He debates

Nick’s pulse is still thrumming from the room behind him, the stench of sex and sweat clinging to his skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes another slow step toward the housekeeper.

She’s tiny—barely five-two, maybe nineteen or twenty, skin smooth and pale golden under the harsh hallway lights. Her name tag reads “Linh.” The uniform fits snug across her chest, the skirt ending just above her knees, and her thighs press together as she tries to shrink against the wall. Her eyes flick up to meet his for half a second before dropping again, wide and dark, pupils blown. She’s breathing fast. She heard everything.

Part of him screams to keep walking.

He’s already pushed it further than ever today. Six hours. Bruises. Tears. Videos. Michelle’s probably still lying in that wrecked bed, barely conscious. He’s got enough material to keep her quiet for years. He’s won. He can go home, shower, crash, and no one will ever know.

But another part—the hungry, reckless part that the pills fed all day—whispers louder.

She’s alone.

No one else in the corridor.

The cart blocks half the sightline from the elevator.

She didn’t run when she could have.

She stayed and listened.

Maybe she liked it.

Maybe she’s wet right now under that little skirt.

He imagines grabbing her ponytail, dragging her into the stairwell, bending her over the cart right here.

She’d probably fight at first—quiet little gasps in whatever language she speaks—but they always stop fighting eventually.

He could make her cry too.

Make her beg in broken English.

Film it on the same phone still warm in his pocket.

His cock twitches at the thought, sore but stirring.

But risk flickers in the back of his mind.

Hotel cameras.

Real name on the room.

Michelle’s car in the lot.

If this one screams loud enough, if someone walks by at the wrong second…

He stands there, ten feet from her, backpack slung over one shoulder, heart hammering.

Linh’s fingers tighten on the cart handle. She still won’t look up, but her chest rises and falls quicker now, like she’s waiting for him to choose.

Nick’s tongue drags across his lower lip.

He takes one more step forward—and stops.