I spent the rest of the week living out of the motel. The room was tiny, impersonal, and suffocating, but it felt safer than my own house.
My daily routine was simple and monotonous. I'd wake up, drive the 40 minutes to my gym, run through my intense workout session with Jess, and then drive straight back to the motel, only leaving for takeout. I lived like a phantom, never spending more than a couple of hours in one location outside the motel.
There was still no sign of Sasha. Her phone was still not going through, but I had texted her my new, temporary address and the exciting details of Jess's proposal.
For the entire week, I was on high alert. Every car that lingered, every pedestrian who glanced my way, every strange noise in the motel hallway was scrutinized. I constantly checked my mirrors, convinced I was being tailed. I waited for mysterious dudes to jump me, or for some unseen sniper to put a hole through my neck.
But nothing happened. There were no black sedans, no threatening phone calls, and no more messages from Red Eye. Everything was eerily, painfully normal. I did my workouts with Jess like nothing had changed, channeling the lingering paranoia into violent intensity on the weights.
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It was Friday night. I had just finished another grueling training session and was trying to decompress. I was sprawled out on the cheap, stained armchair, staring blankly at the television. A late-season NFL game was flickering on the screen, the volume muted—just noise to keep the silence from consuming me.
The clock on the cable box read 20:47 p.m.
Then, a sound cut through the ambient motel silence.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
It was three sharp, measured raps on my door. Not the tentative tapping of housekeeping, or the drunk stumbling of a fellow guest. It was deliberate.
My blood turned instantly to ice. My heart, which had just been lulled by the post-workout fatigue and the distraction of the game, surged into a frantic rhythm. Every nerve ending in my body screamed danger.
The three knocks repeated, slightly louder this time.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
My first thought flew to Red Eye's last message: You're fucked.
I grabbed the only thing within reach—a heavy, chrome lamp from the bedside table, and stood behind the door, gripping the lamp like a weapon. I lowered the television volume to zero.
I whispered, my voice thick with adrenaline, "Who is it?"
A voice, smooth and deeply familiar, came through the thin wood.
"Druski. It's Sasha."
I sighed, the tension in my muscles slowly draining away as the adrenaline subsided. I returned the heavy chrome lamp to the bedside table. Sasha. It wasn't the Syndicate, but the fact that she knew my hiding place was deeply unsettling.
I opened the door, pulling her inside in one quick motion. Once she was in the room, I made a clean sweep with my eyes through the corridor—left, right, and across the parking lot outside. Seeing no one suspicious, I slammed the door shut and engaged the deadbolt.
"Were you followed?" I demanded, my voice low and frantic.
Sasha, stunning even in a simple black hoodie and jeans, looked at me with confusion. "No. Druski, what the hell? Why are you acting like we're in a bad B-movie? And why are you living here?"
I ran a hand through my hair.
"I'm hiding from very dangerous people, Sasha. I can't explain right now. It's... it's complicated," I said, opting for the vague truth. I immediately shifted the focus. "Why are you here?"
"I finally got service," she said, pulling a massive, expensive phone from her pocket. "I got your messages, including the one with this address. I was escorting a client to Niagara Falls for a week-long booking. We just got back into the city a few hours ago."
She glanced around the grim motel room.
"We had a shoot scheduled for tonight, remember? We're supposed to be filming your third scene right now."
She paused, then her eyes widened slightly. "Wait. You got me all excited about a scene with a cam girl named Jess, and then you ran away from your life?"
I took a deep, shaky breath, consciously forcing my heart rate down. I had to regain control of the situation. I couldn't risk scaring away my best asset.
"I apologize, Sasha," I said, my voice softening. "You're right. I'm overreacting. But look—you walked into a situation you don't understand, and it has nothing to do with clients." I paused, then decided to shift the energy entirely. "Forget that for a second. We have something huge to discuss."
I quickly laid out the details of the negotiation with Jess. The shared ambition, the high payment, $700 for her, and the guaranteed viral exposure of a three-way with two established performers.
"She's ready to pay, Sasha, but first, she wants to know... are you into girls?" I asked, watching her reaction carefully.
Sasha grinned, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Oh, this Jess. Is she hot? I've been with women clients before, sure, though I definitely love cock more. But if Jess is paying, then I am very willing to work."
The immediate business was settled. I had a scene secured.
She glanced at my camera bag. "Okay, so the Jess scene is greenlit for next week. But we had a booking for tonight, Druski. I just drove back from Niagara Falls. We need to shoot something before I go home." She looked pointedly at the dingy motel walls. "Are we allowed to shoot porn in this motel?"
My swagger rose to the occasion. "I paid cash for the room, and there's no rule that says I can't have sex with my girlfriend. Which, for the next few hours, you are."
Sasha smirked, enjoying my sudden display of confidence. "Good. Then stop talking about cam girls and dangerous people hunting you. Order room service, and let's set up those cameras so we can start working."