Empire of Lies - Whitney G. Page 0,75
noticed when I saw you here last week…” He trails the edge of his nail against the design, slowly circling the silver spiders that hold the clasp. Then he touches the tiny king and queen chess pieces that are etched into both sides of the band.
I stiffen as he saves the best part for last, the part that made me gasp when Michael first showed it to me months ago. It’s the mammoth white diamond that’s perfectly cut and aligned with the tiny red rubies. I never dared to ask how much the ring cost him; I didn’t want to know.
“The designer was found dead in his apartment quite some time ago,” he says, finally letting go of my hand. “All of his beautiful work gone and moved to the black market, or sold to some of the cartels. Interesting that you’ve managed to gain access to such a thing, isn’t it?”
I can’t get a single word to fall from my mouth, and I can feel all the color leaving my face. I’m suddenly regretting being so damn defiant and not following Michael’s instructions.
“On another note, now that I can see you up close and personal, you look familiar,” he says. “Like really familiar. Are you an actress or something?”
“No, I— ” I finally find my voice and stand up. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I need to go find my husband.”
“Me, too.” He smirks. “When’s a good time for you to introduce us? I mean, it’ll be nice to finally see you with someone since you’ve been all alone for these past few weeks.”
“I’d like to meet your husband, too,” his friend says, smiling. “Is he at the golf course right now?”
I swallow, feeling every nerve in my body race in fear, every synapse in my brain begging me to finally run the hell away. Right now.
“You know what?” The first guy smiles. “On a vacation, there’s no such thing as time, is there? I’ll just stop by. Room 1676, right?” He stands up and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few twenties, and then a small, blue booklet. He opens it and sets it in front of me, revealing that it’s my fucking “misplaced” passport that Michael made for me. The one I now know never left the inner pocket of my damn duffle bag.
“I found that in your room the other day,” he says. “You really should be more careful with where you place things like that, if you ever consider leaving this country.”
As if he can tell that he’s rattled me, he takes one final look at my ring and smiles. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Miss.”
His friend picks up the gun and tips his hat at me. Then they walk away, leaving me scared shitless.
The moment they’re out of the bar, I rush toward the back exit and to the front desk. I request an immediate room change, and the bellman eyes me suspiciously when I tell him that I’d rather move my things by myself.
I make it to my former room and start tossing all of my things into the duffle bag.
Right as I’m stuffing Michael’s letter into the side pocket, a loud knock comes to my door.
I stiffen and move to the closet, shutting the panel.
Another knock comes to the door, one that’s a lot louder, and I hold my breath.
Several seconds pass without a sound, but I don’t dare to make a move.
Just count to a million...
By the time I do risk moving, three hours have passed, and my legs are begging for a break.
Slowly stepping out of the closet, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. Across from my suite is the same guy from the bar. He’s leaning against a grey Impala and smoking a cigar while two other guys at his side read a newspaper.
Swallowing, I stare at them for several minutes, and then I move away from the door and hope like hell that they’ll go away soon.
They don’t.
Meredith
Now
Hours later, the alarm clock reads 4:09 a.m., but I can’t bring myself to walk over to the door just yet. My heart is still racing like it’s on acid, and I haven’t been able to sit down for fear that I need to be ready to run.
The adrenaline running through my veins has caused me to sweat so profusely that my sundress is damp, and I have to keep swiping my palms against the mattress.
I wait until the clock reads