Quickest Risk Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  Copyright ©2016 by Megan Matthews. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written person from the author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author at [email protected]

  Edited by Amanda Brown

  Cover Images from: Thinkstock.com

  Cover design by: Megan Matthews

  Created with Vellum

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  Contents

  A note from the author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Other Works By Megan

  To every horrible motel I’ve ever had to stay in.

  A note from the author

  Hello!

  Quickest Risk is a novella in the Pelican Bay series. This story was originally published as The Last Resort Motel: Room 29 in 2018 as a group collaborative project. The original form is no longer on sale, but you can read about these characters now as part of the Pelican Bay series.

  I hope you enjoy reading Hannah and Lukis’ story.

  Megan Matthews

  1

  “Don’t die. Please don’t die.” I smooth my hands along one of her curves. “Please, baby, not now.”

  Steam rises from the edges of the hood. Gentle petting turns to angry hits on her dashboard as the car vibrates so strongly I’m forced to pull over to the side of the road.

  “No! No! No!” Why me? Why, why, me?

  Is this Karma? Have I pissed off a Voodoo Queen somewhere? All those motivational speakers go on about how when one door closes, another opens, but there’s no freaking doors in sight. The only thing visible for as far as I can see is cacti, dirt, and sand. So much sand.

  I bang my head on the steering wheel. Whose bright idea was it to come out to the desert in the first place?

  Right.

  Mine.

  No one has ever accused me, Hannah Stoneman, of being a brainiac.

  The car rolls to a stop, the engine giving out. It putters and croaks one last metal-on-metal clanking sound that can only mean final death. With one last lurch forward, we settle on the shoulder of the road. Dead.

  A sigh fills the space, a long-suffering sound I’ve perfected over the years, and I reach into the back seat to grab my light purple backpack — the only thing of real value in the car. This should have been a quick road trip to Vegas. I didn’t pack enough water to end up stranded in the desert. The half-finished bottle tipped haphazardly on its side in the middle console won’t last long. I grab an extra hair tie from around my gearshift and get out of the car, slamming the door. I lock it for good measure. Although, if anyone finds it out here, dead and deserted on the side of this long, barren stretch of road, they can have it.

  About a mile back, I spotted an old, dusty, rusted-out sign for the Last Chance Motel. I cracked a joke as I flew past laughing. Something about how no one in their right mind would stay at such a high-end establishment. All sarcasm as the place looked like it was one dust storm away from toppling. That happened an entire mile of confidence ago. Now it looks like the Last Chance Motel might be my actual last chast. There hasn’t been cell service for the last fifty miles.

  Not that I’d have anyone to call, anyway. Mom and Dad are too busy helping my sister with her third child. Twenty-six, married, and now has a perfect bouncing baby girl born three days ago. Don’t get me wrong. My new niece is gorgeous. I even did my aunt duty of a phone call and showering her with gifts and congratulations for pushing the small alien out of her vagina. After seeing the size of her round baby head, I understand why women want gifts after they give birth. A big, fat diamond necklace at the end of the tunnel is pure motivation for most of us.

  Leaving my car behind, I start off on the long walk to the motel, hopeful it’s not full of serial killers or dead bugs. Right now, both would be bad.

  In less than five minutes of being alone, the quiet gets to me, and the dread of my current life situation kicks in.

  What happened? Where did I go wrong? High school left me full of ideas and excitement. There were places to go and people to see. In college, I earned a bachelor’s degree. Sure, it was in hospitality management so I set myself up for a lifetime of weekend work, but it seemed like a fun job. I could live in fancy hotels in cool places with room service. Not anything with Last Chance in the title. There were day dreams of living in Paris and New York City, managing a top-of-the-line hotel.

  Sadly, the economy had different plans. Student loans suck, and I graduated with exactly $9,542 of them — not a horrible amount compared to a few of my friends — and then I realized nobody wanted to hire me. There weren’t even jobs at the Holiday Inn down the road. One year of interviews later and I accepted a position with a local chain. Definitely not Paris or even New York City. Now, here I am, six years later, walking in a pair of flip-flops on a deserted road. If I’m lucky, I won’t be eaten by vultures.

  Happy birthday to me.

  Two days away from my thirtieth birthday and nothing to show for it.

  No husband.

  No babies.

  No job.

  That’s right. Did I leave that fun part out? Management sold the hotel I’ve worked at for the last five years, and the new owners plan to clean house — literally and figuratively.

  Oh, right. And now I also don’t have a car.

  The walk goes fast with the quick pace I set. So does the water. I lick the last few remnants of dew from around the edges of the bottle when the Last Chance Motel comes into view. The motel isn’t as bad as expected. What I expected was pretty darn bad. For a second, I worry it’s a mirage, dooming me to dehydrate on the side of the road. Then the bang of a door closing breaks through the desert solitude, and I rejoice in not being vulture dinner. Eyes half shut, I squint and spot a long-haired redhead talking to someone in a Jeep. No mirage could be this detailed.

  The motel is old and rundown, but quite a few cars fill the parking lot. There’s even a sign for a restaurant, which I hope to God is open. Early this morning, I left my house planning to get away and spend a few days at the slots in Vegas — personal escape from the birthday — but it looks like instead of an all-you-can-eat steak buffet, I’ll be living it up at the Last Chance.

  There’s a rumble. The road shake
s under my feet and pebbles ping off metal as I jump out of the motel driveway. A huge olive-green Jeep skids to a stop in front of the motel. The thing looks like a poor man’s Hummer and probably gets the same gas mileage as one. A trail of dirt from the tires coats me in a thin layer of dust. Because I wasn’t dusty enough from the walk here.

  What a jerk.

  He doesn’t care about our environment, driving that oversized beast. The driver walks up to the front office and struts in unaware he almost made me road kill. The jerk face still stands in the small air-conditioned room when I make it to the same spot a minute later. I stand behind him in line as he talks to the redhead and fills out paperwork. He’s tall with dirty blond hair and a slight sunburn on the back of his neck. The jerk doesn’t turn around and apologize for blasting past me or anything. He never acknowledged my presence, even when the woman behind the desk smiled and said hello when I walked in the room.

  “Okay, Mr. Thompson, you’re in room twenty-nine.”

  Room twenty-nine? The number hasn’t done me any good. Number twenty-nine has been a shit year. Hopefully it doesn’t do him any favors either.

  “Thanks,” he replies in a deep masculine voice. One that would make my girl brain quiver in lust normally, but not today.

  The redhead smiles, passing across a key with a big key ring. “Enjoy your four nights. That’s the last room in the place.”

  What? I step up to get closer. “Did you say you’re full?” That can’t be right.

  The happy smile falls. “Sorry. There’s a bunch of state surveyors here checking out the mines.”

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, and she does look upset.

  Not that it does me any good.

  “Whatever. Thanks.” I hike my backpack higher on my shoulder and turn, stomping my way out of the lobby. Fuck how childish it looks. Anything is better than crying or stepping on the jerk’s foot as I walk out. If he hadn’t sped past me on the way in, I would have gotten the last room.

  The hot Nevada air assaults my face when the door opens and I take my first step outside — a not-so-pleasant reminder I have no water. Or food. Or sunscreen.

  The bell attached to the door dings again, and I turn back to watch the asshole who got the last room step onto the sidewalk. “Hey, wait up.”

  What now? I stop and scowl in his general direction. “What?”

  The man smiles. Who knows what he’s so happy about, other than having a room when I don’t. Big blue eyes sparkle in the midday sun. That coupled with the dirty blond hair and a dominating presence makes him hot. And not in a temperature way.

  “Looks like you had a rough day.”

  I roll my eyes. Mr. Observant over here deserves an award.

  “Look, Sugar Lips, I’m trying to be nice. Come stay with me in my room. The next closest place is the truck stop, and that’s thirty minutes away . . . by car.”

  The comment deflates my ego. That’s too far even if I had water. Which I don’t. I also have no one to call. With my family visiting my sister in California, there’s no one on my friends list who would drive out to the desert to pick my ass up. I’m stranded here until I get the car fixed or find a ride home. The Uber bill would max out a credit card.

  He walks over to the back of his ugly Jeep and pops open the back window. Moments pass and then he pulls out a six-pack of bottled water. With enough ego to knock out a regular sized man, he shakes the water bottle out in front of him. I’m less than amused. Sure, I want water, but I’m not a dog.

  “There’s more where that came. And this motel has ice,” he follows it up when I don’t fall over in gratitude.

  I narrow my eyes, my mouth salivating at the thought of cold, fresh water. “You could be a serial killer.”

  “Lukis Thompson, at your service.” He shakes my hand, keeping the bottled water just out of my grabbing distance. Smart man.

  My eyes narrow further when his strong hand grips around my palm, and we shake twice. Lukis is being awfully nice for a guy who drove right on past me in the driveway and then stole my room. “Are you here with the surveyors?”

  Lukis laughs. “No, I have other business. Time’s running out, Sugar Lips. There’s only so much nice in me.”

  This makes a lot more sense.

  Well, if I die, at least it won’t be from dehydration or heat exhaustion. If it’s my time to go, I’ll do so drinking a bottle of water. “Fine.”

  I give in much too easily, but there aren’t many other options available. This will at least get me out of the sun until I think of something else.

  Luk smiles, much too big for my liking. It’s rather annoying. “Room twenty-nine is on the opposite side. Come on.”

  The would-be savior opens the passenger side door to his Jeep, but there’s no way I plan to get in there. “I’ll walk, thanks.”

  With a shake of his head, he slams the door and makes his way around the hood. “Suit yourself. Meet you there.”

  The Jeep rumbles to life, and I don’t walk to the other side of the motel until he’s out of sight. If I were smart, I’d leave and walk to the truck stop. I’d use him for his water then get the hell out of Dodge. What’s worse? Staying in a room with a stranger or trying to hitchhike with a trucker? Probably the trucker, but not by much.

  Room twenty-nine is easy to find. Big brass numbers hang on the door. Lukis stands in front of it unloading two big, green, army duffle bags. He throws them on the one king-size bed in the middle of the room.

  Yes, you read that right. One king-size bed. I stop in my tracks. “There’s only one bed.”

  He turns, checking me out from head to toe once and then again. “Calm down. The two of us are both adults. You are over the age of twenty-five,” he says, not questioning his judgement in the slightest.

  Regardless of whether it’s true, no man should point out a lady’s age. I feel my cheeks to make sure dirt hasn’t aged me ten to fifteen years. In the past, I pulled off twenty-three with no problem. Now he says I’m older than twenty-five. From the way his brow creases in question as he waits for my response, I’d say Lukis is in his thirties.

  “Thirty-one,” he responds, closing the room door even though I’m positive I didn’t question him out loud. “The bed will have to be shared. The floor is disgusting and neither of us can sleep on it. Just stay on your side and keep out of my way, and we’ll be fine for as long as you need a room.”

  I toss my backpack down on one of the ugly orange and brown chairs placed in front of the window. “Fine.” The whole décor of the room fell straight here from the seventies. An old boss at the hotel back home would have a freaking panic attack if she saw.

  There’s no other choice. 1970s orange or the desert for me. Lukis tosses a water bottle in my direction and I catch it, eager to uncap the wonderful elixir. Three large pulls of water half empty the bottle, and I reluctantly tug the opening away from my lips. There’s no way this will be enough.

  Thankfully, there’s a six-pack.

  The backpack falls to the floor next to the chair, allowing me to sit down, and Luk unzips one of his green bags. He fiddles with another zipper and then pulls out a laptop along with a few black boxes of electrical equipment. Another drink of water fills my stomach and I watch him work, his large biceps visible past the sleeves of his black T-shirt. It’s a pretty sight to see.

  He stations another laptop on the large bed and then places the most massive, pitch black gun I’ve ever seen in my entire life beside it. Water spits out of my mouth, dribbling down my chin.

  What the hell is that? A machine gun?

  Up and ready to run the hell away from this room before he can shoot me, Lukis turns still smiling. “Calm down. I’ll put it under the bed when we sleep.”

  Oh, that helps . . . not.

  2

  The waitress sets down three tall glasses of water, all filled to the brim with ice. Luk grabs a glass closer to his side of the table like I’m a wild animal
who will cut his arm off if he touches my water.

  Okay, it’s not that far from the truth. The other two glasses end up on each side of me, leaving room for the plate of food that has yet to be delivered. A restaurant that serves breakfast twenty-four hours a day and an ice maker. The Last Chance isn’t so bad.

  Of course, I’m eating this meal with a man who walks around with a bag of guns. After Lukis finished unloading his sacks of destruction, he had three reasonably-sized guns lying on the bed. And when I say reasonably, I mean they were regular-sized. Still big, and guns, but not so big and scary I wanted to run away with my arms flailing . . . much. There’s a double-barrel shotgun I’m pretty sure people only use in Westerns, and the most reasonable of the pack is a tiny black pistol. He laid them all out on the bedspread like they were no big deal. Everyone walks around with guns stashed away in their luggage. The man doesn’t seem to have any clue this isn’t normal behavior.

  Not wanting to piss off the armed lunatic, I sat quietly waiting until I could escape, but then he put all the guns back in the bag and stuck it under the bed. It’s easier to pretend they aren’t there when I can’t see them. He sealed my fate with the mention of food after he finished setting up his equipment.

  In the quiet of the room, I tried to come to terms with the guns and the fact I’ll be sleeping beside him later. When an escape plan didn’t come to mind, I eventually gave in. With limited time, and my desire for food and water outweighing my thought process, I said “fuck it.” The will to live helps overcome many issues I’d normally run away from.

  Lukis continues to stare in my direction, his soft blue eyes seeing straight through me. Eventually, my politeness wears away and well . . . a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I drain half the glass of water before smacking my lips and sliding it back on the table.