“Go out front and keep an eye on her? Make sure she's not recognized. I'll only be a minute.”
“You got it,” he chirps, before setting down his clipboard and heading out to the front.
I wait a few minutes, ensuring he isn't around, then I pull out my phone and get to work. Within a minute, I'm calling the first hotel.
“Thank you for calling the Milton Hotels. How may I help you?” a woman greets, her voice high-pitched.
“I'd like to book every available room for the night.”
There's a pause. “I-I'm sorry, you said all available rooms?”
“Yes, please. Every single room. Until you're fully booked and don't have a single fucking one to spare.”
“Uhm, okay. Sure.”
Once that's done, I proceed to call every hotel within a thirty-mile radius and book them out, too.
Molly
Nine Years Ago
2013
“Do you have a computer I can use to find a hotel?” I ask, tapping my fingers against the counter nervously. Cage just returned from the back, and anxiety is gnawing at my stomach.
This entire situation is so far out of my depth, and I feel a little sick if I analyze it too deeply.
So easily, I could be walking into another wolf's den. I'm not sure if escaping human trafficking has made me cautious or reckless at this point. Everything I do feels like my life is on the line, and I'm not sure if I'll live long enough to know peace.
“Silas will book the room for you and get it taken care of,” Cage offers.
His employee doesn't waste another second and pulls out his phone, googling nearby hotels.
“Right. Thanks,” I mumble .
“Do you need anything in the meantime? Water? Food?”
I blink. Food has been more of a luxury than a necessity, and I've gotten good at ignoring the hunger pangs. For as long as I can remember, it’s always been a fight to fuel my body. And I don't know if I've ever been offered food and water in all my twenty-five years of life.
“Uh, I guess water would be nice,” I say, my cheeks burning.
“Sure, thanks,” Silas mutters on the phone before hanging up, his brow pinched. “That’s the second hotel I’ve called that is completely booked.”
Cage glances at him. “Keep trying. I’m sure there’s at least one that has an available room.” Then, his stare returns to mine. “It’s about dinnertime for us anyway. We’re open for another hour, and I suppose it’s not smart to take you out in public, so I can order a pizza if you’d like?”
My lips part, but I have no words. I’m not sure why, but it’s embarrassing that he wants to feed me. I know I’m malnourished—but I guess I don’t like that it’s so obvious.
However, I’m too hungry to turn it down.
“Sure. That’d be nice. Thank you.”
“What toppings do you like on your pizza?”
I flush hotter and avoid eye contact, deciding to settle my gaze on my chipped nails. “I’ve never had pizza before, so I don’t really know. I guess just cheese is fine.”
When I do find the courage to flick a glance in his direction, I’m almost impressed by how easily he schools his expression. He doesn’t gape at me like I’d expected. Instead, a sly grin curls his lips .
“Then let me be the one to introduce you to the best thing you'll ever eat in your life. I’ll get a supreme, maybe a Hawaiian if you’re the type to like pineapple on your pizza—huge debate in the world, by the way—and of course, a plain cheese and a pepperoni just in case.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my skull as he goes on. “Oh my God, no. That is so much food! You really don’t have to do th—”
He leans heavily on the counter across from me, cutting off whatever the hell I was going to say. He peers up at me with a challenging expression, but what has me tongue-tied is the raw animalistic energy that radiates from him. I don’t know if he’s even aware of it, yet it sets me on fucking fire anyway.
“I know I don’t have to. But I like to eat,” he drawls lazily.
My chest tightens, and a swarm of butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t sound like he’s declaring his affection for consuming food at this moment.
It feels as if a sharp, pointed claw is poised against the inside of my throat, and it slowly drags down my chest, into my stomach, and between my thighs, leaving a hot trail in its wake.
I’m tempted to make some corny joke about being out of practice with eating, though I know how to swallow. Except I don’t have the confidence to say something like that. Nor am I sure if I’d even want to.