I answered it. “I’m in the middle of something. Can this wait?”
The blonde cried out again as she sat up.
“Who’s that?” Renee asked.
I watched the blonde wiggle her way to the edge of the bed, wincing with each movement. “No one. I’ll call you back in a minute.”
“She sounds like she’s in pain.”
Renee had a fucking sixth sense. “She is.”
“You don’t sound like you care.”
“That’s because I don’t.”
Silence for a beat. “I hate that, Nitro. You should care. And you should help her.”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “I’m hanging up now, Renee.”
“Call me back.”
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I eyed the blonde. Her tits spilled out of the dress that sat scrunched around her middle. She wore no panties either; her bare pussy was on full display. Blood had dried on her neck and chest. That was in addition to the blood on her face and in her hair.
I’d bet my last dollar she had broken ribs. I’d also bet he’d raped her. I’d noticed cum on her ass and on the back of her dress when I moved her body. She was a fucking mess and I doubted she’d be able to leave without assistance, which presented me with a dilemma. If I left her there, the hotel staff would find her with a dead body. No way was I leaving a witness at the scene of my crime.
I had two options: kill her or take her with me.
By far, the easiest option was to kill her. It was the choice I was leaning towards. The last thing the club needed was to deal with this.
As I made the choice I had to make, she craned her neck so she could look at the dead body of the man who’d assaulted her. She then looked back at me and said, “Thank you.” Her voice was scratchy and she had trouble getting the words out, but her gratitude rang out clear as day.
I stilled.
People didn’t thank me for shit.
Well, except for Renee.
“Who was he to you?” I asked.
She exhaled a long breath. “He murdered my brother.”
My fingers squeezed the gun in my hand.
Itching to shoot.
Her eyes dropped to the gun. “Are you gonna hurry this up?”
You should care.
You should help her.
Fucking Renee.
My chest tightened.
“Fuck,” I muttered as I holstered my gun. “Can you stand?”
“Why?”