Sins & Secrets

  “Well, whatever it is, you now owe me a thousand bucks.” His nonchalant attitude is pissing me off.

  “No I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.” He sits up in his chair. “For losing me money last night and a potential new client.”

  I take a cautious step into the room. “Tenner called you last night and told you what happened I’m guess?” I pause, not wanting to ask, but I need to know what happened after I blacked out. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Not really. Only that my business was a joke and that he was never going to use or recommend The Dusky Inn services to anyone.” His brows knit the slightest bit. “Honestly he seemed kind of nervous, which makes me wonder what exactly happened between you two.” He waits for me to explain but I keep quiet. As much as I don’t want to answer any of Reagan’s questions at the moment, I couldn’t even if I wanted to since I have no idea what happened.

  “Fine, don’t tell me anything,” Reagan says in a low voice that carries a warning. “But here’s what you’re going to do to make it up to me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” I tell him. “So don’t pretend I do. That guy—Tenner—tried to beat the shit out of me and whatever happened was self-defense. What I did to him was fair.”

  “Nothing is fair in this world.” He leans forward in his chair and reaches for a paper on his desk. “Now sit down.”

  “I already told you, I’m standing.” I take a step back toward the doorway. “And you know what, I think I’ll leave now. I’m done talking about this.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lola Anders,” he calls out as I’m turning to exit the room.

  I freeze mid-turn, my jaw dropping to my knees. “That’s not my name.” My voice is barely a whisper.

  “Isn’t it?” Amusement laces his voice. Clearly he’s enjoying this.

  I ball my hands into fist and stab my fingernails into my palms, attempting to shove down the anxiety claw it’s way through my body. “No…. and you know that.”

  “I know a lot of things about you Lola Anders.” He pauses. “Or is it Lola Anelli. I’m not sure what you used to prefer to go by.”

  Suddenly it’s starting to makes sense—the notes. I whirl around, glaring at him. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one doing it.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says coolly, but I detect a hint of puzzlement. “I’ve done a lot of things, Lola, so you’ll have to be more specific.”

  My fingers hover near the gun strapped to my leg and hidden underneath my shorts. “You sent me the notes.”

  “What notes?” he asks and I can’t tell whether he’s telling the truth or not. He seems lost, but I don’t know Reagan enough to know whether he’s a good liar or not. I’m guessing with the kind of business he’s running, he has to be.

  “The one’s I’ve…” I trail off at his bafflement. “How did you find out about me?” I take a step or two closer to the desk, noting that his hand is inching toward his gun.

  He shrugs. “I’ve actually known for a little while. Lola Anders, daughter of Larenze Anelli, one of the most powerful drug lord’s on the east coast.”

  “But that’s the east coast,” I say, gripping the hem of my shorts, debating whether or not to take out my weapon or not. “And you have to be part of the drug world to know a lot about it, so tell me, how did you find out?” I dare another step closer to the desk. “Who told you?”

  He picks up his gun and pulls the magazine out. “What kind of business do you think we’re running here?”

  I hesitate. “A sex business.”

  He chuckles under his breath as he puts the magazine back in. “That is one of many. It’s good to do multiple things you know. Makes the really bad stuff easier to hide.”

  “So you’re saying you deal drugs.”

  “Dealer is an understatement.” He sets the gun down and rises up from his chair. “I’m a lot more powerful than that.”

  “In Glensdale, I highly doubt that,” I say condescendingly. “And besides, I search your last name and nothing came up.”

  “Let me guess, you searched Nyjah’s last name which isn’t the same as mine.” He lets out a low laugh at the sight of my shocked expression, not with humor though. “Try searching Scadaelany.” He says it as if I’ll recognize it, but I don’t.

  “Not ringing a bell,” I say, knowing it’s going to get under his skin. Men like him—men like my father—thrive on power and status.

  His eyes narrow on me. “Just as much of a snob as your father.”

  Suddenly the terrible situation because even worse because not only does he know my family but he knows my father. “You know my father?”

  “Every drug and drug dealer in the country knows your father.” He stands with the gun in his hand and winds around the desk until he’s standing in front of me. He gets too close but I refuse to cower back and show weakness. “And everyone hates him as much as I do.” He raises the gun and traces the end up and down my cheek.

  I finch, but still don’t move back, refusing to break eye contact. “What are you going to do to me?”

  He lowers the gun to his side. “It’s not what I’m going to do to you, but what you’re going to do for me. Otherwise, I’m going to call up that lovely Dellefontes family who put that hit out on you and collect the reward being offered for that pretty little head of yours.”

  I lift my hand to slap him, but he catches it in his fingers and squeezes tightly. “I’d watch it if I were you.” His fingertips press roughly against my hammering pulse. “You wouldn’t want to get on my bad side.”

  God, if I could, I’d drop kick him straight between the legs, but he’s right. Right now, he has a lot of power over me—whether I live or die. And I know what I have to do even if I don’t want to.

  “Fine, what do you want?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  When he grins at me, I know that whatever he’s about to say is going to be bad.

  Very, very, bad.

  Chapter 7

  Lola

  I suck at escorting tonight. If it wasn’t for Reagan threaten me, I would have never gone out so quickly after the whole Tenner thing. But he threatens me to do that, with drugs, with a lot of things that I can’t even begin to think about yet. The guy practically owns me at the moment and I hate it. And if I don’t find a way out of it, incidents with Tenner are going to happen more and more.

  I need to find a way to run.

  Different scenarios play through my mind I sit at the dinner table, pretending that I’m interested in the client sitting across from me. But my dazzlingly charm is missing the mark badly and my whit is absent completely. Thankfully the guy eating dinner with me seems clueless about escorting services and probably thinks this is normally how escorts act.

  “So what do we do next?” he asks, picking at the salad with his fork. His name is Elington, well at least that’s the name he gave when he called in.

  I shrug, taking a bite of my chicken even though I’m not hungry. My eyes locked on him, my shoulders at just the right angle that he can see down the top of my dress—it’s the best move I can come up with right now. Make him seem like I’m paying attention to him, when I barely hear half the words he said. “What ever you want sweetie.” I always like to give the clients nicknames, one that fits their character. I could tell right away that Elington was the nervous and quiet kind, which led me to the term sweetie. Nice and simple, hoping that it will make the night nice and simple. But he does seem like the kind of guy who isn’t used to hanging out with half-dressed women who can bring a guy to an orgasm in thirty seconds so I have a feeling it’s going to take a lot of energy on my part to make this a great night, energy I don’t have.

  “Well, what do you usually do... when… I mean after…” He scratches the back of his of his neck tensely while he glances around the restaurant for way longer than necessary. Finally, his gaze lands back on me and I can see his pulse throbbing in his neck, so damn nervo
us and strangely so am I. After all that’s happened, after the notes, Tenner, the person in boots, the woman who supposed looked like me, and now Reagan finding out who I am, I feel like a bundle of restlessness that doesn’t want to sit still.

  “I mean, after the date part?” Elington says, letting out a anxious breath as he sets his fork on the plate. “What happens after we’re done eating?”

  I give him the best seductive smile I can muster, but don’t turn on my sex appeal as hot as I usually do. “Like I said, we can do whatever you want. This is your night, sweetie.” I relax back in my chair, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger, my gaze still fastened on him. “But most of the time, this is when we’d go back to the room.”

  He gulps nervously. “Okay, we can do that.” Then he turns in his chair and flags down the waiter for the check, still seeming tense, which makes me wonder if he’ll end up backing out in the end. It happens more than you’d think, especially with married men. I don’t think he’s married, though. He doesn’t have a ring on and no tan line from wearing one. He doesn’t give off the vibe either. He just seems experienced. Young and inexperienced, but then again so did Tenner and I turned out to be way wrong about him.

  I’m guessing Elington’s a year or two younger than me, around twenty-one, barely legal to drink. Short brown hair, eyes that match, a lean body, he’s not that bad to look at. But looks aren’t what’s most important. I have a harder time with the quiet ones, but maybe that’s because I’ve always been more at ease with cocky guys, guys that can handle a girl taking charge, perhaps meet her in the middle, be on the same level.

  Guys like Layton Everett.

  God, what I’d give for him to be here. He was always so good at helping me out of my mess. He would know exactly what to do.

  But he’s not because he’s dead because of you.

  I shake my head. Don’t think about him Lola. You’re already stressed enough.

  After Elington pays the bill, we head to the hotel that’s a few miles down the road from the restaurant, in the more sketchy area of town, the same one I went to last night. It’s the usual place the escorts at The Dusky Inn go, since most of the people hanging in that area are doing illegal things and therefore barely pay attention to anyone else’s shit. Nyjah has connections with one of the hotel owners, so he gets rooms or free without question and even has keys on hand. And they’re not the card keys. I’m talking old school metal keys.

  I’m usually numb as hell whenever I enter the lobby, but tonight I’m wired, my emotions buzzing inside me, my stomach burning with lingering memories of last night. My head still hurts from last night and my wrist is a little bruised from where Tenner gripped me.

  I don’t want to be here.

  “Do you have the key Nyjah gave you?” I ask Elington as we get out of the cab and stand in front of the entrance doors. There’s a guy smoking a cigarette with the hoodie pulled over his head, leaning against the wall, watching us intently, probably because he knows what I am. Other than that there’s no one else around, but that’s normal for this place.

  Elington nods as he pays the cab driver, then shuts the door. He takes a deep inhale as he studies the dimly lit, dingy, outdated hotel that rises up to the night sky. “Yeah… lets get this over with.”

  Okay, that’s a new one. It’s like he doesn’t’ want to be here, which considering he paid a ton for this date, makes no sense. I want to ask him what’s up, but I also don’t want to give Reagan anymore of a reason to go to the Dellefontes so I keep my lips sealed as we head to the front door. I’m very aware that the guy following me tracks me with his eyes. I try to see what he looks like beneath the shadows of his hoodie, but he’s fairly far away and there’s not enough light and all I can make out is he has eyes, a mouth, and lips.

  When Elington opens the door for me, I tear my attention on him and focus on my job. Taking the lead, I cross the lobby and get onto the elevator. Elington fidgets the entire way in the elevator, his head tipped down, his shoulders slouched, as if he’s about to fold over and pass out.

  Yeah, I’m definitely betting this one’s a backer outer. Or it’s something else… I eye him over, trying to read him. “You okay there?”

  He nods way too swiftly. “Yeah. Sure.”

  I don’t believe him for one second and after last night, ever part of me screams to pull out my gun. I keep an eye on him my hand near my side. He only lifts his head when the elevator beeps and the doors open. “After you,” he says motioning for me to get out first.

  I force a smile, then step out, noticing that he has a tin trail of sweat on his forehead. Something’s not right.

  Reagan told me I had to come tonight for the simple reason that I was going to keep doing my job or else he’d give out my location. I was also going to take on more clients and start helping with deals by using my charming looks and personality to dazzle his clients. The problem with this is that if any of his clients no who I am then I’m screwed. But now I’m wondering if this is a setup. Maybe Elington is helping set me up for Reagan.

  Elington lets me take the lead as I walk down the slender hallway, lined with shut doors. It’s silent, which is typical for this hotel, but I find myself desperate to hear a noise. I casually let my fingers graze my thigh, the reminder usually bringing me comfort but not tonight.

  “Which room number are we in?” I glance over my shoulder as Elington who’s wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Um…” He looks around at the numbered doors, seeming more nervous than when we had dinner. Then lifts his hand and points at the to the last door on the left. “It’s right there. That’s the one I think.”

  I give my best smile then step back so he can unlock the door, my hand still at my side, near the gun. He steps forward, reaching into his pocket, then curses under his breath and moves back.

  “Sorry, I… a… forgot the key,” he says tensely. “I’ll be right back.”

  “But you said you already had it,” I call out, but he’s already rushing back down the hallway toward the elevators.

  I have no idea where he’s going. If he doesn’t have the key than he has to get one from Nyjah and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand around here and wait for whatever comes next. I start to chase after him, but pause at the sound of a loud bang from inside one of the nearby rooms. My guard instantly goes up. Something’s about to happen. Something bad. I can feel it.

  With my hand cupping my thigh, I cautiously move down the hallway with my eyes glued to every door as I pass by them. Even if there is someone in one of the rooms, they can clearly see me through the peephole and I’ll be oblivious. This is the worse kind of scenario for an ambush on my part. I think about how I got kidnapped two years ago and how I was thrown into a car. I wonder if they’ll give me the benefit of that this time of if they’ll just kill me. I won’t have Layton here to protect me this time either.

  Layton. God, I miss him.

  By the time I reach the end of the hall, nearing the elevators, I haven’t seen or heard anything at all and my fingers start to ease up from my thigh. But them lights flip off and I’m suffocated by darkness. “Shit,” I curse, tensing up again. Seconds later the backup lights flip on, but they give little light, much dimmer and fluorescent then the normal ones. As I squint to see my surroundings, I withdraw my gun, but keep it at my side. I wonder if I’ll be able to do it this time when it all comes down to it—take another life. I did it once, but only after I froze up. Then last night with Tenner proved that I don’t have the instincts to automatically protect myself.

  I quickly sidestep down the hall, turning from side to side, scanning the doors, very aware that no one has exited any of the rooms. Someone should have by now, to see what’s going on. And the longer it stays silent the more I think this is a trap.

  I need to get out of here.

  I pick up my pace, running past the elevators and toward the bright green exit sign above the door that leads to the stairway. W
hen I make it to there, I take off in a mad sprint down the stairs, speeding up when I hear a door open and shut from someone in the stairway. I wonder if they’re below me or above me. Up or down. Which way should I go?

  Then I hear loud footsteps from above and I take off downward, my heart racing frantically, like it’s finally remembering how to beat after I tried to shut it down for so many years.

  “Lola wait,” someone calls out and I move faster, my feet hammering down the stairs. Just a few more flights and then I can run out the door and get into a cab. Go home, get my stuff, and run until they catch me. Deep down, I know I won’t make it far, not when I’ve already been found. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t go down without a fight.

  “Lola, for the love of God, please slow down.” A hand touches my shoulder and I spin around, raising the gun and pointing it at the person behind me.