“Damn it, Ice”—she glared at him—“I love these shoes.”
“Sorry, hon, I’ll buy you another pair,” Ice said. He slung his arm around her. “Really. He just pissed me off. I needed to kill that fucker, so it’s a good thing you and Storm were here to give me a cooler head.”
“Me too,” she said. “I needed to kill him too, but we need to find the one killing families and taking the children.”
“Remove all evidence,” Czar said unnecessarily over the radio.
“Package is in our custody,” Alena reported. “Poor baby is scared out of his mind.”
“Sedate him if you have to for transport. We’ll take care of him,” Czar said. “You all need to get out of there clean.”TWOSoleil Brodeur had never actually used the main entrance to the hotel. She used a private entrance, and always had a concierge waiting to give her any little thing she wanted or direct her to wherever she wanted to go. There was a private car to take her places. She had wanted to walk around the strip like a normal tourist and just enjoy the day. Was that asking too much? Did she always have to dress right and talk only to the people Winston dictated she talk to? They were supposed to be having fun. Make that whatever Winston ordered was fun.
She dashed at the tears on her face and stopped to look around her. There were people everywhere. She hadn’t used the private entrance because she hadn’t wanted the concierge to see her crying like a baby, which was so ridiculous there were no words. She had no idea where to go, which elevator to take or even if she could get one to her room from the main lobby. She’d traveled the world, stayed in hundreds of hotels, but she couldn’t find her way to an elevator? She was such an idiot.
No one could force another person to marry them. The idea was ludicrous. She’d brought this entire mess on herself. There was no one else to blame. She might let everyone else do everything for her, but she always took responsibility for her own screwups. This was the worst of the worst.
She took a quick look around and caught sight of a women’s bathroom tucked behind an alcove filled with gorgeous plants. She hurried across the gleaming marble-tiled floor and ducked into the alcove. The door was opened for her by an attendant in a hotel uniform. She went on through, wondering how many people couldn’t open a door. Probably only her. A fresh flood of tears ensured her makeup would be a mess.
As with everything else in the hotel, the bathroom was the epitome of luxury. The door opened to a sitting room with faint music, comfortable but elegant chairs and a sofa, giving women a place to relax if they wanted to hide for a few minutes. A soft fragrance spread through the room, and large, lacy plants of various shades of green added to the peaceful ambience. Once the door was closed, all noise from the outside lobby ceased.
A tall woman with dark hair stood in the midst of the greenery, dragging a dark tank top over a lacy red bra. She was beyond beautiful. Her face was flawless, with dark eyes and an inviting mouth. If Soleil hadn’t been crying, she would have stopped and stared. She couldn’t stay in the sitting room, not with the most gorgeous woman on the face of the earth casually changing from what looked like a sultry afternoon dress—not a girl-next-door sundress.
Soleil went past another concerned attendant to the sink, needing to splash cold water on her face. She had to stop crying, but all she seemed to be able to do was stare at herself in the mirror with tears running down her face. She didn’t look at all like the beautiful woman with gold at her ears and a flawless body to go with her flawless face. She probably looked gorgeous when she cried, not all splotchy and red.
There was a faint bruise just on her left cheek where her fiancé had slapped her because she’d insisted on a prenup. There were bruises on both upper arms where he’d grabbed her hard and shaken her, as if somehow, by threatening her, it would make her go through with the marriage.
She’d always had a ridiculous fantasy about being with someone a little rough, although they never hit her. She never could quite feel that tingle with the men she dated. That spark. Winston hadn’t appeared rough. He had soft hands. He always wore a business suit, and his shoes were gleaming with polish. In the weeks she’d known him, he’d never had a single hair out of place. She realized having the real thing wasn’t at all what she’d dreamt about. No one had ever put their hands on her like that before.