𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟒𝟕 | 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

"Wow," I whistled aloud as I got in front of the building of my meeting. Right from the front door, you could tell that one night at the McCarthy Hotel cost loads of money. A tall building painted with simple yet beautiful beige color, with dozens of windows, including a small balcony for every room. At the very top was a spacious terrace, where I could imagine millionaires having brunch or cocktail parties. There were chairs and tables at the entrance, but not a single candle was lit on them at this time, so it looked kind of scary.

In front of the hotel stood a man dressed in a black suit. Even though it was late at night, he had a pair of sunglasses on his nose. This figure of a muscular man with a neutral but mysterious facial expression aroused respect in strangers. Something about him forced even me to be vigilant and be prepared to intervene if necessary.

The man caught my eye and measured me. Through the black slides, I couldn't identify exactly where his eyes were going, but from the familiar discomfort, I sensed that they were resting directly on me.

"I assume you are Miss O'Donnell," he said harshly out of nowhere and I suppressed the surprise that played with my facial expressions.

"You're right," I nodded, trying to invoke fake self-confidence hiding somewhere deep inside of me.

"Follow me then," he ordered, holding the door for me. "Mr. Mercado is waiting for you." Mr. Mercado. So, he's the friend?

I flipped through the imaginary list of all the acquaintances my family knew. The name Mercado was not there. As if someone like that didn't even exist.

The man in white led me through a long entrance hall, giving the impression of unadulterated luxury. We reached the end of the corridor where the elevator was.

"Go to the top floor," he said, raising an eyebrow from behind the rough frame. I walked closer to the elevator door and entered with one foot. Then the man's hand crossed my path. "No detours or I'll see it, is that clear?" As I looked straight into his face, I felt him adding the intensity of the grip. If he continues, I will lose a limb.

"Don't worry, it's not my first elevator ride," I said rudely, just as disgusted as he had been talking to me the whole time. With my free hand lowered against my body, I grabbed his long fingers and turned them up. Except for a loud bang, nothing could be heard. The man did not show any signs of pain, either by behavior or loud interjections. Finally, he released the awkward grip, and I boarded the elevator, which took me exactly where I was supposed to be.

The door opened, and two other young men in identical suits stood unsurprisingly in front of them. I could swear even their expressions were identical. Both waited for me to get out, then surrounded me, one on each side. I walked beside them, obediently like a soldier marching to the battle. Or to his execution, may I add.

My soles rubbed against the red carpet, and my eyes followed the surroundings like a hawk. Except for my lower limbs, my whole body was stiff, only my eyes blinked furiously. Bare red walls with several doors leading to God knows where. That was all I saw in the dim light of the light bulbs.

We stopped by the next, biggest door so far. I was drenched in a cold sweat, awaiting the big moment, but nothing was happening.

Then the door began to open, causing my heart to beat faster and faster. I clenched both hands in fists, ready to do whatever I'll need to. A man about the same age as my father appeared in front of me. He was not very tall, but despite that, he owned the whole room with his energy, attitude, and a pitiless expression on his wrinkled face. Hazelnut eyes, cold as ice, were hidden under thick eyebrows of the same color as his hair – dark brown.

"Greetings, Miss O'Donnell," his voice made me shiver from head to toes, and I couldn't sense not even a bit good in it. I was starting to feel like I got myself in a huge mess.