“You shit!” Aiden yelled. He ripped his hand away from Matt’s grip, whipping the knife across Matt’s temple.

Blood gushed into his face.

Joey jammed his shoulder into Aiden’s chest, and thrust him out of the doorway. As Aiden tried to catch his balance, Joey slammed the door, jamming the bolt.

Matt pushed himself to his feet.

They heard Aiden’s footfalls as he sprinted down the hallway.

Would he drip blood everywhere?

Someone would call security.

“Let’s get out of here.” Matt’s head throbbed. He put his hand to his face. It was sticky with blood. He grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and pressed it against the slice in his temple while he gathered up his laptop and charger, and shoved it into his bag.

Joey stood by the door. White-faced. Shaking. “What if he’s waiting in the stairwell? He’s got a knife.”

The kid looked as if he’d been hit by a train, and the feeling was catching. The whole thing had escalated crazily in just a matter of seconds.

“He won’t be.” Matt had no idea if that was true, but he needed Joey to move.

There was a quick rap on the door. “Security,” a man’s voice said.

Damn it.

Matt peered through the peephole. A man dressed in the hotel security uniform stood outside his door, frowning at the drops of blood on the hallway carpet.

Matt pulled his hat down, held the washcloth to his head, and pulled open the door. “Hello.”

“We’ve had a noise complaint.” The security guard stared at Matt’s face. “Someone said it sounded like a fight.”

Matt smiled beneath the washcloth. “No, sorry, I fell over the footstool and cut my head. I could see I was making a mess on the carpet. So I ran into my hotel room, with my head up like this—” he pointed his chin upwards, “—to try to stop the blood.”

The security guard looked at Joey. The teen nodded. “It was my fault. I moved the footstool,” Joey added.

Matt tilted his head. “I gotta go to the washroom or I’ll bleed all over the floor.”

The security guard gave a cursory glance around the room. Given a life-or-death fight had just occurred, the living room appeared untouched. All the action had occurred by the doorway, and the open door blocked the security guard’s view of the blood-smeared wall, and the large scrape on the paint where Matt had pinned Aiden’s hand.

“Have a good evening.” The security guard nodded.

Matt closed the door. “Guess we don’t have to leave.” He stuck the washcloth back over his cut. The beanie had soaked the blood.

“I can’t stay for too long.” Joey sank onto the sofa. He held his phone, his fingers trembling. “My parents are losing it. They want me to come home.” He glanced at Matt. “And I want to go.”