Page 40 of Take Me Under

“I don’t know. I heard loiterers talking. I guess a hotel staff member was found dead.”

Quiet alarm bells began sounding in my head. I recalled the hotel employee who’d gone to lunch but never returned. A trashed room was one thing. I’d been there, and the possibility of being linked to a murder scene brought my presence at the hotel to a whole new level. I would need to get Zeke on the situation immediately to find out what was going on. It didn’t matter if we hadn’t been spotted on camera. There was always the risk of being connected in some other way.

Not wanting to let on that anything was amiss, I brought the conversation back to tomorrow night’s dinner.

“I’ll text you tomorrow afternoon to confirm pick up, but plan to be ready by six.”

“You’re serious about dinner?”

“Very. And I’m even more serious about my offer to fund your project. Thirty days, princess. Think about it. Until then,” I paused just long enough to place a chaste kiss to her lips. “Remember the woman in the flames. You deserve to be her.”

“Anton, I?—”

I turned on my heel and ignored her when she called after me. I hated to walk away, wanting nothing more than to take her to my bed tonight. But that would’ve led to regrets that I didn’t want her to have. She needed space to process what happened here tonight.

Using a hidden path that led to the natural stone wall surrounding Club O, I ducked out of sight. I had no intention of going back into the club. Instead, I headed for my car to go home, opting to call Zeke about what happened at the Midtown rather than discuss it in person. I was still sporting a raging hard on, and walking through a sea of twisting bodies in the club was the last thing I needed to do—not when the object of my desire was still out of reach.

But I’d have Serena soon enough.

For tonight, a shower was calling my name—a very cold one.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Anton

The room is wrong—stretching and shifting like it’s alive. The wallpaper melts, streaks of dark green bleeding into brown, and the air reeks of metal and sweat. She’s lying there, face up, her head lolling to one side, hair sticking to her damp face. Her arm hangs limp as another man climbs on top of her.

“Mom!” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It echoes too loudly, like shouting underwater. No matter how hard I try, my legs won’t move. The threadbare carpet feels like quicksand, pulling me deeper, keeping me rooted in place. I struggle harder, chest burning, heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

I want to go to her, but I can’t. Not with the way Jerry holds me tight. The rough hands on my shoulders are strong as iron. I twist, kick, and scream, but he won’t let go. His face is shadowed and blurred next to mine.

But I can hear him laughing.

His low, raspy chuckle makes my stomach churn.

“Watch,” he hisses, his breath hot and foul against my ear. “This is the life she chose. And this is going to be her fate night after night until you do what I want. Do you understand me, street rat?”

My mother’s chest rises and falls, but too slowly.

Too shallowly.

There’s a needle still buried in her skin.

Her lips are blue.

Her eyes flutter open for a split second, glassy and unfocused, as the man above her pumps his hips ruthlessly. I try not to look, but I can’t block him from my periphery.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to block everything out. But I can still hear.

Jerry’s laugh.

The squeak of the bed.

The stranger’s grunts as he fucks my mother.

A strangled gurgle.

I open my eyes.

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