Page 13 of Saviour
“Are you okay, miss?” the old man questions, looking ten seconds away from a heart attack, but he’ll have to get in line as I’m only five seconds away from one.
“Yes, I just really need some air. There’s no gas leak. I was mistaken. I just really need air, please.” I don’t want to worry the man further, thinking the building’s going to blow with a gas leak, but I also just really need to get out of here.
The old man walks me to the lift, descends down with me, and as soon as the doors open, I breathe out a quick thanks and run, not looking back.
The dial tone is still as loud and boring as ever on my sixth attempt to call Rori back today. It’s been about four hours since I last rang and I just wanted to check in, see if she’s okay, and let her know I wouldn’t be long.
Hearing the dial tone the first time, I didn’t think much of it, but now I’m on the seventh attempt to reach her and it’s still nothing but a noise, unable to connect through, so I start to worry.
Maybe she’s on the phone? But she doesn’t seem like the type of person who has anybody to call. And who has a four-hour call anyway?
I look at the clock on the wall and see it’s almost five. My meeting with Emerson is in ten minutes and even though I know I need to find King, this is nagging at me more.
Fuck, when did I become the guy who puts a girl before his blood?
Emerson lives in the Second District at no other than Kennedy Harlow’s house. Kennedy Harlow, the leader of the Second District, is just as snaky and untrustworthy as Carlo Rhivers. You can’t trust them as far as you can throw them. And unfortunately for Emerson, when his father died, who happened to be a business partner of Harlow’s, he was left an orphan and Kennedy took him under his wing and has been using him ever since to become one of his ‘soldiers’.
Fortunately for me, I bumped into Emerson around eleven months ago when he drove Kennedy here for a meeting. We quickly discovered we both hate the men we’re forced to live under and formed some sort of alliance. Even King doesn’t know about my friendship with Emerson. I’m not sure he’d be too chuffed with the idea considering his obsession with the Second District leader's daughter, and Emerson happens to be her bodyguard of sorts.
To cut a long story short, Emerson feeds me any information he deems important or suspicious, and he thinks he might have something on King’s whereabouts. But this goddamn girl is clouding my judgement, and right now, all I care about is making sure she’s okay.
After only a second hesitation longer, I throw on my jacket and rush from the room, jumping behind the wheel of King’s black Cadillac and speeding down the driveway. Using the car's Bluetooth, I pull up Emerson’s name and press call.
The traffic is busy due to it being almost rush hour, and my leg bounces uncontrollably in a nervous tic.
After what seems like minutes, Emerson finally picks up.
“Dax, my man, I’m just walking into the building.”
“I need to cancel. Something urgent has come up,” I rush out, just as I round the corner and see the tatty hotel at the end of the road.
“Come on, man, this is the second time you’ve cancelled on me. I don’t have ti—”
“Goddamn it, Emerson, I haven’t got fucking time. Something urgent has come up. Now let me fucking deal with it!” I shout through the car.
“Christ, all right, man. But the next time you decide you wanna see me and find out where your fucking cousin is, you can come to me. You know how hard it is for me to sneak out of there, you fucker.”
I sigh because I know he’s right.
“All right, Em, I’m sorry. I gotta go. I'll call you later.”
I pull the car up onto the curb right outside the hotel, not even caring that I'm on double yellows and parked halfway over the pavement. Who the fuck’s gonna givemea fine, anyway?
Jumping out, I slam the door shut and rush into the building, straight into the lift, scanning my fingerprint super fast, praying that my sweaty palms won't make a difference.
The lift ride seems slow and I’m just about to punch my fist through the wall when the doors open and I practically run into the doorway of my suite, fumbling about once again with my fingerprint.
The door opens and instantly I know she’s gone.
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
Walking inside slowly, trying to gauge anything off, I head towards the room she slept in when I notice the phone dangling by its cord against the wall. That explains why I kept getting the dial tone.
Lifting it up, I put it to my ear, but the same noise that was haunting me earlier plays out.
Hanging the phone back on the hook, I walk into her bedroom and see my black T-shirt thrown on the unmade bed and even though I know she isn’t here, I check the whole apartment just in case.
Leaving the room, I approach the receptionist and ask if she knows where my guest has gone, but she shakes her head, claiming she only started her shift an hour ago and nothing has happened since then.
