Dangerous [Bradley Simpson] Sequel to On the Floor (novella)

Chapter Thirteen - Letter

I couldn't remember how I got back to the hotel, somehow my feet had taken me where my mind could not focus, for which I would be thankful for later. At the current moment, all I had on my mind was finding the bitch who threatened my lover.

"We've got to go," I demanded as I threw the door open to the hotel room. "Now."

"What?" Connor questioned me, gawking at me awkwardly as I began to throw all of my belongings back into my bag. "We're leaving in the morning."

"Change of plans," I muttered.

"Where's Trevor?" He asked, making me stop in his tracks.

"Trevor," I whispered, darting out of the room to the end of the hallway, where Trevor's room was. I began banging loudly on his door, yelling through the slab of wood. "Trevor, open the door!"

With a startled look on his face, Trevor yanked the door open, "What the bloody hell is going on?"

I looked down the hallway to see Connor trailing after me. I pushed Trevor into his room, shutting the door behind me. "Not a word of this is said to anyone else, do you understand?"

"What are you talking about?" Trevor gasped for air at the unexpected force of his body hitting the ground.

"Sorry," I mumbled, helping him to his feet. I pulled the letter out of my back pocket, shoving it in his face, then I watched as his expression changed from confused to something between frightened and determined.

"How did you get this?" He asked, instinctively going into detective mode.

"Some kid," I shrugged. "She probably paid him. I asked where she went, and I followed his directions, but the stupid bitch got away. Fucking again!"

"It's okay," he reassured me, waving his hand. "We don't even know what she looks like, it's not like it would have been easy to spot her."

I shook my head furiously, demanding the frustrated tears daring to escape my eyes to disappear. I heard Connor then banging on the door, and Trevor made his way to let him in.

"No!" I whispered loudly. "Of all people, do not let Connor know!"

"What?" He questioned. "Why? He's the closest one to you, surely you've already told him."

I ignored his last statement and yanked the letter out of his hands. "No one knows about this unless I say so. Now, what do we do?"

"You're asking me?" He said. "Really?"

"Don't be so fucking smug about it," I growled as a grin of satisfaction threatened to creep on his face.

"Sorry," he coughed. "What do you propose we do?"

"You're the fucking cop!" I said.

"Private investigator," he corrected me. "Don't get it twisted, okay?"

I glared at him. "What the fuck are we going to do?"

He looked startled. "I-I don't know yet."

"Are you fucking shitting me?" I hollered. "If Brad's blood ends up on your hands, I promise you that yours will be on mine."

"Calm down!" He exclaimed. "Let's get back to London, I'll figure something out on the train."