They rolled up to the motel at nine.
It was not the Four Seasons or Starwood Nate had booked online. Thanks to Nate's own stubbornness in choosing a shortcut that brought them to this freaking ghost town.
The mafia lord was pulling at the front of his brown shirt and mourning the death of his hair. It was sticking up in messed up chunks, pointed in every direction, like some teenage emo boy who just discovered the wonders of hair gel.
"I should have brought my trusted comb with me."
"Yeah. What horror," Keira muttered half-heartedly, looking the other way when the tall, handsome man ran his long fingers through his tousled hair.
She gulped. He would never let it go down if he found out she kind of liked to watch him do that. It looked sexy in her eyes.
What horror, indeed.
"Name?" the motel receptionist chirped at them, and it was a massive relief to have another person present in this ghost town.
