Sins & Secrets 2 (Sins 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.