Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be on the street in this neighborhood.
“Sorry, do you know if there are any, uh, motels around here?” I asked.
He let out a long-suffering sigh, reaching for his cell phone, and typing with one hand as he kept driving, letting the meter run.
“Yeah. One around the corner. Pet-friendly,” he added as he tossed his phone.
“Perfect. Thank you,” I said, even if I was inwardly cringing at the idea of a motel I hadn’t researched myself to make sure there weren’t bed bugs or bad reviews about filth.
But, really, what other choice did I have? I would run out of money sooner or later with the meter just ticking away.
The driver hit it as soon as we pulled up to the motel, saving me a few bucks as I handed him the hundred, thanked him, and made my way toward the seedy-looking motel.
It was the kind you would find on the side of a highway, a place people went to have affairs, or truckers crashed when they didn’t want to sleep in their trucks.
Not one of the chain ones, and I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse for me as I made my way to the office that was detached from the rest of the building.
“Yeah, I feel you, buddy,” I said as Storm seemed to tense as I pulled open the door to the dated office, finding a man sitting behind the desk, absorbed in something on his phone, not even looking up as the door chimed.
“It’s sixty-five for the night,” he said.
“Okay,” I agreed.
And I guess he’d been expecting a man.
Because he damn near dropped his phone in his surprise.
My stomach felt sour and my back tensed at the way his gaze moved over me, head to toe, then back up again, lingering places I most definitely didn’t want him looking and thinking about.
“Just you?” he asked, making me wonder if there would be furniture to place in front of the door, if this man had a universal key to all the doors in this place.
“No,” I said immediately. “My boyfriend is joining us later,” I told him, placing my hand on Storm whose instincts for protection were displaying themselves with his tense posture and the slightest lift to his hackles.
He was too small still to be truly intimidating.
But he was better than nothing.
And he had proved willing to bite people to protect me already.
“‘Course he is,” the manager said, sounding unconvinced. “Like I said, it’s sixty-five for the night.”
“Right. No problem,” I said. “Is cash okay?”
“It’s king,” he said, and I barely resisted my urge to roll my eyes. “Got an ID?”
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
Either accustomed to my lack of response, or just plain opportunistic, he shrugged. “Hundred for no ID.”
“Fine,” I ground out, grabbing the cash, and passing it to him.
“Nice doing business with you,” he said, reaching for a key. An old-fashioned key, not a card. He passed it toward me, but held onto it as I reached for it. “You’ll sleep real good knowing I’m the only person in the world with a key to that room.”
Yeah, right.
I was glad he didn’t have my name and ID.
Because I would rip the entire room apart to block the doors and windows if I needed to.
“Thanks,” I said, yanking it from his grip.
“All the way at the end,” he called. “Room Twelve.”
The number was on the chipped yellow plastic tag on the key.
I gave him a nod, then rushed out of the office, practically dragging Storm with me past all the other doors, mentally picturing them opening, arms reaching out, and dragging me inside.
But we made it to the room that was at the end of the L-shaped motel.
I stabbed the key into the lock, and let myself inside, not letting go of the leash until I glanced in the closet and the bathroom.
Only then did I let him free, and lock the door.
It was… not pleasant.
I wasn’t expecting much for such a low—for the ID fee—cost of the room.
But it was heinously stuck in decades past with its leaf-printed bedspread in shades of brown, gold, and green.
The laminate coating on the nightstands and dressers were chipped, peeling, and carved with various names and sayings.
The puke green carpet might have actually had a pile at some time, but decades of foot traffic had crushed it to almost completely flat.
The bathroom wasn’t much better, with moldy grout and a shower curtain that had likely never been washed.
This would be a ‘hover over the seat’ if I needed to pee kind of place.
And I damn sure wouldn’t be sitting on that bed.
There was a wooden chair near the bolted-down dome TV, though, that would be safe enough.
I felt bad for Storm when I dragged two of the nightstand drawers out, and placed them on the bed, so he couldn’t climb on like he clearly wanted to.