“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.