“What notes?”
“The one’s I’ve …” I trail off at his bafflement. I can’t tell whether he’s telling the truth or not. He seems lost, but I don’t know Reagan well enough to know if he’s a good liar. I’m guessing, with the business he’s running, he must be. “How did you find out about me?” I take a step closer to the desk, noting his hand 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 lords on the East Coast.”
“But that’s the East Coast.” I grip the hem of my shorts, debating whether or not to take out my weapon. “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. “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 as he puts the magazine back in. “That is one of many. It’s good to do multiple things, you know. It 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 stands up. “I’m a lot more powerful than that.”
“In Glendale? I highly doubt that,” I say condescendingly. “Besides, I searched 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 tell him, 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.”
In the snap of a finger, the terrible situation becomes even worse because … “You know my father?”
“Every drug dealer in the country knows your father.” He stands up with the gun in his hand and walks around the desk, standing in front of me. He gets too close, but I refuse to cower 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 flinch, yet I still don’t move, 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 Defontelles family and collect the reward offered for that pretty little head of yours.”
I lift my hand to slap him, but he catches it in his fingers and squeezes.
“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. He has a lot of power over me, whether I live or die.
I know what I have to do, even if I don’t want to do it.
“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 threatening me, I wouldn’t have gone out so quickly after the whole Tenner thing. But he did threaten me, along with forcing me to help start dealing drugs and other things I can’t even begin to think about. The guy practically owns me at the moment, and I hate it. And if I don’t find a way out of this, incidents with Tenner are going to happen more frequently.
I need to run again.
Different scenarios play through my mind as I sit at the dinner table, pretending I’m interested in the client sitting across from me. My dazzling charm is missing the mark badly, and my wit is completely absent. Thankfully, the guy seems clueless about escort services and probably thinks this is normal.
“So, what do we do next?” he asks, picking at the salad with his fork. His name is Ellington. Well, at least that’s the name he gave.
I shrug, taking a bite of my chicken, even though I’m not hungry. My eyes are locked on him, my shoulders at just the right angle to give him an uninhibited view down my dress. It’s the best move I can come up with right now to make him believe I’m paying attention when I’ve barely heard a word he’s said.
“Whatever you want, sweetie.” I always like to give the clients nicknames, ones that fit their characters. I could tell right away that Ellington was the nervous and quiet kind, which led me to use sweetie. Nice and simple, hoping it will make the night nice and simple. 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. However, 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 neck tensely while he glances around the restaurant for longer than necessary. Finally, his gaze lands back on me. I can see his pulse throbbing in his neck. He’s incredibly nervous, and strangely, so am I.
After all that’s happened. After the notes, Tenner, the person in the boots, the woman who supposedly looks like me, and now Reagan finding out who I am, I feel like a bundle of restlessness that can’t sit still.
“I mean, after the date part?” Ellington says, letting out an anxious breath as he sets his fork down. “What happens after we’re done eating?”
I give him the best seductive smile I can muster without turning on my sex appeal as hot as I usually do. “Like I said, we can do whatever you want as long as you follow the rules.” I relax back in my chair, twirling a strand of 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. “Okay, we can do that.” 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, since he doesn’t have a ring on, and there is no tan line from wearing one. He doesn’t give off the vibe, either. He merely seems inexperienced. Young and inexperienced. Then again, so did Tenner, and I turned out to be wrong about him.
I’m guessing Ellington’s a year or two younger than me, around twenty-one, just legal to drink. Short, brown hair; eyes that match; a lean body—he’s not that bad to look at. Although, looks aren’t what’s important. I have a harder time with the quiet ones. Maybe that’s because I’ve always been more at ease with cocky guys. Guys who can handle a girl taking charge, perhaps meet her in the middle, 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 messes. 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 Ellington pays the bill, we head to the hotel that’s a few miles down the road, in the sketchier area of town, the same one I went to last night. It’s the usual place for the escorts at The Dusky Inn. Nyjah has connections with one of the hotel owners, so he gets rooms for free without question and even has keys on hand. They’re not the card keys, either. 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 are buzzing, my stomach burning with lingering memories of last night. My head still hurts and my wrist is a little bruised from where Tenner gripped me.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to worry whether or not Reagan told this guy he could do anything to me.
“Do you have the key Nyjah
gave you?” I ask Ellington as we get out of the cab and stand in front of the entrance.
Beside the doors, a guy smoking a cigarette and leaning against the wall is watching us intently. He has a hoodie pulled up so I can’t get a good look at him, but his attention makes me nervous.
Ellington pays the cab driver then shuts the door. Then he takes a deep inhale as he studies the dimly lit, dingy, outdated hotel that rises up to the night sky. “Yeah … Let’s get this over with.”
Okay, that’s a new one. It’s like he doesn’t want to be here, and considering he paid a ton for this date, it makes no sense. I want to ask him what’s up, yet I also don’t want to give Reagan anymore reason to go to the Defontelles.
I keep my lips sealed as we head to the front door, very aware of the guy leaning against the wall, tracking me with his eyes. I attempt to see what he looks like beneath the shadows of his hoodie, but he’s fairly far away. All I can make out is his eyes, a mouth, and lips.
When Ellington opens the door for me, I tear my attention back to him and focus on my job. Taking the lead, I cross the lobby and get on the elevator. Ellington fidgets the entire time, his head tipped down, shoulders slouched. It’s like 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 quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”
I don’t believe him for one second, and after last night, every 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, and then step out, noticing he has a thin trail of sweat on his forehead.
Something’s not right.
If any of his clients know who I am, I’m screwed. But now I’m wondering if this is a setup. Maybe Ellington is helping set me up for Reagan.
Ellington follows me as I walk down the slender hallway lined with shut doors. The place is silent, which is typical for this hotel, yet I find myself desperate to hear a noise.
I casually let my fingers graze my thigh, the reminder usually bringing me comfort. Not tonight.
“Which room number are we in?” I glance over my shoulder at Ellington, who’s wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Um …” He looks around at the numbered doors, seeming more nervous than when we had dinner. Then he lifts his hand and points at 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 near the gun.
He steps forward, reaches into his pocket, and then curses under his breath and moves back. “Sorry, I … uh … forgot the key,” he says tensely. “I’ll be right back.”
“But you said you already had it,” I call out. 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, then 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 then 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.
With my hand cupping my thigh, I cautiously move down the hallway with my eyes glued to every door I pass. If there is someone in one of the rooms, they can clearly see me through the peephole. This is the worst 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 just kill me this time. I don’t have Layton here to protect me.
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. I start to ease my fingers away from my thigh. But then the lights flip off, and I’m suffocated by darkness.
“Shit,” I curse, tensing up again.
Seconds later, the backup lights flip on, giving little light. I squint to see my surroundings as I withdraw my gun, wondering if I’ll be able to do it this time when it all comes down to it—take another life.
I quickly sidestep down the hall, turning from side to side, scanning the doors, aware that no one has exited any of the rooms. Someone should have come out by now to see what’s going on.
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. When I make it there, I take off in a mad sprint down the stairs, speeding up when I hear a door open and shut from somewhere on the stairway. I wonder if they’re below me or above me.
Up or down? Which way should I go?
I hear loud footsteps from above and 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.
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. I’ll 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.” When a hand touches my shoulder, I spin around, raising the gun and pointing it at the person behind me.
Ellington immediately raises his hands, his eyes widening as he stammers, “I-I’m s-sorry … I just … It’s that … Why do you have a gun?”
I assess him with suspicion, not trusting him one little bit.
“Who do you work for?” I move toward him, forcing him to back up against the wall. “Did Reagan put you up to this? Is he setting me up? What’s your real name?”
“E-Ellington.” He’s nervous enough I can tell he’s probably never had a gun held to him, or he’s a damn good actor.
“How did you know I was on the stairway?” I ask, reducing the space between us as I inch closer to instill more fear and hopefully break him down if he’s hiding something.
“I … I was heading down to …” His eyes keep flicking to my gun, filling more and more with fear. “I was just … I can’t … I was heading down … t-the s-stairs and saw you, and …” He breathes heavily, gasping for air. “I just wanted to see what it was like.” The words rush out of him as he leans back against the wall, trying to get as far away from me as he can.
I lower my gun. The guy can barely talk when his life is threatened, which makes him even less suspicious.
“You just wanted to see what what was like?”
“Sex … I just wanted to see what it was like, but I didn’t think …” He sucks in a deep breath, his gaze dropping to my weapon. “I just want to go home,” he pleads. “Can I go now?”
So, Reagan did tell him he could have sex with me. Great.
Fucking asshole!
“I need to see your wallet first,” I tell him, not bothering to wait as I stuff my hand down his pockets, digging around until I find his wallet.
“I-I don’t have that much money on me,” he stammers. “And I’m not rich.”
“I don’t want your money.” With my free hand, I open up the wallet and read his driver’s license. “Ellington Burliford. 45455 Peach Tree Road.” I look up at him. “How long have you lived at Peach Tree?”
“Um … I-I …” He sucks in a breath, trying to pull himself together. “About two years.”
“You go to college?”
“Y-yes.”
“And why can’t you get laid?” I ask, digging through his wallet. He doesn’t have much; just a few credit cards, a gift card, a condom, and thirty-five bucks. “Go to a party or something. It’s easier than
hiring an escort.”
“I’ve tried,” he says. “N-no one will even talk to me, let alone have sex with me.”
I look him over more closely. Decent clothes, normal appearance—nothing weird or anything. Then again, the guys I’m running from know how to blend in.
“Are you always this nervous around women?” I wonder. “Or is it just me?”
He swiftly nods. “I have s-social anxiety disorder.”
Okay, now I just feel bad. I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth, which means I’m screwed. I’ve messed up big time, and Reagan is going to be completely pissed. He’ll use this against me; tell me he’s turning me in. If I were my father, I’d tie Ellington up and threaten him until he gave in and swore he’d never tell. If he did, I’d track him down and kill him. It’s what the Anelli’s are known for. However, technically I’m not an Anelli.
I give him back his wallet. “All right, Ellington. Today is your lucky day.”
“Okay … Why’s that?” he asks, putting his wallet back, his fingers trembling.
“Because, the next time you go up to a woman, to talk or whatever, you can think of this moment, and the concept of being nervous will seem silly. Trust me; after today, everything’s going to seem easier than the time you tried to hire an escort.”
He doesn’t appear to be buying it but nods, anyway.
“Can I go now please?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” I move aside and motion for him to get a move on.
He takes off running so quickly he trips down a few steps, yet it doesn’t slow him down. He gets right back up and sprints down the stairs until he’s bursting out the door and outside.
I put my gun away and take my time going down the stairway, wondering where to go from here. Back home? To The Dusky Inn to talk to Reagan to see how much trouble I’m in if Ellington reports me? Maybe I could talk to Nyjah and see if he knows about all this and if maybe he could help me.
“I should have been more careful,” I mutter as I push the door open.
The lights flip back on as I’m stepping into the alleyway, lighting up the pavement. I let the door slam shut as I wrap my arms around myself, the cold air nipping my skin. It’s late, after midnight, the moon is bright, and the stars shine dimly against the dusky sky. It’s incredibly quiet, incredibly peaceful. I wish things could just stay this way. Right here. Right now. I wish I didn’t have to move forward and deal with the things I’m facing. I should have been more careful, come up with a better alias, made Layton’s sacrifice more worth it.