Page 25 of The Monster of Hotel No. 7
He should’ve listened to me though, the entire ride up the elevator after he said he wanted us to work our way from the penthouse suites down. We searched five rooms before the one we found Sullen inside of and all the while, I told Cosmo to let me do the talking.
He was silent, but I assumed he agreed.
If he didn’t want to get hit in the head, he should’ve gone with my assumption.
As we reach the closed door to the suite, I have to let go of Sullen’s hand and when I start to, I feel him grip me tighter for a heartbeat of time.
My pulse quickens and a smile curves my lips but now that I’m focused on the door, I don’t look at him. I flip the automatic lock, the one Cosmo used a universal keycard to unlock, and I pull down on the silver handle and yank open the door.
Cold air greets me, along with the deadening quiet of the corridor, glittering in hues of silver and blue with a black carpet runner over marble flooring. I clench my fingers around the flashlight—I decided to keep it since it made a pretty good weapon—and press my palm to the door to keep it open for Sullen. I dart my gaze to the left, the right, seeing nothing but stillness and hearing only the torrential rains dropping over Alexandria.
“I assume we’re going down?” I ask quietly, turning to look over my shoulder.
Sullen is there, the door propped open with his elbow, and I drop my hand from the wooden surface as my eyes hold his and for a moment, I’m caught.
The little sliver of amber in his deep brown irises looks unnatural in a way, like a bright crescent drawn into a digital painting. His complexion is a warm ivory tone, but the sunken circles beneath his eyes appear nearly gray, skin dipped in. He has longer lashes than me, and I take some pride in mine. He’s unusually stunning and I’ve always thought so.
I wonder if he has any idea.
“Yes,” he answers me, and he looks away a little when he does. He seems different, less sure of himself now that I’m not on the table. Now that I’m not…drugged.
For a second, I wonder if I should have listened to Cosmo. Sullencouldhave done anything he wanted to me. I think of his mouth on my nipple and I guess he kind of did and maybe I should loathe him for it but I don’t. If it had been a different circumstance, I would have welcomed it, even, being delirious and at his whim.
I blink, trying to focus on what matters right now.
If Mads or my parents or Isa’s find him, they won’t let him go and I can’t hit all of them with a flashlight.
“Okay. We’ll take the stairwell. We should be able to hear anyone coming before they’re on us there. Is that okay?”
He blinks slowly and says, “Yes,” in the same tone he said it the first time.
“How far are we going?”
He lifts his eyes to mine. “All the way. Back to… Septem.”
All the way.
My mouth feels dry as I think of not being able to move my limbs. But the thing is, I don’t feel stupid about trusting him. I am not terrified of him, at least not this second. Perhaps because of the dream-like quality of the entire experience, or how I ended up clothed and fine after it. But I don’t berate myself over saying, “It’ll be hard to get there, I’m sure it’s guarded. I have an idea, though. Is there somewhere to hide, inside Septem?”Yeah, the murder room with the rabbit corpse, Karia.I try not to think of its pink eyes as I wait for his answer.
“Yes,” he finally says, watching me in a way that feels like an examination.
“Okay,” I reply. “I’m trusting you.” But I don’t wait to see if I should regret that fact already.
We both walk out into the long corridor, doors set apart every few feet for the suites here. Briefly, for one wild second, I think of the pool on the roof and as he comes to walk beside me, his shoulder at my eye-level, I tip my head up and he glances at me as we continue moving to the end of the hall, where the stairs are.
“Do you swim?” I ask casually, trying to bite my lip to stop from smiling. Everything about this moment is slightly surreal despite my fear; Cosmo on the floor, Writhe crawling the hotel; me, beside Sullen Rule.
He lifts one dark brow, and I swear I see the ghost of a grin on his plush lips, dry from lack of water or fear or both. But he doesn’t fully smile, and I decide I’m going to get him to do it somehow, eventually.
“I’ve never been in a pool.”
“What about the ocean?”
He shakes his head once, facing away from me, and I trace the line of his cheekbones, the severity of his jaw, the way his lips are pushed out naturally.
“The bathtub? Ever swim in there?”
He flinches. It’s barely perceptible, but I see his shoulders stiffen and watch as his scarred hands curl into fists. There are what looks like cigarette burns over the top, veins running rigid beneath it, and I see other marks like lacerations. His nails are hidden, even his thumb is tucked into his fist.
