Dirty Ledger (Dark Pen)

“But I thought you said you were going to handle this. Make it all go away,” I say with a manic quality to my voice as I wave my still bloody hand through the air.

“That’s right, but I can’t do that without your cooperation.”

“Fine, I won’t call my family, but I want to talk to Katja.”

“You can’t. Not right now. She’s on her way to the airport in Paris, and I need to get you transferred to the thirteenth floor now while it’s still the middle of the night and we have less of a chance of running into any guests in the hallway.”

I can’t put my finger on it, but something about his statement bothers me.

“I don’t believe for one minute that Katja is going to agree to this plan. She’s going to insist on us calling the police,” I retort, sure I know the owner of The Whitney better than he does.

“This isn’t Katja’s decision.”

“Of course, it is. Everything that involves The Whitney is her decision.”

An ugly bark of a laugh fills the room. “You’re so naive. The second JV Luciano died on Whitney property, this became Dex and my problem to fix. And I can’t do that until I get you safely up to the thirteenth floor.”

What the hell does the thirteenth floor have to do with anything?

Z finally releases my arm and takes the phone out of his back pocket, grilling me with more questions as he types away on the screen.

“You have a change of clothes ready?”

“Yeah,” I answer, doing my best not to look down at the body and blood.

“Okay, I’ve confirmed all the security cameras are still turned off on this floor and in the elevators. We need to move now before security notices.”

“But… shouldn’t we be alerting security?”

Z had just turned toward the door to leave, but my question has him halting and spinning around so fast it scares me.

“You are obviously not listening to me, so let me say it again. You are not to tell one other soul on this earth about what happened tonight. Ever. Not a friend. Not a family member. Fuck, not even a priest in confession. You got it? And yes, that includes The Whitney’s security team.

“I’ve tried not to scare you worse than you already are, but the man you killed tonight is part of a dangerous mafia family. They are not going to take kindly to him disappearing. They are going to burn down the city looking for him, which means Dex, Katja, and I are going to have to turn ourselves into fucking award-winning actors to make the Lucianos think we’re as upset as they are that their beloved heir to the family empire has gone missing all while knowing full well that we disintegrated his flesh in a pool of acid and burned the rest of his remains in my incinerator.”

Every word Z utters is worse than his last. The ringing in my ears returns and white spots appear in my peripheral view. The words mafia, disintegrated flesh, acid pool… they spin in my mind until I bend over and add the contents of my stomach to the bloody mess on the floor.

“Christ…” I hear Z’s curse between my heaving.

I slam my eyes closed, trying my best to shut out the disgusting pool of body fluids below me. I feel myself teetering, unbalanced as I heave again.

I should be thankful for Z’s steadying arm around me, propping me up as he pulls my long hair out of the way, but for the first time since he came to save me, I find myself wondering who is going to save me from him?

I’ve always chased after bad boys, but Z is no boy. He is a bad man. A man who dissolves bodies and covers up murders. A man who works close enough with the mafia to know them personally.

After I finally stop throwing up, Z leaves me long enough to grab a glass of water.

“Drink,” he demands.

I do as I’m told, mulling his words around as I swallow, trying to get the bad taste out of my mouth. If only I could wash away the memories of this night as easily.

When I’m finished, he picks up the Gucci bag I packed with a few of my things, grabs my uninjured hand, and pulls me along behind him to the door.

Just before we leave, he instructs me to, “Pull your bandaged hand up into your sleeve so it can’t be seen and lift the hood of your sweatshirt up to hide your hair and as much of your face as possible.”

On autopilot, I do as he says.

He opens the door, peers out into the hallway to make sure it’s empty, and then pulls me into motion. My heart is pounding, praying no one comes out of their room. I hold my breath as we wait for the elevator to come, grateful it’s empty when the doors open.