Pulling up now. Where are you?
I fire back a reply.
East tower. 7th floor.
The next elevator takes forever to arrive. Every second feels like an eternity while that girl is trapped with those bastards. When the doors finally open, I jam the button for the seventh floor and watch the numbers crawl upward.
The hallway is eerily quiet when I step out. Thick carpet muffles my footsteps as I move down the corridor, listening for any sound that might give away their location. Most of the doors are closed, the guests out enjoying their vacation in blissful ignorance of what's happening just feet away.
Then I hear it—a muffled thump, followed by a man's voice saying something I can't quite make out. Room 724. I pressmy ear to the door, straining to hear more. The woman's voice comes through the thin wall, slurred and confused.
“Where...where am I?”
“Just relax. Everything's going to be fine.”
The same patronizing tone I've heard a thousand times from predators who think they're entitled to whatever they want. My hands clench into fists.
Another voice, this one rougher, “She's fighting it. Give her more.”
“You sure? She's already pretty out of it.”
“I'm not paying for a fucking corpse, man. Just enough to keep her compliant. You know the boss hates it when they fight back during transport.”
My vision narrows to a pinpoint of rage. I know exactly what these fuckers are planning. Without thinking, I step back and kick the door with everything I've got. The wood splinters around the lock, the door flying inward with a crash that echoes down the hallway.
The scene before me freezes. Blue Button-Down stands by a small table, a syringe in his hand. Black Polo has the girl pinned to the bed, her dress hiked up around her thighs, her eyes unfocused and terrified. Both men stare at me in shock.
“What the fu?—”
I don't let him finish. I lunge for Blue Button-Down first, grabbing his wrist and slamming it against the wall until the syringe drops from his fingers. His face contorts in pain and surprise as I drive my fist into his stomach, doubling him over.
Black Polo recovers from his shock, releasing the girl and charging at me like a bull. I sidestep, letting his momentum carry him past me, then grab the back of his shirt and slam his face into the wall. The impact leaves a smear of blood on the cream-colored paint.
“Who the fuck are you?” he spits, blood streaming from his nose.
I don't answer. Words aren't necessary when my fists can do the talking. I drag him back by his collar and drive my knee into his ribs, feeling something crack under the impact. He howls, the sound cutting off abruptly when my elbow connects with his jaw.
Blue Button-Down scrambles for the door, but I catch him by the ankle, yanking him backward. He crashes to the floor, head bouncing off the carpet with a dull thud. I flip him over, pinning him across his chest.
“Wait, wait!” he chokes out. “We don't know you, man! This isn't?—”
My fist silences him. Blood sprays from his split lip, speckling my knuckles. “You know a woman named Charlotte?” I growl, leaning close enough to smell his fear.
Confusion flickers across his face. “Who?”
I hit him again, harder this time. “Don't fucking lie to me. You and your buddy drugged her two nights ago.”
“I swear to God, I don't know what you're talking about! We've never?—”
The bathroom door bursts open, and a third man stumbles out, still zipping up his pants. He freezes at the scene—his friends bleeding on the floor, me standing over them like the angel of fucking death, the girl curled up on the bed, silent and shaking.
His hand twitches toward something tucked behind his back. Mistake.
I launch myself across the room, slamming into him before he can draw. We crash into the bathroom doorframe, his head cracking against the wood with a sickening thud. The weapon—a compact pistol—clatters to the tile as he crumples.
I scoop it up before he can even blink and jam it under his chin.
“Three of you,” I snarl, hauling him up by the collar. “Perfect fucking odds.”
