Sins & Secrets 2

  “Nah, I just need to work past it, but thanks for the offer.” I give him the best smile I can muster.

  It seems like he wants to say more, his crystal blue eyes piercing into me. “Maybe you should take tonight off. Get some rest. We could hang out here. Order in some food. Whatever you want.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date?” My tone is playful, knowing that’s not what he’s really doing. At least, that’s what I originally think until he looks at me with a very intent, serious expression.

  “If that’s what you want,” he says, maintaining my gaze, “then, yeah, we can do the whole date thing.”

  “Nyjah, you don’t want to date me. Trust me; I’m not dating material.” Besides, the idea of going out on a date makes me want to throw up.

  Yes, I have sex with men, but for money and the fact that it hollows me out inside. Actually going on a date with someone, setting myself up for some kind of romantic connection, makes me feel sick.

  I still haven’t gotten over Layton. Not sure I ever will. Therefore, dating isn’t an option.

  “I know what you are, Lola. I know what I’m getting into.”

  “No, you don’t. Trust me.” I squirm in the chair. “If you did, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  He shakes his head in aggravation. “You always think so low of yourself. Is that why you do it? Because you don’t think you deserve better?”

  I’m getting irritated, though I know I shouldn’t. He only cares about me. But I’m not worthy of his sympathy. I’m not worthy of anything.

  “No, that’s not why I do it. I do it for the same reason everyone else here does. Because I’m a slut who likes sex.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That’s not why everyone does it, and you know it.”

  “It’s why some do.”

  “Yeah, but not you. I saw it in your eyes the day you walked in here. You’re carrying something dark inside of you.”

  I’m having a hard time breathing. “Nyjah, please drop it. I don’t want to talk about this. I just want to do my job tonight.”

  “Yeah, but what if he does want sex?” He searches my eyes for God knows what.

  “Then maybe I’ll go through with it.”

  He pauses, scratching the back of his neck.

  I’m still a bit shocked about him asking me out. Yeah, he’s flirted with me a few times, but he never acted on it. In a normal world, I’d be flattered. However, this isn’t a normal world. This is Lola’s world. Lola, who is the offspring of a very powerful, very dangerous drug lord.

  “You know, my dad’s looking for help around the office again,” Nyjah says, lowering his hand to his lap. “I know you said you weren’t interested the last time he offered, but I thought maybe you have changed your mind over the last couple of weeks.”

  I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Do we really have to do this again? I already told you that I can’t take the job, and I still feel the same way.”

  “Is it because of the money?”

  “Partly. But there’s more to it. Again, something I’ve already told you.”

  “Like what?”

  I consider telling him the real reason, but only for a split second.

  “Look, can we just leave it at I have some issues and this … job helps me deal with those issues? Without it, I’d just have to think all the time, and I don’t want to think.”

  “It doesn’t seem like you enjoy it, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

  He’s striking a nerve.

  I get up from the chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a guy I have to go jerk-off.”

  He shakes his head, getting frustrated. “Fine, Lola. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He goes from friendly to formal in a second flat.

  He opens a drawer and retrieves an envelope, shoving it in my direction. When I take it, he gets up and goes to talk to another woman who works here.

  He never seems to give any of them crap, and I wish he’d do the same for me—stop trying to figure me out and never ask me out again. If he really knew what was going on in my head, all the things I’ve thought and done, he’d probably run for his life.

  I turn to leave, opening the envelope that has my name on it, figuring it’s my paycheck. Or, well, cash since I won’t do checks. However, I quickly realize it’s too thin to hold cash.

  By the time I get it open, I’m a bit confused. Then the confusion shifts to sheer panic when I see a piece of paper inside, just like the note that was given to Danni. It’s the same handwriting, too.

  Everything you know is a lie.

  My gaze snaps up, and I quickly scan the room. The women who I work with are loitering near the bar, sitting at the tables, and some are smoking on the stairwell. Nyjah is still chatting with the same woman, frustration in his expression.

  I hurry over to him, trying to keep myself together, but I sound breathless.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask, holding up the envelope, my hand twitching toward my boot, ready to grab the gun.

  “It was left in the mailbox out front.” His brows knit as he starts to reach for the envelope. “Why? What’s—”

  I don’t let him finish. I rush out of the building and onto the front porch. The Dusky Inn is exactly what it sounds like—an Inn. It’s an old, two-story building enclosed by a rickety porch, hidden in a neighborhood where most of the houses look about as depressed and outdated as the inn, so it doesn’t stand out. It also has a bright red mailbox near the edge of the gate. I always thought it was a little strange; mainly in the sense that it actually looked nice.

  Marching down to mailbox, I open it, not sure what I’m looking for. I don’t find anything, except a flyer for a free carwash. I shut the mailbox and glance around the neighborhood, again not sure what I’m looking for. But I feel as though I need to search for an answer as to who the hell sent the notes.

  Nothing appears out of the ordinary. A few people are smoking and drinking on the porch next-door. A guy is working on his car. The usual drug dealers and prostitutes are on the corner of the street. They’re there a lot, and I wonder if any of them noticed anything different this morning.

  I go over to one of the women whom I’ve chatted with a couple of times. Her work name is Luscious, and she’s nice enough. She’s always wearing a different color wig. Today’s is a neon pink to match her stilettos.

  “Hey, Luscious,” I greet her, ignoring the other women who give me dirty looks, probably because of where I work. There’s this ongoing fight between the women who work at The Dusky Inn and the street corner girls, because The Dusky Inn girls think they’re more upper-class hookers, which doesn’t make sense to me, but it still makes most of the women who work the corner hate me.

  “Hey, Lola.” She smiles as she struts away from the crowd, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. “What’s going on with the rich girl?”

  “Not rich, remember. And nothing much.” I glance over her shoulder at the people watching us then lower my voice as I lean in. “I was just wondering if you noticed anyone a little … suspicious hanging around here this morning?”

  She cocks a brow, propping her hand on her hip. “Honey, have you seen the neighborhood we work in? Everyone is suspicious around here.”

  “Yeah, I know. Maybe suspicious isn’t the right word.” I pause. “Have you seen anyone maybe watching The Dusky Inn or perhaps putting something in the mailbox?”

  “You mean like the mailman?”

  “No, someone else. Someone maybe dressed in a suit?”

  She considers what I’ve said, her head tipped to the side. “No, I don’t think so. But let me ask around.” Before I can say anything else, she wanders back to the crowd and starts chatting with everyone. Moments later, she saunters back over with a shorter guy with overgrown hair and a goatee.

  “Luscious says you’re looking for someone suspicious?” he asks, eyeing me over with want in his eyes.

  I nod warily, not liking how he looks at me. “Yeah, someone maybe hanging around Th
e Dusky Inn.”

  He gives me an amused grin. “Yeah, I saw someone staring at the building this morning. Actually, some woman I’ve never seen before.”

  Some woman? Okay, not what I was expecting.

  I glance around at the houses then back at him. “Can you tell me what she looked like?”

  His grin darkens, and he tsks me. “Not so fast. First, you gotta pay. Then I’ll give the info.”

  I shake my head. “How much?”

  “I don’t want your money.” His gaze lingers on my breasts before slowly traveling up to my face.

  “Fuck you.” I move my hand toward my gun, ready to threaten him. Then I stop when I realize just how stupid that would be.

  Luscious slaps the guy on the back of the head. “Don’t be an ass. Just tell her what you told me.”

  He glares at her. “Watch it, bitch.”

  Luscious raises her hand to hit him again, but I quickly pull two twenties out of my bra and wave them in his face. “Forty bucks if you just tell me what the woman looked like.” I’m not even sure if it’ll matter. I probably haven’t ever seen the woman before.

  He stares at the money for a second then snatches it out of my hands. “Yeah, okay.” He stuffs the money into his pocket. “She looked like you.” He starts to walk off, but I snag him by the arm.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” I snap. “I gave you forty bucks; now tell me what she looked like.”

  He looks back at me then down at my hand on his arm. “Hands off, bitch.”

  “Not until you tell me.”

  “I already told you that she looked like you. Tall, nice tits and ass, same eyes, and your faces looked pretty much the same. She was a little older maybe, but still hella fine.” He winks at me and makes this disgusting pucker with his lips.

  “Oh, yeah.” Luscious slams her hand against her forehead. “I saw her, too, but I thought she was you. Except she was dressed in all leather, which didn’t seem like something you would wear.”

  Leather? What the hell?

  “I wasn’t here this morning.”

  Luscious shrugs. “Well, I thought it was you. Sure as hell looked like you.”

  “Nah, I got up close to her,” the guy says. “She looked older and a little bit different. Bigger breasts, too.”

  My heart misses a beat as I stand frozen in time, lips parted, shocked to my very core.

  “Older, like someone who could be my mother?”

  “Mother, older sister—whatever.” He jerks his arm out of my hold. “We’re done here. I gotta get back to work.”

  I let him walk off. It doesn’t matter if he stays or not. I’m completely speechless. Someone who looked like me. Someone like a mother or a sister. Problem is, I don’t have a sister. And my mother’s dead.

  So, who the hell is she?

  Chapter 4

  Lola

  I’m falling apart. After almost two years of suppressing my emotions, now they’re all manifesting in the form of anxiety.

  The thing that really sucks is I only had an hour from when I was at The Dusky Inn until I have to meet my client for the night.

  I think about calling Aunt Glady, seeing if maybe she knows any of my relatives who look like me and perhaps have a leather fetish. There’s a ton I’ve never met before, so who the hell knows? Maybe my father has one of my aunts or cousins out looking for me. Though I don’t know why the hell he’d have them give me strange notes.

  It doesn’t make any sense, and I really don’t want to get Aunt Glady involved in this. It’s why I cut ties with her almost two years ago.

  Instead, I do what I need to do and get cleaned up for work, making sure my gun is still tucked in my boot.

  I pretty much check over my shoulder every five seconds, knowing someone out there, in the street, in the restaurant—anywhere—is probably watching me.

  Thankfully, I’m a pro at turning myself off when I need to. And despite my rattled nerves, the night goes smoothly. I have dinner with my client, Tenner; a tall, larger guy in his early thirties, who smells like cheap cologne and can’t seem to take his eyes off my cleavage. I make sure to drink a lot of scotch because it makes almost anything okay, including sex with a guy I’m in no way attracted to. Then we go up to the room where I strip everything off except my bra, underwear, and boots so my gun will stay hidden.

  He’s nervous, and it’s my job to make him relax.

  I sit him down on the bed and straddle him. “Relax, baby,” I tell him as he grips my hips.

  For a moment, I wince at his touch, but then I smile, pretending he’s Layton. I always picture Layton when I do this, which is probably fucked up in so many ways, but so am I.

  “I am relaxed,” Tenner promises then leans in to kiss me, his eyes closing, his lips puckered.

  I put my hand over his mouth and slant backward, shaking my head but keeping my charming smile on. “No kissing on the mouth. Remember?”

  The no kissing rule started with something my mother had told me, but honestly, after Layton died, I made a silent promise to myself never to kiss a guy. He stole a few kisses the night we had sex in the bathroom stall and after he dropped me off back home. I want those to be the last kisses I ever have.

  I lower my hand as his eyes open, and then I wander toward his cock, turning everything inside off until I feel so numb I swear I’ve died. I’ve done it a hundred times, and it’s starting to get somewhat alarming how easily I can shut down in the snap of a finger. Sometimes, I wonder if, one day, I won’t be able to turn it back on again.

  As my hand brushes his hardness, Tenner reaches down and grabs my wrist roughly, apparently shaking all of his nerves in a second flat. “I was told I could do whatever I want.”

  This isn’t the first time a guy’s gotten a little rough with me. I know the best thing to do is keep calm.

  “Well, whoever told you that was wrong. There are some girls you can do more with, but you didn’t order one of them.”

  He tightens his hold, his fingernails biting my skin. “I want what I was told I would get. I paid good money for you.”

  “It’s just a kiss,” I tell him calmly. “No big deal. I have a lot of other talents.” I reach for his cock again, though it’s not as easy as the first time, my irritation getting to me.

  He swats my hand away. Then I’m suddenly flipped over onto my belly. He pushes down on me, pressing my face into the mattress.

  “It’s just a kiss for now, but the next thing I know, you’ll steal my wallet and take off before I even get laid.”

  I don’t squirm, don’t scream, and I barely breathe. I’m not afraid. Not yet, anyway.

  “You didn’t pay to get laid, and you should know that. We have rules at The Dusky Inn, and you should’ve been told those rules.”

  He shoves me harder, his hand on my back, his weight hovering over me. Then he leans down and breathes into my ear, “I wasn’t told any rules. What I was told is that I could do whatever I want. And I want you to scream.” I feel his weight come down on me as he hits the back of my head. It feels like my skull cracks, and my ears begin to ring.

  “Motherfucker,” I curse, blinking my vision back into focus.

  That went downhill really fast.

  I try to slam my head back against him, but he dodges. Fighting against his weight, I then wiggle my arm out from under me and lean to the side, reaching down to my boot. I can feel the tip of his hard-on pressing against me while he grabs my hair with one hand, the other pushing me down. At any moment, I know he’s going to slip inside me. But I won’t go down without a fight.

  Mustering up every ounce of strength I have, I push upward, forcing his weight off me. I slide my hand into my boot, and as I roll over, I withdraw my gun.

  He’s about to lunge at me but catches sight of the gun and stops in his tracks. He kneels on the edge of the bed near my legs and puts his hands up.

  “What the hell is this shit? This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  Sitting up, I keep the gun a
imed at him, hating that my hand is unsteady. “What deal?”

  His eyes are wide and full of alarm. “My deal with Reagan. He said, if I paid an extra five hundred, I could get rough with you. He’s done it for me before.”

  Fucking Reagan. His morals have always been questionable at best, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe this is why Nyjah pushed so hard for me to stop escorting. Perhaps he knew this shit was coming. Maybe that’s where the date offer came from. He possibly knew this is what I’d be facing tonight.

  “Well, Reagan never told me this, nor did I get any extra money to let some fucking pervert live out his rape fantasy.” With the gun still out, I move off the bed and reach for my dress.

  Tenner starts to move for me again, but I shove the gun against his chest.

  “You touch me, and you’re fucking dead.”

  He backs away, looking angry yet terrified at the same time. “Stupid cunt.”

  I tell him to sit down on the bed then hurriedly get dressed, keeping the gun pointed at him, getting more and more irritated by the second. I should just leave, but the bad part of me seeks revenge. I want to teach him a lesson.

  I move toward him. “Hand me your wallet.”

  He shakes his head. “No way. I’m not getting ripped off more.”

  Rolling my eyes, I bend down and pick up his pants, searching his pockets until I find his wallet. I open it up and find a picture of his family. No shocker there.

  “A wife and two kids, huh?” I ask, taking a thin stack of tens and twenties out and tucking them into my bra.

  He narrows his eyes. “You’re going to pay for this, you bitch.”

  “No, I’m not,” I start to say, but then he’s springing from the bed and running at me.

  I move to shoot, but choke up. The image of the tattooed guy I killed flashes through my head.

  Kill him.

  Protect yourself.

  I can’t.

  I start to run for the door, but he tackles me from behind and wrestles the gun from my hand. I open my mouth to scream, hating that this is what he wants, that it’s probably turning him on. My scream is cut short as I’m clocked over the head with the handle of the gun.