The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 304

My breathing quickened as I pushed my way into the crowded dance floor, using the mass of bodies as cover. My shoulder screamed in protest as people bumped against me, but I kept moving, heading for the back of the club where spotted an exit sign. Sweat beaded on my forehead–from fear, pain, or the beginning fever, I couldn’t tell.

The alley behind the club was dimly lit and smelled of garbage and stale beer. I hurried down it to the street, constantly glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see him following. I flagged the first taxi I saw, and directed them to a small hotel I’d noticed during the drive in, about two miles away and significantly less glamorous than the Palomar.

“Change of plans,” I explained to the new front desk clerk, a bored–looking man who barely glanced up from his computer. My voice sounded strained even

to my own ears. “My friend’s place fell through.”

Thirty minutes later, I was in a basic but clean room with a chain on the door and a chair wedged under the handle for good measure. My hands shook slightly as I checked that the windows were locked. My phone showed ten missed calls from Devon, all sent to voicemail. I hadn’t even heard it ring in the

noisy club.

“Great timing, Kane, I muttered, tossing the phone onto the bed. A surge of conflicting emotions washed over me–frustration at his sudden interest after hours of silence, worry about who might be following me, and a strange, unwelcome longing to hear his voice.

Maybe I really was just another of his mistresses after all–easily replaced when the next crisis called or when his mother found him a suitable society bride. The thought stung more than I wanted to admit, leaving an ache deeper than my physical wound.

My shoulder throbbed relentlessly. I swallowed the last of my antibiotics with lukewarm tap water and noted with concern that my forehead felt warm to the touch. Getting sick in a strange city while being followed was definitely not part of my plan. I pressed my palm against the cool bathroom counter, trying to steady myself.

I tried to sleep, but every noise in the hallway jolted me awake–the ice machine down the corridor, the elevator chime, voices passing by. My eyes burned with exhaustion, but my mind refused to quiet. Around 2 AM, a soft knock came at my door.

“Room service,‘ called a young female voice.

I froze, instantly alert. I hadn’t ordered anything, and it was the middle of the night–well past any reasonable hour for room service. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it could be heard through the door. Through the peephole, I could see a young woman in hotel uniform with a covered tray. Something about her eyes–darting nervously side to side–set off alarms in my head.

I backed away from the door silently, looking for somewhere to hide. The space under the bed was the only option in the small room. I slid beneath it, ignoring the stab of pain from my shoulder, and held my breath as I heard the electronic lock click and the door swing open.

Multiple footsteps entered–at least three people, judging by the sound. Heavy, deliberate steps that said nothing about hotel hospitality and everything about trouble. I pressed myself against the wall, trying to make myself smaller, invisible. The carpet scratched against my cheek. I could hear them moving around the room, opening the bathroom door.

“She’s not here,” a male voice whispered. Check under the bed.”

My blood turned to ice. I held perfectly still, barely breathing.

My phone, left on the bed above me, suddenly vibrated with an incoming call. The screen lit up, illuminating the dusty space around me with a blue glow. The name on the display was clear as day: Devon Kane.

“Damn it!” I whispered as a hand reached under the bed, inches from my face.

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