Commodity

This sucks.

I stare out the window as light rain coats the glass. Inside the car is warm, but gooseflesh still prickles over my arms as I remember another ride where I was tossed into the back of a windowless van.

Hudson is incarcerated right now. No bond set. They can’t get to you.

As many times as Paxton, my attorney, has told me this, I know it isn’t true. The group that would like to silence me permanently has power and people. If they weren’t so powerful, Paxton wouldn’t have insisted on the security detail. I knew it wasn’t just to keep the media and curious people at bay though it did help with that as well.

I just want it to be over and done.

The car stops outside the hotel, and a valet comes to open my door. There are people everywhere—how does the media know where I am all the time? I’m ushered into the lobby, and Eckhart’s hand presses lightly against my back as he maneuvers me through the crowd. I try not to flinch, knowing he’s only trying to do his job. It doesn’t matter how attractive I find him; I don’t want his hands on me.

I glance over my shoulder at his face, trying to convey my thoughts with a look. He glances at me and quickly drops his hand, and my back chills as the contact is lost. Up closer now, I can see his eyes are deep blue, and he scans everything around us as we head for the elevator. I shiver as the express elevator moves quickly to the top floor.

The room is huge and completely ridiculous for a single person’s one-night stay. It’s not even the whole night—we have to be back at the airport in five hours. I’ve always stayed at reasonably priced hotels, usually finding the best deal possible after consulting a host of internet travel sites. I’m used to the kinds of rooms where normal people spend their nights away from home. This seems more like something out of a dream.

A nightmare is more like it.

“Someone will be posted outside your room at all times,” Eckhart says. He hands me a business card with his name and a phone number scrawled over the front of it. “If you need anything, please let us know. Contact me directly if you run into any issues.”

“Thank you.”

The door closes and I am blissfully alone. I don’t partake of the in-room bar, but I do turn the television on. The deep bathtub looks like it has jets built in, and a soak is tempting, but I’m afraid I’d pass out in the water and drown. Instead, I kick my shoes off, drop to the bed, and open up the toiletry bag.

Inside is the tiniest tube of toothpaste I have ever seen, a plastic brush that will never get through my thick hair, a razor, and a miniscule tube of shaving cream. There is also an extra-large, white T-shirt that is so thin, it is completely see-through. I shake my head and snicker at the whole assortment.

Dropping my head to the pillow, I stare at the shirt, wondering if I should put it on just to keep my other clothes from getting sweaty while I sleep. The suit I’m wearing is going to be all wrinkled if I don’t, so I push myself out of bed and hang up my clothes, ditch the panty hose and my bra, and pull the thin, white fabric over my head. I glance in the mirror, and there is absolutely nothing left to the imagination.

“Great look,” I mutter to myself.

“You got nice titties, girl! Really nice titties! Bigger than the ones we usually get to see around here! Heh! Heh! Heh!”

Bile rises into my throat, and I rush to the bathroom, but nothing comes up. I grab one of the soft, white towels and shove it under my knees as my stomach rolls around.

Paxton said I only have to get through this one more time…one more time, telling it all. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two, and then I can put it all behind me.

Bullshit.

It’s never going to be over. What exactly am I supposed to do afterward? Find another job? Who the fuck is going to hire the snitch? What else does that leave me? Stuck with selling the book and movie rights. Or maybe just hiding out somewhere, away from the public, watching my picture appear in Facebook memes.

I squeeze my eyes shut and lay the side of my head on the rim of the toilet, refusing to cry. Even though there’s no one here to see me, I don’t want to give the bastards the satisfaction. I’m just going to wash my face and go get a couple of hours sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, busy day.

But before I can act on the thought, my vision blurs, and I’m out.

I’m awakened by a knock at the door early in the morning. I’m still slumped against the commode, and my knees ache. I pull myself off the floor and go to the door. It’s Eckhart.

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he stands there with a small bag in his hand. There’s a guy from the hotel behind him with a cart full of food. I look at him for a moment, trying to understand why he’s looking at me so strangely, and then I remember how I’m dressed.

“Shit!” I wrap one arm across my tits and use the other to push the door mostly closed, so I’m only looking at him through the crack. “Sorry! I…I…”

I don’t know what to say.

“We’ll need to leave in about twenty minutes,” Eckhart says. “I thought you could use these.”

He shoves the small plastic bag through the barely open door. I look inside to find a package of women’s underwear and a pink sweatshirt with “Atlanta” scrawled across the front of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “they didn’t have a lot of choices in the gift shop downstairs. I thought you’d be hungry as well, but I didn’t know what you might like.”

“That’s fine,” I say quickly as I turn away from the opening to hide the blush I’m sure is covering my cheeks. “I appreciate it.”