Trapped by the Ruthless Billionaire novel Chapter 2

"I'm sorry miss but you've had too much. This hotel is under strict regulations," the bartender responded politely, while he wiped a couple of wet glasses with a napkin. The bar was closing because there weren't many patrons tonight. Weekdays weren't as booming as the weekends.

"I...I'll pay, I…I can afford it," Jenna's vision was already blurring out, as she slurred. The bartender wasn't having it. He couldn't let her pass out in the bar by intoxication. This hotel was a top notch one controlled by the mafia kingpins but this bar was under strict regulations.

"I'm sorry miss, it's late. You should go to your room now," he maintained the gentility in his voice, not wanting to upset a customer.

"Okay," Jenna couldn't argue anymore. She was already tired, her body needed rest. She dropped the empty glass, stood up and struggled to balance her wobbly legs. 'This waiter is so unfeeling.' She needed more alcohol, despite not being a heavy drinker. She was still in her work clothes, giving her a complicating appearance. She took a staggering step and stopped to balance herself. Atleast, she felt lighter. Her problems were temporarily forgotten.

"Let me help you to your room miss," the waiter was concerned. Jenna's shirt was still neatly tucked inside her trousers, her blazer opened, exposing the cleavage of her shirt which was opened two buttons from the top. There was nothing alluring about it, just a formally dressed woman with a brown handbag matching her three inches brown pair of shoes.

Jenna instantly pushed him away. She felt angered and couldn't accept that she was drunk and vulnerable. 'No, I'm fine and in perfect shape,' she mocked herself.' She didn't need anyone's help. "No, I'm fine."

The bartender wasn't convinced. The woman looked like she was going to fall at any moment. "Miss, I'll help you," he insisted, about to reach out to her again when she stumbled backwards. Somehow, she had developed some form of hate for the men folk from just a few hours ago.

"I said I can make my way. Why? Are you a pervert?" She accused him questionably in an irritated tone. The waiter stepped back, then walked to his previous position where he resumed cleaning the wet glasses. He wasn't going to allow himself to be framed for being a pervert. He just wanted to help her.

"I'm sorry miss, have a nice night," he let out a tight-lipped smile.

Jenna ignored him and staggered to the elevator. She had lost track of how long she had been at the bar and how much she had gulped down. Her vision was blurry but she dug her nails into her palm, biting her lips to keep awake and not lose consciousness in the elevator. Instead of pressing 7, she saw the number on the card as 1001, rather than 701. She was seeing in doubles digits, staggering in search of her room number groggily.

'Why were the numbers four instead of three? I will report to the management in the morning.' She swiped the card but there was no beeping sound. Still she turned the knob and it opened. Turning on the switch, dim lights filled the room. She wondered why the lights weren't bright enough, as everything seemed dimmer than usual. She would just give her body what it needed, and give the management her piece of mind in the morning. They were so unprofessional.

She removed her blazer, throwing it on a chair while she strutted and fell on the king size bed, instantly giving in to sleep. She didn't know how long she slept when a grunt woke her. Her eyes snapped open in fear. Someone sneaked into her hotel room. Surprisingly, her handbag was lying safely beside her. She turned to her side in terror. The man was lying on her bed, covered in bruises but it didn't hide his handsome features. She lifted herself to a sitting position, brushing strands of hair from her face with her fingers in panic.

Now, she knew she not only had to report the irregularities but also sue the hotel. Her head ached like a block of stone had been used to hit it while her stomach churned from hangover. Her face roamed the room which appeared too luxurious and huge for what she had booked.

No, this wasn't what she booked. This black and white theme was seemingly customized. No wonder there weren't bright lights. She figured that this was indeed the room of the man on the bed. Her heart began to thump, her headache becoming worse. Realizing that she had checked into the wrong room, she decided to flee, though it was in the middle of the night. She picked her hand bag and without as much as another glance on the bed, she reached the door when a weak and gravelly voice spoke, "help me."

She was tripled with apprehension but turned around, frowning at the man on the bed. All men were evil. They had to die. She had been through so much just a few hours ago and had so much on her mind. Seeing a man bruised like this in a presidential suite, perhaps he was attacked by a mafia gang thus, she couldn't entangle herself and ambled to the desk phone on the nightstand close to his bed.

As soon as she picked the handset, the gravelly voice sounded, "don't." Her attention shifted back to him. "I'm calling room service to get you to the hospital. I have to go to my room. Sorry for disturbing your privacy. I was drunk and mistakenly came into your room," she apologized genuinely. The last thing she wanted was to carry another burden on her shoulders.

"If - you - walk - out - of - the - door - you - will - die," the man spoke in a slow gravelly voice that was scary, making the hairs on the skin stand unend. She was right. This man must have gotten into trouble with the mafia but what did it have to do with her? Perhaps he didn't know what he was talking about and couldn't allow fear to swallow her.

"You are not making sense. How could I die? I've wronged no one," she stated, then recalled she was in the wrong room. Maybe that was the reason. Her head felt like it was going to explode but she just wanted to leave this cursed room. "Alright, let me call 911. They'll send an ambulance," a slice of pity went out from her towards the dying man but his response rather broke her.

"Don't - he'll - kill - you."

Jenna was gripped with fear and was helpless, saturated with the certainty that she was in big trouble. Why did she have to get drunk? She should have endured her pain like a real woman but thought of escaping from it. 'Eve and Drake, you'll pay for this.' Now, not only did the memory and pain still remain but she had webbed herself into a big problem and needed to get out fast.