Chapter 18: Returning Home
I glanced up at the clock mounted above the door—8 a.m. already, the numbers glaring back at me. Shit. My mind snapped to Aeri. She'd asked me to come home as soon as I could, and I'd promised to try.
I fumbled for my phone on the bedside table, the screen lighting up with 13 missed calls—all from her. My eyes widened, a jolt of panic hitting me hard.
"Damn it," I muttered, scrambling off the bed. I grabbed my pants from the floor, the fabric crumpled and stiff, and yanked them on quick, zipping up as I hopped on one leg. My black t-shirt was half under the couch—I snatched it up, pulling it over my head.
I ran my hands through my hair, brushing it back messy but good enough, and walked for the elevator, my boots thumping on the carpet. I pressed the button, the doors sliding open with a soft *ding*, and stepped inside.
The elevator hummed down to the ground floor, and I stepped out. The brothel was calm now, the wild energy of last night gone. A couple of bar girls were cleaning up—Amera, with her dark ponytail and a rag in hand, was wiping down the bar, while another swept the floor. The air smelled like lemon cleaner mixed with stale booze.
Amera looked up as I walked in, flashing me a tired but friendly smile. "Good morning, Ezra," she said, her voice chipper despite the early hour, her mini skirt swishing as she moved to polish a glass.
"Morning," I said back, nodding quick, my mind still racing. "Hey, where's Jonathan at?"
Before she could answer, a heavy *thap* landed on my shoulder—Jonathan's big hand, clapping down like he always did. I turned, and there he was, his yellow hair messy, still rocking that Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned and loud as ever.
"Good morning, our hero!" he said, his voice booming, a wide smile splitting his face.