Chapter 2
Lola
18 months later…
I’m not sure who I am anymore. Lola? Lolita? Good? Bad? Somewhere in the middle?
After all this time running from death, I think I might have landed somewhere in the middle. One of those women who see in blurry colors, half good and half bad. Half alive, half dead inside.
God, I feel so dead inside. But it’s good. It’s what I deserve.
During the day, when the sun is up, I’m Lola Bennetingson, the secretary at a car dealership. I wear longer skirts and collared shirts with sleeves that conceal my tattoos. My hair is either loose at my shoulders or pulled back in a bun. Completely sophisticated. Completely proper. This is how I have to be in order to survive.
The same goes for my nightlife. The one in which I make a lot of money fast, the one I feel more comfortable in, because it helps take the pain away for a moment. The one where I’m Lolita Leigh, the escort men pay to take out, following my mother’s footsteps. It’s a life I can’t let anyone know about because, if I allow too many people to know of Lola Leigh or draw too much attention to myself, then they’ll discover my real name. And if the wrong people found out my real one, I’d be dead. Dead like Layton.
God, every time. Stop thinking about him!
“Earth to Lola.” Marla Walterford, a secretary at Danni and Donny’s Hot Deals dealership, waves her hand in front of my face, jerking me out of my daze. She’s twenty-five, two years older than me. However, she looks at least seven or eight years my senior; mainly because she wears the wrong shades of makeup and likes to wear sweater sets and slacks.
I blink my attention away from the computer screen. “What’s up?” I ask, pretending to sort through files, like I’m actually doing something instead of staring off into empty space.
She gives me a fake smile. There’s a smudge of pink lipstick on her teeth and a flake of what looks like lettuce. “Danni wants to see you in his office.”
I set the folders aside. “What for?”
She rolls her eyes, but then catches her blunder and plasters the grin back on her face. “He didn’t say why. Just that he needs to see you.”
“Maybe he’s finally going to give me those extra hours I’ve been asking for.”
“Maybe … Or maybe he’s cutting them back. He’s been talking about letting a few people go,” she replies. I can hear the hope in her voice, like she’s crossing her fingers. “But don’t worry; I’m sure there’s a ton of other jobs out there for you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the extra hours thing,” I say.
I’ve been wanting more hours at both of my jobs to make more money in order to move again if I need to. It happens every so often. Things get sketchy, and I have to bail. Yet moving costs money, especially when I have to pay in cash for everything and pay in full since I refuse to give out my real name, allowing people do background checks.
Getting this job was simply pure luck. My other job was much easier to get, since the business is as sketchy as my father’s job. Between both, I’ve managed to stash away some cash, though I’m going to need more.
“Well, I guess you’ll find out.” Marla’s struggling to keep up the bullshit cheeriness, her snide tone slipping through.
I keep my sweet smile on as I stand up and adjust my skirt to a more appropriate work-length, which causes her to scowl.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, smoothing my shoulder length black hair into place. I used to have streaks of color in it, but I decided to dye it in an attempt to blend in.
Her lips turn upward, yet the hatred burns in her eyes. “You look super cute today.”
“Thanks.” I give her another smile, which only seems to annoy her more. Honestly, I have more shit to worry about than whether or not Marla likes me.
I head for Danni’s office. The door is open, so I rap my hand on the doorframe. “Knock, knock, knock.”
Danni glances up from the computer, startled. “Lola, please come in.” He motions for me to enter.
He’s a nice guy and boss, about sixty years old, and is married to the nicest woman I’ve ever met, Mary Lou. I’ve kind of broken my rules by getting to know them.
When I ran off, I made a promise not to get to know anyone enough to get attached; not only to keep my identity a secret, but also to protect them in case I am found.
“Have a seat.” He gestures toward the chair in front of his desk.
I sit down in the chair and cross my legs. “Marla said you wanted to see me about something.”
He nods, grabbing a cookie off a plate on his desk. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip.”
“Sure.” I take one. Biting into it, my taste buds enter heaven. “Jesus, these are good. Did Mary Lou make them?”
He nods, setting the half-eaten cookie down on the plate. “They’re amazing, aren’t they? It’s her specialty—cookies. Can’t cook a damn thing except for the sweet stuff.”
I lick some chocolate off my lip. “Well, tell her they taste divine.”
He folds his arms on the table, his light mood shifting to serious. “I will. And it’ll mean a lot to her, coming from you. She’s fond of you, you know?” There’s an underlying meaning in his tone, but I can’t figure out what he’s trying to say.
“I’m fond of her, too.” I’m starting to get uneasy from his mood shift. “So … what did you want to talk about?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at me with reluctance, worry, and uneasiness. “Lola, how long have you been working for me?”
“A little over a month.” I try to remain calm. No use getting all worked up until I know what’s up. Nonetheless, it’s hard when he’s looking at me like he’s about to fall apart.
“And things have been going good for you here in Glendale?”
I nod, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah, things have been fine.”
He wavers, looking torn. Then he blows out a breath. “Lola … I know.”
A ripple of fear shoots up my spine. He knows? About what? There are so many secrets in my life, and most of them are bad and have the potential to get me fired.
“Know what?”
He sighs then reaches for a piece of paper tucked into one of the folders. Without saying a word, he extends his arm across the desk toward me and sets the paper down.
I pick it up and read it aloud. “One of your employees is working down at The Dusky Inn.” I frown. Shit. Who the hell told him? “Okay, but what does it have to do with me?” I figure playing dumb is best since it doesn’t say my name on it.
He blows out a stressed breath. “Turn it over.”
I do what he says, preparing myself for the worst. “Lola Bennington has a lot of secrets. You should look into her.” My hand is desperate to tremble, fear trying to get the best of me, but I refuse to let it. I refuse to show weakness. The one good thing about it is that it doesn’t say my real name, which means it couldn’t be anyone from my past, right? Then again, why does my gut seem to say otherwise? And why the hell does the handwriting look so damn familiar?
“Where did you get this?” My voice is strained, and I hastily clear my throat.
He sighs, reclining back in his chair with a look that I assume a father would give his daughter if he found out the same thing—utter disappointment. “It was left on my doorstep the other day.”
“Of your house?” I ask in surprise. They left it at his house? Who the hell could it be, then? Marla? An obvious choice for me since she’s the one person here who truly hates me, and I’m sure she knows where Danni lives. Plus, I’ve seen her handwriting enough that it could be the reason the scrawling on the note has familiarity.
Other than Marla, there are only a few people I cross paths with, and most of them work at The Dusky Inn, or are clients. Would one of them do this to me?
“It was left on my doorstep. Mary Lou found it, actually. But don’t worry; she didn’t quite put together what it really meant.” He seems so disheartened. “Lo
ok, Lola, are you in some kind of trouble? Because, if you are … maybe Mary Lou and I can help.”
“It depends on what you mean by trouble,” I mutter, examining the handwriting. If I could see something Marla wrote, then maybe I can match it up with hers and case solved.
“Financial trouble.” He appears to be really perplexed. “What other trouble could there be?”
Oh, sweet Danni. The fact that you can ask that question shows just how naive you are.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I was just doing it as a side job. You know, to save up so I can hopefully get my own place one day.” I fold up the piece of paper and keep ahold of it. “Look, I didn’t want to tell anyone that I worked there, because I assumed they’d think less of me. But I promise, I just work as a secretary. You can even call there and ask.”
He seems undecided. I know he likes me enough that he’ll more than likely believe me. However, people tend to believe what they want to. If you like a person, you believe the good things. Hate them, and you love to believe the bad.
He starts to relax, sitting up. “All right. Sorry I made accusations,” he apologizes for something he technically didn’t do. “I just worry about you, and when I read this, well … The Dusky Inn has a reputation … a really bad one.”
Obviously. It’s basically a whorehouse. Well, sort of. Depending on how much you want to get paid and how far you’re willing to go, you can either be a sort of whore or a complete whore. So far, I’m only a sort of. But the more time that passes, the more the emptiness inside of me grows, and the more I consider changing my title.
“I know it does. Trust me; I hate working there.” Lie. I don’t hate it as much as I should because it helps me with my self-induced numbness. “But I really want a house. The apartments in this town are all small, rundown, and overpriced.” I hate lying to him, yet I do what I have to do to survive. If we start going into the real reason, then we’ll have to start going into the real Lola, and that’d be opening Pandora’s box.
He seems to contemplate what I’ve said with wariness. “Would extra hours here help at all? I know you’ve been asking for them, and if it would help get you out of there, I’m sure I could scrounge up some extra stuff for you to do.”
“That would be very helpful,” I tell him, loathing myself more than I already do. Not only because I’m lying about quitting The Dusky Inn, but also because I know that I’m soon going to have to take off without saying good-bye and leave Danni and Mary Lou wondering a lot of things about me. It makes me feel like such a bad person. Then again, that’s who I am now, a person who ruins and destroys things.
Destroys people.
We chat for a little bit longer, and then I leave Danni’s office, stopping by the vending machine to buy two Cokes. Then I stroll toward Marla’s desk, ready to interrogate and get to the bottom of the note. Marla seems like she’ll be easy to break, too, if she did it.
She’s reading through some papers when I approach her. As a result, I catch her off guard and her frown slips through.
“Oh, hey, Lola.” Her smile is stiff. “How’d the meeting with Danni go?”
“Super.” I take a seat in front of her desk and set one of the Cokes down in front of her. “He gave me extra hours, so I thought I’d stop by and celebrate with you.”
She gives the can of soda a dirty look. “Why?” She picks up the drink. “I mean, thanks, I guess.”
“No problem.” I pop the tab on my drink and sit back, totally in my element. If there’s one thing I learned from my old life, it’s how to break people, crack them open, and get the truth out of them. “So, how are things going with Chase?”
“Good, I guess.” She takes a sip of her soda. “We’ve been talking about moving in together.”
“That’s great,” I say without taking my eyes off her. Break her down. Break her down. “That he loves you that much.”
“Yeah, sure. I guess.” She pauses, getting uneasy. “How do you know about Chase? I mean, that I’m dating him? You and I don’t talk that much.”
I shrug as I take a sip of my soda. “Lana was telling me about your relationship and how super cute you two are. Way cuter than when the two of them dated.” Lana is probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Long brown hair, skin like honey, perfect lips, and a perfect body. Plus, she’s super nice and sweet. I seriously have a girl crush on her, which makes me feel bad for using her for my ploy, but she’s also nice enough to forgive me when this is all said and done.
“Wait. Lana dated Chase?” Marla looks horrified at the thought of sweet, perfect Lana dating her Chase. “Neither of them mentioned this to me.”
“Oh.” I place my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”
Her nostrils flare with anger. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” She rises from her chair and storms off toward the breakroom.
Once she’s out of sight, I grab a few papers from her desk and compare her handwriting to the note Danni gave me. It’s not even close.
I immediately get this sense of uneasiness. I know the handwriting, but why? Whose could it be? I was really hoping it was Marla. I can handle Marla, even if she knew everything, because she’d be easy to break. However, now that I know it’s not her, it opens a whole lot of doors and a whole lot of worry.
Anyone could be the person who wrote it, including someone from my old life. What if my secrets have fallen into the wrong hands?
What if I’ve finally been caught?
Chapter 3
Lola
For the last two years, I’ve had nightmares about the night I shot and killed a man with a tattoo of the number 99 and the name Denny. I never did find out who the guy was or who Denny was, but in my mind, Denny was his son, which means I killed a father. I sometimes think maybe I should be dead myself. That I deserve to be caught and tortured for what I’ve done. But it’s more natural to survive. So, instead of facing my actions, I run and let the pain silently eat away at me.
I’m a pro when it comes to dealing with nightmares. When I wake up, drenched in sweat, my hands warm with the memory of blood painted on them, I barely gasp, barely feel a thing.
The same goes for whenever I think about Layton. I won’t let myself feel anything for him. Nothing at all. I know, the moment I let the guilt, remorse, and vast sense of losing the love of my life spill through, I’ll drown in the emotions. So I’ve learned certain things that help me remain cold and detached inside, like working myself to the bone.
If I’m having a bad day, I work the crap out of myself until I’m too exhausted to worry. Unfortunately, that’s not the case today, because the note is getting to me.
I’m really off my game, unable to get past it and the fear of who wrote it. I can hardly concentrate, hardly get anything done, almost as bad as the few months after I found out Layton is dead.
Even when Marla comes back and chews me out for lying to her about her boyfriend, I can barely conjure up a good lie. My thoughts are elsewhere.
It’s time to run again. Move again. Disappear. The note said “secrets.” What if they know more about me than just my nighttime job? What if it’s one of the Defontelles? What if I’m found? Even if I try to run now, they’ll find me or catch me before I can escape.
Fortunately, through the chaos in my head, I do manage to keep it together on the outside, even when I go straight to my second job at The Dusky Inn.
I’m cool and collected as I chat with my boss, Nyjah, while he gives me a rundown of my client tonight then starts on tomorrow’s client, listing off what he’s asked for.
Nyjah is a pretty decent guy, considering what he does. He’s young—twenty-five or so—and runs the business mainly because his dad, Reagan, makes him. Honestly, he seems like he hates the job most of the time, and I wonder why he doesn’t leave. His dad’s an asshole.
“He didn’t ask for sex?” I double-check after I get the lowdown on tonight’s “date.” “Are you sure? The last time, the guy seemed a little
confused about what he paid for.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. But this time I double-checked.” Nyjah kicks his feet up on the desk. His jeans are frayed and his shirt’s unbuttoned, revealing the colorful, detailed tattoos covering his chest. There’s always been one in particular that’s caught my attention, the one on his neck. It looks like a family crest. A triangle with a strange symbol inside that looks like the Roman numeral ten. Back home, a lot of people I know have tattoos of their family crests, but I haven’t seen any since I left Boston. When I asked him, he said it had to do with his past and his mother, but he didn’t go into details. Afterward, I did a search on their last name, Peirton, just to make sure they weren’t mobster.
“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. Although, I’ve been considering changing my title,” I tell him, picking at my fiery red nail polish.
I’m in my nighttime attire. My earrings in place now, lining up the lobe like silver and diamond artwork, along with a few studs in my eyebrows. My black hair is down and wildly wavy, my lips are stained red, my eyes like smoke. I have a dress on that barely covers my ass and boots that go up to my thighs. Additionally, tucked into my boot is a gun
Nyjah arches his brow as he lowers his feet to the floor and sits up. “Really? That’s sort of unexpected coming from the girl who insisted that everything but sex goes.” He pauses, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Did something happen?”
I sigh. “Sort of. I’m just having a … weird day.”
“Anything you want to talk about? You know I’m here for you … Always will be.”
I almost laugh since Danni practically said the exact same thing to me just a few hours earlier, which makes me feel the slightly guilty.
Like Mary Lou and Danni, I think I’ve crossed a line with Nyjah, too. However, he’s a tough enough guy I’m sure it won’t crush his heart when I take off. Well, if I take off. It’s kind of in the air right now, depending on how the thing with the note goes and who wrote it.