Beauty and Kaos by Lyla Raine EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Lyla Raine
- Language: English
- Genre: Contemporary Romance Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.8 MB
- Price: Free
Skye
Raised voices echo down the hall, escaping from the cracked hotel
room door where sheer white drapes billow out as if in surrender. I
stall at the threshold, steeling myself. I’ve been doing this job long
enough to know what to expect, but it doesn’t ever get any easier. I knock
once. Twice. Announce my intent. But there is no acknowledgment.
I look over my shoulder at Heather for reassurance, the weathered lines
of her face twisted in fear and disgust, and receive none. She’s barely
holding it together. I swallow hard and push the door open.
Garbage and liquor bottles litter the floor like New Year’s confetti.
Pictures hang askew on the walls, splattered with a dark substance that has
likely dried to stain. Watching my feet as I move, I carefully skirt a spilled
pile of Raman beside an overturned side table.
“Do you smell that?” Heather asks, glancing around hesitantly, her nose
wrinkling in offense.
I nod. “I should have called out today.” I retrieve a pair of latex gloves
from my back pocket and slide them on. Whatever happened in here, I
definitely don’t want to touch it. I knock on the bedroom door, but again, no
answer.
Heather makes a startled sound, and I turn around to see her at the
entrance to the bathroom. “I found where the smell is coming from.” Her
hand flies to cover her mouth in horror.
I keep moving, around the sofa and across the room to the TV. At top
volume, political commentators shout passionately at one another about
opposing legislation.
I scan the destruction, look for the remote, and reluctantly pick through
a damp pile of clothing before spotting it beneath a stack of take-out
cartons. I grab it and flip the TV off, grimacing as the remote sticks to my
gloved hand when I place it on the table.
“Mr. Benson?” I call out, walking toward the double glass doors that
open onto the balcony. I can see the ocean beyond the glass, the waves
curling as they roll into shore. “Mr…” I pause, taking a breath to steady
myself, and question again. “Mr. Benson?”
Flat on his back, a naked man lies still on the cool concrete of the
balcony, partially saturated with the spilled contents of a whiskey bottle still
clutched in his hand. His blonde hair is matted to his head with a reddish
substance, which I might find concerning if I hadn’t already noticed the
strawberry jam mural on the kitchen cabinets. I repeat his name again, and
call over Heather.
“Is he okay?” She asks, nudging him with her shoe. He rambles off a
mouthful of slurred nonsense about the liberal media and rolls over.
“He’s alive,” I grumble, leaning down to him. “Hey! What’s his first
name?”
“Leonard.”
“Leonard Benson? Jesus. His parents really had high expectations for
his future.” I shake him. “Leonard. Man, you’ve got to get up.”
He groans, lifting the hand with the whiskey bottle to shield his eyes
from the sun, and dumping the remaining liquid into his face.
“Are you the police? What day is it?” He coughs, startled.
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