The hotel loomed over downtown Detroit, its once-grand facade now bearing the marks of age and neglect, though it still clung to a certain faded elegance. Inside, the lobby was a blend of polished marble floors, dim lighting, and the faint echo of voices drifting from the bar. Up on the thirty-first floor, in a suite with a view that stretched over the Detroit River, Richard Webb sat on the edge of a king-sized bed. His shirt hung open, buttons undone, his collarbone visible against pale skin. His chest was not impressive, his muscle tone mostly absent.
A glass of bourbon rested loosely in his hand, condensation running down the sides. The room was dim and dark, like the circles under Richard’s eyes.
A woman stood in the doorway leading to the bathroom. She was as tall as Richard, her hair was dark and short, her sharp green eyes watching him with cool appraisal. She wore a short black skirt, the fabric clinging to her in a way that made Richard’s pulse quicken. The slit up the side revealed glimpses of her toned leg, encased in black nylon, whenever she moved.
Richard watched her intently. His eyes traced her every step, lingering on the curve of her body, the way the skirt fit against her ass. The quiet tension in her movements held his attention like nothing else. He had dreamed about her for so long and now, she was his.
It was now a life he had never known, and he was spending it with a younger, vivacious and yes, dangerous, woman who made heads turn when she walked by.
Her name was Lena and she smiled a small, enigmatic smirk that flickered across her lips and disappeared as quickly as it came. "What is it?" she asked, her voice smooth, with that faint accent that Richard found oddly alluring.
“Just thinking about you,” he replied, trying to sound casual, though he could feel his heart beating faster in his chest.
She moved closer, her footsteps silent on the thick carpet. She sat beside him on the bed, her hand brushing lightly against his arm, sending a shiver down his spine. “Thinking what?” she asked, her tone playful but with an edge of curiosity.
Richard smiled back, more confident now. “About how lucky I am.”
She leaned in, her face close to his, her breath warm against his cheek. “Are you sure you’re lucky, Richard? Or are you trying to get lucky?” she whispered.
He couldn’t hold back any longer and he leaned in to kiss her. Lena met him halfway her lips firm, her hand sliding up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
They moved together, a tangle of limbs and whispered breaths. Richard felt a rush of adrenaline, his senses heightened, every nerve in his body on edge. He was addicted to this, to her, to the way she made him feel—alive, reckless, and scared.
When they finally pulled apart, Lena rolled onto her back, breathing easily. Richard lay beside her, his chest heaving with the exertion.
“That was nice,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied. “We will have to leave soon, though.”
Richard nodded.
“How soon do you think?” she asked.
Richard tried to sound confident. “It was always going to take time,” he said. “We all knew that from the start.”
She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled slowly, the smoke curling into the air. When she spoke, her tone was noticeably cool. “I don’t like waiting, Richard. I never have.”
Lena’s eyes flicked to his, and for a moment, he felt pinned under her gaze.
He hesitated, sensing a challenge in her voice. “The money, the transfers, it’s not something we can rush. There are protocols and security hoops we have to jump through, and we will, but the process is… the process.”
She took another drag from her cigarette, her eyes never leaving his. “Every day we wait, every minute, we risk more.”
Richard felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck. He nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn’t care, really. He could stay in this hotel with her forever. “I understand that,” he said. “But we’re close. Just a few more days, and we’ll have everything we need. I promise.”
Lena looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Promises," she said quietly. "I’ve heard a lot of those, Richard."
“I mean it,” he said. “This will work.”
“You’d better hope it’s almost done,” she said quietly, her voice low. “Because if it’s not, then we have a problem.”
Richard nodded quickly. “It’s almost done,” he insisted, knowing exactly what she meant. Lena was right, of course. Time was running out.
The question was, what would happen when it did?