Page 3 of Caruso (Vegas Mafia #3)
Chapter Three
Taylor
I t’s been several hours, and my feet are throbbing, and my limbs are screaming with the effort of cleaning up after people who should know better.
I reach my tenth room, the last one for today, just as the sun disappears over the horizon. My heart sinks. Great, I’ll be taking the night bus home, but Joyce’s warning rings loudly in my ears.
Arrive early and leave late, and now I’m aware it wasn’t a request. It was a declaration because I can’t leave until every room has passed the strictest test ready for occupation on a twenty-four-hour basis.
I reach room fifteen-ten and knock loudly on the door.
“Housekeeping.”
I wait the required ten seconds before swiping my card and pushing the door open.
The room is in darkness, and I call out again, “Housekeeping. ”
There is still no answer, so I place my key in the slot, and the light illuminates the space, revealing it’s empty.
I'm starting to think there might have been a mistake; it seems like it's already clean. I glance at my list. There was definitely somebody booked in, but it’s empty, nothing out of place, not even a crease on the bed.
I sense my evening ending earlier than I first anticipated, and as I wander into the room, I check that it’s all as it should be.
I spy the huge king-size bed, its pristine white sheets flat against the mattress, the pillows plump and crease-free, the scatter cushions still in their perfectly plumped V.
No sound greets me as I enter the bathroom, noting the gleaming taps and the towels placed evenly on the rail.
They must not have checked in. Paid for the room and got held up somewhere. It happens, I guess.
Images of my room across town hit me as I picture the small, cramped space I rent in an apartment block that should be condemned.
Rats and cockroaches mix with their human equivalent, and I shiver at the thought of the small, shared bathroom I must barricade myself in before standing under the cold trickle of water that passes as a shower.
It would be so easy to use these facilities—nobody would know. To stand naked under a power shower and enjoy the luxury of hot water hitting me from all angles.
To slip naked between the cool white sheets and indulge in a nap without the fear of someone breaking in and doing the unthinkable. No screams from my neighbors or sirens outside. A movie on the flat-screen TV that is nailed to the wall after calling room service to deliver a feast for a king.
It would be so easy, but the price is too steep. I need this job so badly I can’t risk it all on my first day, so with a sigh, I cast another critical gaze over the bathroom and head back into the room.
Then the lights go out and the room is plunged into darkness.
“Hello!”
I call out, my eyes blinded by the sudden shadows, and as I hear nothing, I wonder if my card has malfunctioned.
I reach down and feel for the edge of the bed, and my hands connect with the soft bedding. As I inch along the bed, I curse the fact I can’t see a fucking thing, and as I stand and feel along the wall, something causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention.
Deep breathing.
I’m not alone.
I am still.
My mind moves at a thousand miles an hour as I struggle to get my bearings. Seizing on my knowledge of the layout of the rooms as I prepare for something out of my control.
“Who’s there?”
My voice is low, steady and unafraid, and the breathing deepens before a husky whisper hits my left ear.
“Peekaboo.”
A hand grasps my wrist and pushes me hard against the edge of the bed, my knees buckling as they fold, my face hitting the flat white sheets.
The uniform is pushed around my waist, and the sound of a zipper dragging down alerts me to my fate. As I still, my attacker kicks my legs apart and presses against me from behind, reaching for my hair and curling it around his fist.
“It’s time to service the room, pretty lady.”
His breath is close, dusting my ear, and I struggle to maintain a cool composure as my mind shifts to fight.
“Such a pretty lady, so attractive, so mine.”
His grunt of lust mixes with his deep breathing, and the stench of whiskey hangs heavy in the air.
I wait until he positions himself behind me and then I reach out and sink my nails deep into his balls. His agonized roar is lost on me as I twist them hard, his scream fading into the background as I turn and thump him hard around the head.
His squeal of pain delights me as I fight my predator literally in the dark, and my fury knows no bounds as I grip his head between my hands and twist his neck, loving the sound of it snapping under the force of my aggression.
He slumps to the floor, and the accompanying silence tells me I’ve succeeded in my aim, and as I edge to the door, I search on my hands and knees for the card he must have flung to the ground.
It takes mere minutes to locate it, and as I snap it back in its holder, the artificial light floods the room, and I stare in horror at the huge body, lifeless on the floor.
Fuck!
I move to his side and stare down at the carcass of a monster as he lies glassy-eyed, staring up at the ceiling, a vision of surprise on his face.
His pants rest around his knees, and his cock lies flaccid now, the wild eyes of a rapist staring at the woman who slew a monster.
I do nothing but stare, wondering why I attract luck this way. I had one job to do, and this is how it ended. I could have let him. I could have put up with it to keep this position because it’s obvious that after today I’ll be heading straight back to hell.
Unless I leave.
Unless I pretend I found him like this. Nobody would suspect that I was capable of murder. The housemaid always finds the dead body. She is never a suspect. This could work.
My mind works fast as I backtrack through the events. There must be a camera in the hallway. They would know in a heartbeat that I was guilty. I’m screwed already. I should run while I can.
But this is The Artemis. The Caruso brother’s domain. I wouldn’t run far before they caught up with me.
Unless I go to them first and make them an offer, they would be fools to refuse. Perhaps this man’s death will be my salvation. It could work. It must work.
It’s surprising how calm I am in the moment when my life hangs in the balance because a sharp knock at the door followed by security shouting, ‘Open up,’ tells me that Plan A is no longer an option.
Plan B it is then.