“We need...a room.” I keep my voice low and smooth as I wrap my arm around her waist. Her lips tighten at my touch, and I hope he doesn’t notice that she clearly isn’t here by choice. I don’t need another death on my hands so soon.
A look of understanding washes across the man’s face, and heat flushes his cheeks almost as much as it does hers. “Oh,thatkind of room.” He swivels his head to look toward the back room. “Eighty dollars cash will do it,” he says with a flirty smile. His eyes travel down her body and overflow with hunger, and I’m tempted to gouge them out and give him something to eat that isn’t her.
I clear my throat. When Selena doesn’t produce her wallet, I pinch her side again. She lets out a small squeak and pulls cash from her purse.
The man cocks his head. “You okay, miss?”
I squeeze her waist closer to mine.
She flashes the man a disingenuous grin. “Yes, just nervous. It’s my first time here.”
“Hopefully not the last,” he says with a gross smile.
I dig my nails into her side. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but he’s being a pig. In the broad scheme of things, I’m not much better, but at least I’m subtle about taking a moment to check out her curves.
When she brushes her dark hair back and tucks a few strands behind her ear, I notice a purplish pink hue on her newly exposed neck. Her lips are tight, and her jaw is tense. She looks so uncomfortable, which I guess is a normal response for normal people when they’ve been taken against their will.
The rain continues pelting the blacktop as we exit the lobby. There’s an ominous silence beneath its gentle patter. A heavy quiet beneath the rain. She braces herself against the weather and hurries along, her eyes darting from one numbered door to the next, until she stops at our room for the night. 306. The six is missing, but it clearly existed at some point. I can tell by the grimy outline that remains. I unlock the door and let her inside.
Her fingers move to cover her nose, and I can’t blame her. A fragrant bouquet of stale piss greets us, and the sheets look like they’ve been run through the same washing machine for the last ten years. The threadbare comforter has likely been there since 1963, but the television on the warped dresser looks like a newer model. The stains on the carpet bridge the gap between decades, having accumulated over the many years since this shithole was built. A roach scuttles along the baseboard. It pauses and seems to assess Selena with the same horror displayed in her rich brown eyes.
By the look on her face and the curl of her lip, she’s never been in a motel room like this. I flop down on the scratchy comforter covered in horrifying floral patterns. No matter what kind of bed it is, it has to be better than the one in my cell. The mattress releases a loud squeal as I scoot back and lean against the headboard.
“What’s wrong, rabbit? Not up to your standards?” I ask, but I already know. This girl has never spent a night in less than a three star, I’m certain of that. If she’s really roughing it, she might have found herself in a two, but definitely not this. I’m not even sure you can give a single star to a place like this.
She sighs, slips off her jacket, and hangs it on a hook. The metal rips from the wall and drops her expensive blazer onto the filthy floor. She picks up her beloved haute couture piece with her trembling hand and holds it away from herself as if she’ll catch a disease from simply looking at it. “Disgusting,” she whispers.
“Fancy little show bunny,” I say with a laugh.
Her eyes shoot to me and narrow. “Fuck you.” As she spits out the words, her brows furrow in surprise at her outburst. It’s clearly been pent up in her throat for a while now. Her frustration makes me hard in an instant. God, she looks cute when she’s mad.
I adjust the front of my pants. I don’t want her to see me hard, because if she gets scared...like that...I won’t be able to stop myself from doing something I willnotregret. I’m trying to behave around her, but behaving has never been my strong suit, as my record has shown. I’m not even sure why I’m trying to be good. Why does it matter?
I had fucked-up parents—a doped-up whore for a mother and an absentee sperm donor for a father. I may not have known him, but if he fucked my mother, he was probably fucked-up, too. I was in and out of the system since I could walk. I’ve never known anything but pain.
And I’ve inflicted nothing but pain.
She walks into the bathroom and squeals at something in there. I get up to see what she’s fussing about and spot a used condom lying across the counter. I’ll give her a pass on this one. It’s pretty fucking gross, but I’ve also seen a man’s intestines lying on a prison sink, so...Actually, it looks eerily similar, but instead of being filled with come, the intestines were filled with blood.
She backs into my chest, flailing the moment my body stops her motion. With a snared panic, she leaps away because going forward means confronting the menacing condom. Her eyes dart from the bathroom to me and back, as if she’s trying to figure out which is more repulsive. I hook an arm around her waist to push her aside, and she jolts.
“Relax,” I whisper. “Now you’re hopping like an actual rabbit.” I push past her and grip the thin edge of the toilet paper between my fingers. The rusty holder squeaks in protest as I pull. Once I’ve gotten enough to create a barrier for my fingers, I push the condom into the garbage. “All better,” I say with a shake of my head as I walk away from her.
The stunned expression remains on her face. I’ve seen much worse shit than that in prison, and it will take more than a little condom to get me worked up.
She exits the bathroom like a surgeon who just scrubbed in, avoiding all contact with her surroundings. I rub the bridge of my nose. I’m exhausted. She has to be, too.
Even looking as weathered as she does, she still looks out of place. Like a rose growing in the middle of a landfill. Beautiful, but surrounded by trash. She perches on the rickety chair as I grab my pistol from behind my back and move it to my hip before getting into bed and drawing the stiff covers over myself. She folds her arms defiantly across her chest.
“Come on.” I lift the blanket on the other side of the queen mattress and motion to her. I fold the blanket over, hoping she doesn’t notice the clear come stain smack dab in the middle of one of the flower patterns, as if whoever did it aimed right for it.
She snaps her attention to me, her spine straightening until she looks twice her height. “No way,” she says with a shake of her head.
“I didn’t ask you. It’s not a question.” I raise my voice. “How else will I know if you try to leave?”
She scoffs.
“It can be hunting season if you’d like, little rabbit.” I reach for the gun on my hip, but I don’t need to draw it.