A Night At The Katz Motel Novels & Stories

I just pray Jack can’t detect it any more than he already has. Soon enough, night falls and we’re traveling underneath a waxing moon down a desolate highway, Jack’s plush hotel reservation, nothing but a distant fantasy. Weary and with tempers are flaring, we roll into a lonely crossroads motel, a relic of the bygone Route 66 era. In the parking lot, its winking neon sign hums a feeble tune in the darkness, promising false luxuries like cable TV and swamp coolers. Kadeem holds open the door to the lobby and we carefully avoid each other’s eyes. The lobby smells of burnt coffee and bleach. It’s cramped and threadbare, with worn out carpet and dated sheets of wood paneling on the walls.

The detour wound through narrow back roads, water pooling along the edges, the world reduced to headlights and slick asphalt. Neither of us spoke. By the time we pulled into the motel’s gravel lot, night had fully settled. The place was small—two stories, flickering neon sign, the kind of place you stayed because you had no other choice. “Just for the night,” I said, more to myself than to her. Inside, the clerk barely looked up. “One room left.” “What?” Carmilla said in alarm. But I didn’t hesitate. “We have no choice. We’ll take it.”

Kiel for a while, but the audit delayed our plans. “Well then, excuse us,” he added and walked away with Eubanks and Odette. I turned my back on them too. No time for their drama tonight. Eventually, I stepped out onto the balcony for air. A breeze swept through, calming. A waiter offered me a glass of whiskey. I took it and stared out at the city. One sip later, things started spinning. My stomach turned. "What the hell…?" I hadn’t even had that much to drink. Maybe I was still recovering from yesterday, maybe my body wasn’t back to normal. But everything was blurry. I needed to find Milo. Fast.

His, not mine. Grayson led me to a private room on the other side of the hotel. It was furnished as a sitting room—twin soft sofas in plush velvet, long elegant silk curtains at the windows with a pelmet above. There was an antique writing desk and chair set on one side of the room and bookshelves on the other. The carpet was ankle-deep and hand-woven and it was a gorgeous shade of shell pink to match the silk curtains. It would have been a feminine room except for the cold marble statue of the hotel’s founder placed near the window, as well as a stern-looking portrait hanging on one of the walls. Those beady eyes seemed to glare at us as we made our way in as if to ask us why his peace was

he said, returning to the folder in front of him. Kaitlyn turned on her heels and began walking towards the door. She was more than ready to leave. Then just as she was about to grab the door handle, he stopped her. "One more thing" His voice brought her to a halt. She turned back to face him and he took a short pause before speaking up. "Do you always have one-night stands on Sunday nights?" He asked, his gaze piercing right through her soul

He was also startled when Sachin grabbed him by the neck when he was about to park in another hotel that was never named in the society but was having a good income. "Tell me you're not going to make me sleep in that dirty place." Sachin coldly stated, gripping him hard. "I only have cash." Brandon said in defeat. "No!" Sachin screamed at his face, going insane. "Contact Carlson!" Dini said indifferently from the backseat. "But it's already in the middle of the night." He pointed to the time. What answered Brandon was cold silence. Having no choice, Brandon sighs and gets his phone to call Carlson.

“No signal either. We’re properly screwed.” I grabbed the cooler from the back, the half-empty bottle of Casamigos clinking against ice packs. “At least we’ve got this.” A faded sign flickered into view maybe half a mile ahead: MOTEL 6. One bulb burned out in the M. We walked in silence, gravel crunching under our shoes, the night air finally cooling enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. The clerk didn’t even look up from his phone. “One room. Queen. Hundred bucks cash. No refunds.”

"Bella, we haven't seen each other for a long time. Do you have time now? I have a lot of things to share with you. Let's meet at Night Bar later!" Night Bar, located in the center of New York City, was a high-end bar whose customers were mainly spoiled brats and some business people. After hanging up the phone, I stopped a taxi on the roadside and headed straight for the Night Bar. ******* I pushed open the door of the Night Bar. Under the dizzying lights, a group of men and women danced on the dance floor, fueled by restless music and alcohol. I squeezed my way to the bar and asked, "Hello, please help me check the private room that Helen Payten booked."

I replied annoyed and headed for the stairs with the highlighter in my hand and crossing out the place. "He always does that, he puts up a trap ad, then whoever doesn't mind dealing with his 'exhibitionist vibe', he cajoles her until he uses it and throws it away," the girl who came downstairs with me explained, I took it as some kind of apology. "Well, I'll have to complain or something, it sucks to get a good place in this city, it swallows you up completely," I admitted tiredly. "Are you so desperate?" "Yes, and it's a mess I have to deal with because I can't live in a motel.

“No dodging me either, because friends share stuff like this, remember?” Somehow she’d known that comment would come back to bite her. But she wasn’t an actress for nothing. She’d lie her ass off so Chase didn’t put an end to their adventure right now. ***** The bad thing about driving all night? Trying to find a motel at six in the morning with available rooms. When they finally located one, they agreed paying seventy dollars over their budget was worth it. As soon as they dropped their bags, they stripped, crawled between the cool sheets of the king-sized bed and conked out, twined together. Even in sleep Chase kept Ava close. He’d never imagined he’d like waking up with the same woman wra