The Cranford Inn was a step up from the sleep-and-fuck I had stayed in when first exploring Navesink Bank, but not by much. The tan wallpaper and drapes did match the hideous black and brown comforter, but said wallpaper was peeling in places and the drapes had moth holes, and the comforter looked like it hadn't seen a real thorough cleaning in far too long. Stripping it off the bed, I inspected the sheets that looked and, what's more, smelled like they had been in a washing machine in the recent past. The bath and toilet were inside a separate small room with worn tile and bad lighting, but the actual sink and vanity was situated in the main room just inside the door to the hall.
It wasn't anything special, but it was relatively clean and I didn't find any bugs during my inspection.
I reached for the phone and dialed K's cell, but it didn't ring. It went right to the machine, the sound of the robotic voice sending a chill through me. K always answered, always. He had to have gotten my message from his secretary earlier. Unless she hadn't been able to get in touch with him either. What if Viktor or Ruslan had found him? Had found out about him hiding me? It was absolutely a possibility. And while I texted him every day as per our agreement, I didn't get responses back. I didn't expect them. I only talked to him verbally every other day. I had spoken to him the night before. Anything could have happened in that span of time. If Viktor and Ruslan got to him and...
"You need to calm down," I told myself, sitting down on the foot of the bed and thinking about what K had told me once. "If I can't get in touch with K for twenty-four hours, I need to call Xander Rhodes and ask to speak to his woman, Ellie. If something is wrong, she will help point me in a new direction. I'm not alone." The repeating of the plan always helped, always soothed over the frayed edges.
I kicked out of my boots and curled up in bed, taking a deep breath and watching the city lights through the cracked window dressings.
I tried, and failed, to not think about Repo.
Earlier that morning, I had gotten up to do my shift, walking out into the great room to be snagged around the waist from behind, a hand clamping over my mouth as I was lifted off my feet. I was dragged into the bathroom where Repo turned me and crushed me up against the wall, his lips sealing in the scream I had prepared. And the fear mingled with the desire I always felt around Repo, created a combination that was downright narcotic.
And then I got high off Repo.
There was no other way to explain it.
When we were done and I reached for my clothes, Repo slapped my hands away, taking over the task of dressing me, his fingers lingering over my already overly-sensitive skin in a gentle, but somehow possessive way that made me fight the irrational urge to throw myself into his arms when he was finally done.
"Some day," he said, chucking me under the chin gently with his fist to lighten the suddenly heavy mood between us, "I will be able to take you out and show you off."
There was no denying the little squeezing in my heart at that statement. "Show me off?" I asked with a head shake like he was being ridiculous.
"Hot as shit and you don't even know it," he said, shaking his head right back at me like I was the crazy one when anyone with eyes could see he was the real prize between us. But still, it was nice that he thought it was the other way around. Even if that made him mildly delusional. "Get your ass to work, probie," he'd ordered, but his voice was smooth and sexy and he gentled the demand with a long, wet, toe-tingling kiss before pulling the door open and shooing me out.
The night before when I pulled the overnight instead of Duke or Renny, a rare honor that I felt a little proud of landing even though the rational part of me knew I only got it because Repo wanted time alone with me, meaning he would be there to keep an eye as well, he surprised me by bringing me up onto the roof again where he had a small feast set up for us.
When I turned back at him with big eyes, his hands were tucked into his front pockets, his shoulders slumped forward, looking both sheepish and maybe a little insecure. "You're always stuck doing the cooking. Figured it'd be nice for you to be able to eat something you didn't have to make for a change," he'd told me and I'd felt the heart-squeezing thing then too.