Chapter 3

The phone buzzed on my nightstand, a jarring vibration that cut through the haze of my post-orgasmic sleep. Carlos’s name glowed on the screen. It was 2:17 AM.

Meet me.

The text was followed by an address and a room number. A motel on the edge of town, the kind with flickering neon and rooms rented by the hour.

My heart, which had finally settled, leapt back into a frantic rhythm. Now? I typed back, my fingers clumsy with sleep and lingering adrenaline.

Now. You owe me the details in person. Don’t make me wait.

The command was absolute. There was no question of refusal. I was out of bed in an instant, pulling on jeans and a dark hoodie, moving on autopilot. The house was a tomb, silent and still. I avoided the creaky step on the staircase, slipped out the back door, and went into the cool, damp night air.

The drive was a blur. My mind raced, a chaotic mix of fear and a dark, coiling excitement. The motel was exactly as I’d pictured: the ‘L’ in ‘Luxury Inn’ was dark, and a few cars were scattered across the potholed lot. Room 114. I parked around back, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

I knocked softly. The door opened almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting right behind it.

Carlos stood there, backlit by a single dim lamp. He wasn’t in uniform. He wore a tight black t-shirt that stretched across his chest and a pair of faded jeans. His dark eyes scanned me from head to toe, that confident smirk playing on his lips. “You made it.”

He stepped back, and I walked into the room. It smelled of cheap air freshener and something else, something musky and masculine. His gym bag was on a chair, a service weapon in its holster next to it. The reality of who he was and what he was hit me all over again.

“You look nervous, kid,” he said, closing the door and throwing the deadbolt. The sound was final. “Don’t be. We’re just two friends talking.”