The Payback (Team Zulu 2)

“Shut your mouth right now, or I’ll shoot you with far more accuracy than the last guy.”

Brandon smirked, although I was relieved when he returned his focus to the road.

How could he joke at a time like this? And with that bullet wound, which must hurt more than he let on.

Fine. I’d give Brandon one night in Philly to patch up his wound and come up with a plan. But then we needed to leave the city. I pulled my phone from my hip pocket to search for the nearest budget motel.

“Whoa!” Brandon’s gaze shot to me. “Donotuse that. Give it here.”

He snatched it from my grip before I had the chance to hand it over.

“Hey!” I lunged for the phone, but Brandon held it out of reach and made short work of stripping it of its battery, snapping the SIM card in half, and tossing each component out the window to be obliterated under the tires of oncoming traffic.

I gasped. “My life was on that phone! Was that really necessary?”

“I suppose not. We could’ve kept it and continued broadcasting our location to Dante and friends.”

I pinned him with a venomous look. “There’s no need to be a dick about it.”

“Apologies if hearing the truth upsets you. I thought you weren’t the type to cower from reality.”

“I’m not.” I folded my arms and stared straight ahead. “You could’ve asked permission before you destroyed my property. That phone was expensive.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

Brandon turned off the main street. The manicured gardens and Roman-inspired water fountain up ahead made me think we were heading the wrong way.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I told you. We’re finding a place to stay.”

The chic white-and-gray building looming before us resembled a supersized alpine chateau. I recognized this hotel. Not because I’d ever stayed here, but because the Saint Maurice was the most expensive lodging in Philly.

“Are you insane? We can’t stay here!”

“I’m not slumming it in some cockroach-infested dump. I already feel dirty from spending the evening at Vixens.”

Brandon’s truck came to a stop by the valet station. He grabbed a jacket from the back seat and winced as he pushed his wounded arm through the sleeve. At least it concealed his injury.

“Shouldn’t we stay somewhere less conspicuous?” I asked.

“I don’t see why. This is the last place anyone would look for us. Didn’t you just agree to have a little faith in me?”

“I agreed not to flee the city, not to flaunt around a five-star hotel.”

The valet opened my door. I glanced down at my tiny black shorts and cami before my wide eyes shot to Brandon. “I can’t go in dressed like this. I look like a hooker.”

“Our money is as good as anyone’s. Trust me, they won’t care what you’re wearing.” Brandon exited the truck, then grabbed a suitcase and laptop bag from the rear seat.

I called him a bunch of nasty names under my breath before stepping out of the pickup. The snooty valet gave me the once-over before scrunching his nose in distaste. I could throat punch Brandon for dragging me somewhere so fancy when I looked like a bargain-priced whore.

Taking long strides, Brandon headed through the revolving doors without waiting to see if I followed. My stupid high heels wobbled as I struggled to keep up. Sensible shoes were so underrated.

At the check-in desk, a willowy blonde dressed in a sharp navy pantsuit smiled at Brandon, scanning him from his wavy dark locks to his heavy boots. Couldn’t blame her for ogling. He was hard to miss.

“Welcome to the Saint Maurice, sir. How may I help you this evening?” Her sweet smile faltered when I came to stand near Brandon. Her eyes darted between us. An irrational stab of jealousy hit me. A gorgeous woman like her wouldn’t be out of place at Brandon’s side. Yet here was me, Tits McGee, looking like I’d just been picked up from the seediest corner in Philly.

Brandon leaned an elbow on the counter and returned her smile. “We need a room. Thank you”—he glanced at her name tag—“Tahlia. What a beautiful name.”