Page 12 of Room One Hundred and Five

“Passage B.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she hums softly.

That is a very light explanation of what just went down. But I can’t find the energy to tell her the full back story about my wanna-be-murderer ex-boyfriend. I just want to get home, take the hottest shower of my life and figure out how fast I can move out of Seattle. I have no idea where I will go, but the Pacific Northwest obviously wasn’t far enough to get away from William. Maybe I’ll try South Africa since the moon is not an option.

I step up to the elevator, but turn just as the doors open. I grab Lavender’s hand.

With the help from the elevator’s light, I can finally see why she has such a unique name. Her irises bounce between light blue and slate gray like my sister’s. If the light catches her just right it appears as if she has purple-colored eyes. I let my mind focus on that and what I’m going to say to help fight back the tears.

“Thank you. Tonight didn’t go as planned but I am still grateful for your help.”

“Don’t let this scare you away, okay. This elevator will take you to the ground level where a taxi is waiting for you already.”

With that I take a couple of steps back and watch her leave the lobby the same way we came through.

Silence surrounds me. There’s not another soul.

All the pent up air tightening my chest leaves on a heavy sigh. My vision blurs as the elevator door slides closed.

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” A burst of pain slides through my chest.

My shoulders droop. Nearly all the strength and sheer willpower holding my knees in place falter. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against the cool steel and just let the tears fall. It takes way too much energy to hold them in.

I’m cursed to stay a virgin forever.

“Don’t cry, beautiful.”

My head jerks up. Shiny metal doors reflect three massive men taking up the entire space behind me.

Four

Stella

Ispin around and my eyes swing high to meet a set of beautiful brown irises rimmed with black thick lashes. The man behind them oozes mystery and raw energy. Like he could command the skies and oceans with the tiniest gesture of his fingers.

The ones to his right and left stand shoulder to shoulder with their friend. All three stare down at me with an odd expression of sorrow written all over their faces. Not for themselves, but for me. A complete stranger. Like it actually pains them to see a woman cry.

All three have neatly combed hair, tuxedos and wear a cloak of darkness around them that has my skin pebbling with goosebumps.

My brain screams caution. But my inner woman notices other details that have my curiosity piqued.

The man with the light blue eyes wears a thick scar from the left side of his lip through to the middle of his bottom lip. Violencehas touched him and by the scars on his knuckles, he’s touched violence right back.

He’s not the only one. The scars on the middle one’s knuckles stand out against his deeply tanned skin. My senses tell me he’s the leader of the trio. All those white puckered scars looked aged and nearly identical to his two other friends’ scars.

Are they street thugs? Boxers? MMA cage fighters? Mafia kingpins? Who the hell knows. Question is, why do I suddenly want to know?

That leaves one other man. The one on my far left. Black ink reaches out from beneath the cuff of his shirt and tuxedo jacket. He’s polished yet rough around the edges. The tall, heavily muscular man silently takes in my shoes, before the heat of his gaze slowly caresses a path up the slope of my calves. But he doesn’t stop when he gets to the hem of my cocktail dress either. His warm, golden gaze that reminds me of amber held up to the sunlight runs along the delicate lines of my tattoo. He seems to like the way the cherry blossoms drape over my bare shoulder and the slope of my breasts before dropping beneath the top border of my dress.

Electricity skates over my senses. It is like ice and fire rotating over every inch of my exposed skin. I can’t describe it any other way.

I pass my tongue over the rim of my bottom lip, catching the middle one’s dark gaze.

“Don’t be scared, little flower. We mean you no harm.”

His voice is thick honey over sun-warmed wood. Soothing and sweet enough to drop my defenses.

“I’m not scared, just a little startled. I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone,” I lie. I'm scared to the core no matter how calming they want to come off.

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