Chapter 181
Chapter 181:
For a single second, their eyes met through the crack. His gaze was a physical blow, filled with a terrifying mixture of rage and desperation.
Then the doors sealed with a soft ding, and the car began to rise.
Cailin leaned back against the metal wall. Her legs were trembling so hard she nearly slid to the floor.
Aron reached out and took her hand. His small fingers were cold. “Mommy, is it Bad Dad p>
Cailin looked down at her son. He wasn’t crying. He was calculating. He was too much like his father.
“It’s a game, Aron,” she whispered, smoothing his hair. “We have to play the ultimate game of hide-and-seek. Can you do that for me p>
“I’m good at hiding,” Davy piped up, though his voice wavered.
N𝘰𝗏el𝗌 𝗶n 𝘵𝘳𝗲𝗇d o𝗇
The elevator chimed at the penthouse floor. Cailin ushered them out with quick, jerky movements. She swiped the key card Kegan had arranged. The lock clicked green.
They spilled into the suite. It was luxurious — all cream carpets and floor-to-ceiling windows — but Cailin didn’t see the luxury. She saw a cage.
She rushed to the windows and yanked the heavy blackout curtains shut, plunging the room into semi-darkness. She couldn’t risk a sniper. She couldn’t risk a drone.
Down in the lobby, Hilliard was a storm in human form.
He marched toward the front desk, water dripping from his expensive Italian shoes, leaving a trail of dark spots across the marble floor. He bypassed the line, his eyes sweeping the elevator board, ignoring the startled gasps of other guests. Amerigo’s information had been unnervingly precise: The Sanctuary Hotel, VIP entrance, penthouse level. Kegan was good, but Amerigo’s network was older — woven into the very foundations of the city.
The night manager, a man named Pierre with a perfectly waxed mustache, stepped forward, his smile faltering. “Mr. Holloway, we weren’t expecting p>
“The penthouse,” Hilliard cut him off. His voice was gravel. “Who is in it p>
“Sir, that is a private floor. I cannot disclose p>
Hilliard slammed his hand onto the marble counter. The sound cracked through the quiet lobby like a gunshot.
“I don’t have time for your protocol, Pierre,” Hilliard snarled. He reached into his wet jacket, pulled out a black titanium credit card, and slapped it onto the desk. “The Holloway Corporation owns a twelve percent stake in this hotel chain. I am not buying the floor. I am claiming it. Now give me the key p>
Pierre looked at the card, then at Hilliard’s eyes — bloodshot and wild. This was not a guest making a request. This was a man standing on the edge of violence. Pierre swallowed hard and typed quickly, his hands shaking. “Of course, Mr. Holloway. Just — a moment.” He slid a spare key card across the counter.
Hilliard snatched it without a word and strode toward the elevators.
Up in the suite, Cailin heard it. The faint ding of the elevator arriving on their floor.
Cold, sharp panic pierced through her.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
She looked around frantically. The suite was open-concept. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere safe.
Except the master bedroom closet.