They walked through the door and down to the empty reception area, to another hallway housing Ben’s suite. Karen felt a little better there, but not much. For all she knew that psychotic prick with the messed up face could be on his way to the room right now. What would stop him from busting down the door and doing whatever he wanted with her? Nothing, nothing at all, certainly nothing she or Tina could do. And she wouldn’t put it past him to show up, wouldn’t put anything past him. He hated her—like it was her fault he injured himself trying to run her down in the street. What was she supposed to do, just stand there and let it happen? Not in this lifetime. And Ben. What she had done with him sickened her. He was a thug, a cocaine-snorting, dope-smoking cretin. No telling what manner of violence he had helped to inflict, the heartache the crimes he had involved himself in had caused. Robbery and rape… why not? Murder? He sure looked the type, sure as hell seemed ready to carry out Dub’s orders pertaining to her, probably would have if that wounded biker hadn’t shown up.
