay in a seedy motel room alone when everyone in this city knows her face. And we can’t keep driving around looking for a safe motel with more available rooms in the middle of the night in a city we both don’t know.
The woman swipes my card. She hands it back to me, along with the key. She holds up her palm, as if to tell us to wait, before turning to hobble back through a doorway behind the desk. We wait without speaking to each other, both seemingly aware that there’s a good chance she will give us a room with only one bed because we do, in fact, appear to be a couple.
The K-drama on the TV is a minor yet blissful relief in the awkward silence. I want to shift my feet, but my training as a soldier overrides the human need to fidget.
I glance behind us into the parking lot to see that the moped is exactly where I left it. No other cars or people have entered the vicinity. I have no reason to believe we were followed, but at this rate, I can’t be too careful. The cold steel strapped to my hip is an inviting presence when I’m alone in a strange city with a celebrity like Monroe Blue.
The woman finally returns, two teacups balanced in her hands. She distributes them to us with a low grunt.
“Thank you,” Monroe says with a sweet smile, bowing her head slightly.
The woman, thankfully, doesn’t seem to recognize her. Monroe grabs my teacup for me since I’m holding the keys and her bag.
Once outside, I set the bag on the moped, rolling it along beside me as we make our way to the room doors to find the one with the matching symbol on the key.
We locate it easily enough near the back of the motel. I slide the key into the lock and push open the door. The room is completely pitch-black.
“Let me go in first, just in case.”
I push the moped right inside, not willing to risk it getting stolen outside when I have no way to secure it. Monroe waits on the threshold, a hint of amusement in her expression as she purses her lips.
I take one more look around the dimly lit parking lot before grabbing Monroe’s elbow and gently pulling her inside the dark room. The only light pouring in is from the parking lot street lamps, casting a shadow on the carpet and revealing nothing else. I shut the door behind her and lock the dead bolt and the security chain, even though they’re useless against a trained professional.
Maybe I’ll prop the bike up against the door.
I’m debating exactly how to do it when I hear a click, and a warm, low light spills through the room. I turn to see Monroe standing by a nightstand with a lamp on it, her lips slightly parted as she stares at me with wide eyes.
The woman at the desk must not have wanted to risk missing out on one-hundred percent occupancy tonight because the tiny room only has one bed.
Fuuuck.