Chapter Three
Summer?
Once the sun rises over the mountains in the distance, I watch below while the street sweepers clear the last night”s chaos from the sidewalk. The once lively strip now just appears like any other street. People are going about their day, heading to work, grabbing coffee or returning to their hotels after a heavy night, getting ready to do it all again tonight. Luckily for me, I won’t be here to see it.
After Eric left, Harry decided to go back out, but I haven’t heard from him since. I used the time to pack my suitcase and check on flights to New York. Fortunately, there was one available at eleven am today. A taxi to the airport won’t be hard to come by with rows and rows of taxis parked outside the many hotels on the strip. Teaming my yoga pants with an oversized hoodie, I slide on some trainers for the flight. I feel my stomach drop as I hear the door to the suite open.
Oh fuck.
Sitting in the chair in the dining area, I try to steady the anxiety that’s coursing through my entire being. I almost feel cold, frozen, even when Harry comes staggering into view, clutching onto a bottle of Jack.
“I didn’t think I needed to repeat myself, Summer.” He takes a couple of steps forward, reaching for his belt. His tone is cold. When that sinister smirk I despise creeps across his face, he slowly shakes his head.
He slowly pulls the belt away from the loops of his suit trousers, sliding the leather against the fabric. The noise is like nails on a chalkboard, almost causing me to recoil because I know what’s coming next, and I need to get the fuck away from here.
Standing only a few feet away, he launches the bottle at my head. I manage to duck out of the way, narrowly missing being hit as the glass shatters onto the floor. Falling to my knees, I scramble to my feet before being lashed with the belt, and I cry out as the leather whips my skin once. Throwing my right arm up to protect myself, I feel the burning heat bloom over my skin. Staggering away, clutching my arm, I find myself standing with the table between us. He begins circling me like prey.
“Please don’t do this, Harry.” I plead.
He manages to launch himself over the table, pushing me into the wall hard and grabbing my throat. I clutch onto his wrist, digging in my nails as he applies too much pressure, restricting my airway immediately.
“I said no. Why won’t you ever learn?” He snarls.
Pushing me to the floor, I land hard while he straddles me. As his belt comes flying down on me, releasing his hand, I throw my own up in defense again. I manage to stop a strike to the face, but the second strike to my arm causes me to cry out. Managing to kick out of his grasp and turning away. I begin to crawl, my nails clawing into the carpet, pulling myself away. My foot connects with his face as he flies onto his back. A satisfying crunch is heard. When his hands fly to his face and he drops the belt onto the floor.
“You fucking cunt!” He screams at me.
Droplets of blood dripping from his nose, as he shakes with uncontrollable anger.
Pulling myself up to the breakfast bar, lifting the vase idly placed onto the side, I weakly throw it, hoping he’ll stop the attack. He laughs maniacally when it goes over his shoulder, shattering into pieces. Harry’s face goes almost blank and void of any expression. Watching me try to keep myself upright and reach for the breakfast bar again, I manage to pull myself to my feet. As I turn around, his hand reaches my throat again, and his body presses firmly into mine. Tears prick my eyes as I struggle to breathe. My vision becomes blurred as he applies more pressure, and he forces me to lean back.
My eyes widen as my fingers wrap around something solid. With one final push, I manage to swing it at Harry. A sickening thud bounces off his skull as we both fall to the floor. Coughing, I manage to push myself away from him. My back hits the bar again, taking in the scene before me. The pain that wracks my body from old injuries and new, leaves me in agony and crippled with fear.
Harry lays on the floor face down as tiny droplets of blood pour from the open wound on the side of his head. My hand flies to my mouth as thick tears blur my vision and fall from my eyes.
Oh god, have I killed him?
My mind races, my heart is pounding in my chest. Pulling my knees to my chest, I take deep breaths as I try to work out what the fuck I should do. Slowly reaching out my shaky right hand, I place two fingers on his neck. Closing my eyes and concentrating for a couple of moments, I fall back against the bar when I feel a pulse.
Oh, thank fuck.
Running my trembling hand through my hair, I pull myself up and steady myself. Wasting no time, I pick up the bottle and rush to the sink, rinsing off the blood and placing it back where it was. Removing all trace of me from that room, I glance around again as Harry lays on the floor out cold.
Let’s hope he’s too fucked up to realize I hit him.
Reaching for my suitcase, I slam the hotel room door behind me as I escape to New York, with no intention of looking back.
Later that afternoon…
Stepping off the flight, the late-afternoon autumn wind causes me to shiver. Pulling my sleeves down, I try to cover my arms as the goosebumps rise.
Definitely different from the desert heat in Las Vegas.
I shudder while going through the airport, constantly checking my surroundings as I reach the luggage carousel. My heart skips a beat each time someone even looks at me. Keeping my head low, I finally spot my suitcase.
I spent most of the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, clutching onto the door handle for dear life as the driver clearly had a fucking death wish. I don”t wait for a valet when the taxi pulls up outside the taxi rank. Pushing the door open, I take a deep breath of fresh air and stand on shaky legs.
At the check-in desk, I catch the young receptionist eyeing me curiously, with almost a smugness behind her fake smile. Feeling self-conscious, I catch myself studying my outfit. I suppose it wasn’t New York chic, but I doubt this little bitch has had to flee a second attack from her shithead ex.
“Can I help you miss?”
“My name is Summer Harper; I have a reservation for two nights.”
She nods, but I feel my petty side rearing its ugly head. As she taps away, I decide to go for an upgrade.
“I may be here slightly longer than anticipated. Please could I get a suite if there is one available?” I force a smile, which the receptionist matches.
“Oh, I’m sorry. The only suite available is the Venus Suite, that’s two thousand dollars per night.” Her drippy sarcastic tone gets even more patronizing.
Taking my credit card from my purse, I slap it down on the desk, sliding it over to her.
“That’s fine.”
Blinking a couple of times, she now appears flustered. As though she thought I would just waltz up to the hotel reception desk, ask for a suite, and not have the means to pay for it?
Fucking idiot.
“I’ll take this from here Jen.” A woman with dark auburn wavy hair and kind smile approaches.
The young girl I now know to be Jen looks visibly embarrassed, her neck almost snaps when she turns in the direction of the other women. Appearing flustered, she does eventually move from the desk and I eye the name tag.
Pamela.
Pamela takes over, she studies me for a moment, a sadness falls over her face for a brief second, but it’s only fleeting. If I wasn’t paying attention, I would have missed it.
Hesitating, she offers me the card machine to confirm my numbers. Hitting enter, I pass the machine back to her.
Jen stands behind Pamela, observing the situation. Her shoulders seem to visibly sag as the machine states the payment was accepted.
What the fuck is her problem?
Managing to gain some composure, I look between the two women confused, the entire situation from Jen wreaks of nasty unprofessionalism and outright bitchy behaviour.
Pamela smiles and slides a key card over the desk to me.
“Here’s your card. The elevators are down the hall slightly and to the right. You’ll be on the top floor. Will any guests be joining you?”
As I hear those words, I turn to her. My eyes widen as an overwhelming wave of fear passes through me, and I feel the sweat gathering at my hairline. She hesitates slightly as I begin to fumble my words. Shaking my head frantically in response, her demeanor changes instantly. She quietly nods, jots something down on a piece of paper, and slides it over to me along with my key card.
Politely nodding, she proceeds to busy herself at her desk, turning to Jen, I assume to reprimand her for her bad attitude. Stepping toward the bank of elevators, I admire the warm marble and subtle gold details while patiently waiting for the elevator to open. As it does, I enter. Pressing the button for the top floor. The lift rises, allowing me to lean back onto the wall. Looking down at my hands, I begin to read the note passed to me by the receptionist. I feel tears well in my eyes as I read the words scrawled.
Your reservation is under Amy Jones. If you need anything, call reception and ask for Pamela.
Shaking my head, I kick myself for acting like a bitch during the whole situation. The elevator doors eventually open, moving into the hall and placing the keycard against the handle, I step inside and observe the large suite. Dropping my case down and shutting the door behind me, I kick off my shoes and sigh when my feet sink into the soft plush carpet.