Sins & Secrets 2 (Sins 2)

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.