She Came on Fifty Motorcycles A Billionaire's Daughter Unleashed
Chapter 2
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open.
Four bodyguards in black stood posted outside Suite 2801.
All six-one or taller, comms earpieces wedged in, something bulky holstered at each hip.
These weren't hotel security. They were private muscle on the multinational's payroll.
The one in front, shaved head, saw us and raised a palm.
"Private event. Unauthorized—"
I didn't let him finish. I swung the steel pipe in a full arc and cracked it across his brow bone.
Crack!
Blood sprayed across the hallway's cream wallpaper.
The bald one screamed, hands flying to his face, and dropped straight onto the carpet.
The remaining three froze for half a second.
Brick and Anvil each dropped one. Spyder swung a fire extinguisher into the last one and put him on his back.
Four bodyguards. Seven seconds.
I stood in front of Suite 2801.
Through the heavy solid-wood door, music blasted so loud it rattled my teeth, and men's laughter rolled underneath it, loose and filthy.
I lifted my foot.
Bang! The lock warped on impact, and both double doors slammed open wide.
The stench hit me first: imported liquor, cigar smoke, and beneath it all, the sour chemical reek of whatever they'd drugged her with.
I spotted Mila instantly.
She was tied to the armrest of a couch, her jacket ripped half off, blouse buttons scattered across the floor.
There was blood at the corner of her mouth.
A short, heavyset man had her jaw clamped in one hand, tipping a wine glass into her mouth.
Liquor ran down her throat and pooled along her collarbone.
Her eyes were already glazed over.
Across from her, two balding middle-aged men sprawled on the leather sofa with their collars hanging open.
One had his legs crossed, phone up, recording. The other had a cigar clenched between his teeth, face creased with a grin so wide it folded his skin in half.
"Lambert, your little intern's got some fight in her. College girls always do. Once the drugs kick in, she'll be begging louder than a bitch in heat."
Manager Zane Lambert stood off to the side, swirling a glass of red wine, smiling.
"Don't worry, Mr. Chambers. I guarantee you'll be satisfied tonight."
"Girls like this are a dime a dozen at our company. Use her up and we'll just rotate in a fresh batch."
My grip tightened around the pipe. My knuckles popped one by one.
The next second, I kicked the coffee table in the center of the living room clean off its legs.
It snapped in two. Bottles and glasses shattered across the floor.
CRASH!
The heavyset man flinched so hard he released Mila's jaw, and the wine glass slipped from his hand and burst against the tile.
Three strides. I closed the distance and brought the pipe down on the hand holding the phone, precise and unforgiving.
Two fingers broke. The phone launched across the room and the screen shattered on impact.
"AHHH! MY HAND!!"
The bald man clutched his hand and screamed, rolling off the sofa onto the floor.
I grabbed the other one by the collar, the one still nursing his cigar, and hauled him up off the couch.
The ashtray on the remains of the coffee table was packed with ash and cigar stubs.
I clamped one hand on his jaw, prying it open, and shoved the entire ashtray against his mouth.
"Eat."
"Mmph! MMPH!"
Ash choked him until his eyes rolled back, mouth stuffed with grit and spit.
Zane dropped his wine glass and stumbled back three steps.
"Susannah Dickerson, you street trash! You're out of your goddamn mind! Do you have any idea where you are?!"
He jabbed a finger at my face.
"You're a dropout, a nobody, the bottom of the food chain! Do you have any clue who Mr. Chambers is?! You touch a single hair on his head—"
I turned my back on him, walked to Mila, and cut the ties around her wrists.
The ligature marks had already drawn blood.
I shrugged off my leather jacket and wrapped it around her whole body.
She was shaking from head to toe.
Her eyes fluttered open, hazy, unfocused, and the instant she recognized my face, the tears spilled over.
"Suse, run… you have to run…"
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