Page 2 of Endless Love

But I need to try to get out of here. As far as I know, there’s no way to lock a hotel room door from the inside to prevent someone getting out?—

I try the door handle, and it doesn’t budge. I stare at it for a long moment, trying to figure out how that’s possible. There’s something next to the door, a small black box?—

Close to frantic now, I dig at the side of it with my nails, trying to pry it off. It won’t come loose, and I feel my pulse racing faster, my eyes starting to burn with frustrated tears as I yank at the door handle again. Short of pounding on the door with my fists and screaming, I don’t know what else to do.

Pivoting, I look towards the window.How high up are we?I cross the room as quickly as I can, the carpet muffling my footsteps, and lean up against the window, looking down.

We’re on at least the second floor, maybe higher. There’s nothing beneath the window but asphalt. If I could get the window open, I wouldn’t make it out of that fall unscathed. I’d probably hurt myself badly enough that I wouldn’t be able to get help before he got to me again—or even if someone saw me, I might hurt myself badly enough that it wouldn’t be worth it.

I want to get out of here. I don’t want to end up paralyzed or permanently damaged doing it.

What do people do in situations like this?I don’t know. I don’t watch true crime or read the kind of books that would tell me the answer to that. I’m trapped, and the sense of panic builds until my thoughts feel foggy, that pounding, dull pain at the back of my head only getting worse?—

The sound of the shower switches off.

Fuck. I swallow hard, spinning to face the bathroom door, my hands gripping the windowsill behind me as I look frantically around for something to use as a weapon. I don’t want to be defenseless. I don’t want?—

The door opens, and I brace myself, ready to scream.

My mouth drops open, but no sound comes out as I see him standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

Ivan.

2

CHARLOTTE

“Wha—what’s going on?”

I stammer as I stare at Ivan, confusion blocking out every other thought. I know what I saw right before I was knocked out—a man in black clothing, wearing the same mask that Venom was wearing when he sent me those pictures online. I’d expected to see a stranger come out of the bathroom, but instead, Ivan’s all-too-familiar frame is filling the doorway, distracting me for more reasons than one. He looks like a chiseled statue, all smooth pale skin overlaid with those swirls of dark ink, all the way down to where the towel is hanging indecently off of his hip bones, showing the deep lines on either side, and the strip of dark blond hair in the center just below his navel.

It’s worse because I know what’s under the towel. And I know just how good it feels.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, trying not to think about how close to naked he is or how there’s a perfectly good bed right in between him and me. “I was—you weren’t?—”

Ivan swallows hard. I see his throat move, see the sudden uncertainty in his face, and a cold feeling slithers down my spine.

“Ivan.” My voice drops, harder than I’ve ever heard it before, more serious. There’s a faint tremor of fear, still, but I see his eyes widen slightly at the sudden demand in it. “Tell me what’s going on.”

There’s hesitation in his face. I don’t know him completely—we’ve only been on a few dates and slept together once. But I can read it there. He’s holding something back, and I need to know what it is. My hands tighten on the windowsill, my heart beating hard enough that I feel sure he must be able to see my pulse.

“Ivan.”

He clears his throat. “There was a man in your apartment.”

“No shit.” I feel my nails scrape against the paint on the windowsill. “He knocked me out. Why areyouhere?”

“I brought you here.” He lets out a sharp breath. “To keep you safe.”

“Safe? From what? Who? From Venom? The—the man in my apartment?” My cheeks flush suddenly, heating at the idea that I might have to explain to Ivan who that man was and how I knew him. Or why I called himVenom, from his username on the chat site, the only way I can think of to refer to him. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, Ivan and I have never been exclusive, but still?—

It was foolish behavior. It got me here. And the thought of trying to explain all of it to Ivan makes me feel beyond embarrassed.

He presses his lips together, letting out another sharp breath between them. “From him. I got there just in time, Charlotte. I—I got you out of there. But it’s not just him. It’s?—”

“It’swhat?” I shove myself off of the windowsill, some of my fear receding, quickly replaced by frustration that borders on anger. “It’swhat, Ivan? Stop talking in circles. Why am I ina hotel room? Why didn’t you just take me back to your place and call the police, if you got me away from him? And what—” I frown, my thoughts in such a scramble that they’re catching up to what’s going on a little at a time. “What were you doing at my apartment?”

“I—” Ivan rubs his hand across the back of his neck again. “I needed to see you. I understand how that must sound right now, especially after what’s happened. I needed to talk to you, and your door was unlocked. I heard a noise?—”

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