"Not usually, but in your case, it's hard to resist. Ladies first," he said, motioning to the open door.
"Why, thank you," she said, and he was pretty sure she glanced down at his bulge forming in his pants.
He led her down the hallway to room 438, hoping for a discreet moment to adjust the awkwardly protruding erection stuck in his underwear. Maybe she'd just rip his pants down as soon as they were in the room, and it wouldn’t matter. He felt like exploding as he put the key card into the door slot. The door opened, and his phone rang, which was a real buzz kill. He let it ring, showing her into the room, which already contained his personal belongings. A spare suit hung in the closet, above an extra pair of dress shoes and a pair of running shoes, and he could see his toiletry kit neatly arranged in the bathroom as he passed. He wondered what she thought of his stuff being here, but didn't think she'd notice anything beside the chilled bottle of white wine in a silver bucket on the desk. She'd begged him for another drink at the restaurant, but he didn't want her to become incoherent and legless yet. Instead, he'd stepped outside of the restaurant, pretending to take a call, and ordered the wine. He watched as she took the bait.
"Very nice. Is this how you treat all of your protectees?" she said, slurring her speech a little more than before.
"Only our VIP's," he said. He removed his jacket, still ignoring the cell phone. When he hung the jacket in the foyer closet, he briefly considered answering his phone.
"You gonna answer that?" Jessica said, pouring herself a glass of wine.
"Not right now. We have more important things to do," he said. The phone finally stopped ringing.
"I guess we do," she said, pouring a second glass.
He started to walk toward her when his phone rang again.
"God damn it," he muttered, "Hold on, let me get this over with."
He turned around, walking toward the front of the room in case he needed to seek privacy in the bathroom, or in the hall. He needed to make this quick. It looked like things were progressing quicker than he thought they would. He'd probably fuck her, then get her to squeal on her husband. Either way, he planned to make her squeal a lot tonight. He looked at the caller ID before flipping the phone open. It was Sharpe.
"Special Agent Edwards," he said.
"Justin. This is Special Agent Ryan Sharpe. Whatever you do, do not interrupt me, or say a word unless I tell you to. Are you with Jessica Petrovich? Answer yes or no, and do not look at her."
Jessica watched Edwards from the desk as she poured a glass of wine intended for Edwards. Actually, both glasses were for the FBI agent, along with the rest of the bottle, which she planned to force him to chug. Edwards examined the phone, and appeared to debate whether to answer it. She placed the bottle back in the cooling bucket, which distracted Edwards, and caused him to turn his head in the direction of the icy sound. She listened carefully as he answered the phone, and could sense a shift in his posture. When he stiffly answered "yes," and didn't say another word, her hand flashed under her blouse and pulled a sleek knife from the front pocket of her jeans. She pounced as Agent Edwards tried to draw his gun.
Jessica crossed the ten foot divide before Edwards cleared the pistol from his holster, and put him in a chokehold, squeezing the inside of her forearm harshly against his neck. She pulled his head back and pressed the tip of the knife against the right side of his throat.
"I think you know what could happen next," she whispered into his ear, "drop your gun and cell phone."
He hesitated, and Jessica pushed the razor sharp blade a millimeter further, and anchored her grip across the top of his throat, under his chin. She heard both items hit the carpeted floor a few seconds later, and detected a faint ammonia smell. The cell phone continued to squawk from the floor, and she could hear someone repeating Edward's name. She turned his body ninety degrees to the left, and stomped on the cell phone repeatedly, until she was sure it was completely destroyed. She knew it was possible for the police to track the cell phone if it was still intact, and Agent D'Angelo's sneakers she was wearing made easy work of ensuring the phone's circuits were dead.
Jessica glanced into the mirror and saw a dark stain spreading down Edward's pants, originating from his groin, which was a welcome sight compared to the numerous erections she had been forced to ignore most of the night. She barely noticed the steady trickle of blood flowing down his neck and saturating the collar of his blue dress shirt.
She yanked him out of the mirror's view, and turned him to face the chilled bottle of wine.
"Try anything, and I'll cut you open so badly they'll have no choice but to bury you in a closed coffin. Understood?" said Jessica.
"Please don't kill me. I won't say a…"
She pulled hard against his neck, right under his chin, and he choked on the words. His hands uselessly grabbed at her rock solid grip, and she pushed the knife another millimeter into his neck. His hands went still.
"Do not resist, and do not say a word, unless I ask. Understood?" she hissed, and loosened her grip.
"Yes."
"That's better," she replied, and loosened her grip a little further.
"Did you think you were going to fuck me all night on that bed?"
Silence. She moved the knife against his neck, but not enough to draw blood.
"I…I don't know what I was…"
"You like to take advantage of women? Degrade them, make them feel vulnerable, wrecked…then fuck them like trash? Is that what you like?" she whispered in his ear.
"No. No. I really…"
"Are you a rapist?" she whispered, and ran the blade up and down his neck, catching his stubble.
"No," he pleaded.
"Date rapist? Bet we find some Gamma in your piss soaked pockets," she said.
"Who are you?" he asked weakly, as if he knew this question would cost him.
"Didn't they tell you?"
"No," he said.
"What exactly did they tell you?" she asked, and he didn't answer.
She removed the knife from his neck, which caused Edwards to tense. At this point, any movement near his neck caused him to flinch. She quickly placed the knife as far as she could between his legs, and pushed upward through the wet fabric of his pants against his testicles, which appeared to have retracted as far as possible into his abdomen.
"I'm going to slash this knife upward and back if you don't start talking. I imagine that crime scene photo would end up in every Power Point lecture, given by every crime scene investigator across the country. Might go international. Are you looking to get famous tonight?" she said, adding a little more pressure to the knife against his crotch.
Edwards sucked small, careful breaths through his teeth. "They…they just told me that you were highly dangerous…and…" he hesitated.
"And what," she breathed into his neck.
"That…that I was to hold you here at gunpoint, and use lethal force if you tried to escape," he admitted.
"Do they know about this room?"
"Yes. You don't have much time before-"
She pulled back on her left forearm and stepped back, pulling Edwards further off balance, and angling the knife forward, where a backward slash would cut deep into his now completely limp manhood.
"I'll give you one shot at this, and I'm going to help you out. I know your team is staying at the Econo Lodge by the mall. I figured a pretentious little prick like yourself would not be content with shitty government authorized lodging, so I think this room is off the books. Am I right?" she said.
"Yes, but they'll trace the cell pho-"