Sins & Secrets (Sins 1)

It doesn’t look like there’s anyone inside so I move around and peer in the window. It’s clean and empty except for a few papers in the middle console and a bag on the passenger seat. I glance around from left to right, making sure that no one is around, then I open the door and search around. The receipts aren’t cause for suspicion, gas, food, the norm. I move onto the bag, which is strangely empty, but again nothing to raise a red flag. I open the glove box and find the rental car papers and nothing else. I don’t relax yet though, not until I check the trunk. The trunk is where all the bad stuff is kept. So I pop it open, climb out of the car, and round the back. There’s nothing there but a tire iron and jack and a pair of black stilettos—again odd, but nothing to be alarmed about.

Shaking my head at myself, I close the trunk and turn to go back inside, but stop dead in my tracks as I’m about to cross the street. For a flicker of a second, I swear I see someone in the shadows of the parking lot watching me. Tall, with a hoodie pulled over their head, smoking a cigarette and wearing boots. Could it be boots? The boots who saved me?

But when I blink, they’re gone. It happens so fast that it has to be my imagination. Or the bump on my head. Dammit, I need to find out who wrote the note before I go crazy. Or end up dead.

Chapter 6

Lola

I don’t plan on going to work the next day, not after what happened with Tenner. I’m not planning on quitting or anything simply because I need the cash. Although, I’ll admit, I’m more shaken up than I’d like to be and I spend most of the morning trying to bury everything down where it belongs.

But then I get a call from Reagan telling me I can either come in or not get the couple of grand owed to me for the prior two weeks work. He doesn’t give me time to argue, simply tells me this and hangs up on me. So I get my ass down to the Inn.

I think about going to Nyjah first, but decide to face this head on. My problem. No one else needs to get involved.

Reagan has this office upstairs that has rows of windows, but he’s chosen to board them up so that not a single drop of sunlight can sneak in. It’s always dark and musty in there and smells a little moldy. There’s this antique armoire in the corner that’s always locked with a chain and padlock. On the far back corner is a desk that’s always clutter in garbage and papers and when I walk in Reagan is sitting there reading a paper over. He has shoulder length hair, is always wearing a worn t-shirt, and is smoking a cigarette. He doesn’t look like Nyjah except for the eyes, only Reagan’s have more wrinkles around it and a harder, more unwelcoming.

“I’m here,” I announce as I enter the office.

I notice real quickly that he has a gun on the desk and am glad I brought mine. He glances up from a paper he was reading, eyes lazily drifting over me and making me feel naked, even though I’m wearing cutoffs and a ratty t-shirt. I’ve never liked Reagan, something about him rubbing me the wrong way every time I’m around him, but now it’s even worse, my spidey senses going crazy. “And so you are.” He motions for me to come in. “Have a seat, Lola.”

“No thanks,” I decline with a shake of my head, my eyes drifting to his gun. “I think I’m good right here.”

He glances down at the gun then back up at me. “I always carry this on me—you know that.”

“Yeah, but after what happened last night with Tenner, I don’t trust you anymore.” I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms. “Well, I shouldn’t say anymore since I’ve never trusted you to begin with.”

“Watch it, Lola,” he warns, tossing the pen he’s holding onto the desk and then leans back in his seat. “After last night, you’re already walking on thin ice.”

“You should have never told that creep I’d do what he wanted to do,” I say in a clipped tone. “You had no right.”

He shrugs, overlapping his hands on his stomach. “I thought you were a tough girl—you always came across as one.” Another shrug and it takes a hell of a lot of energy not to march across the room and punch him in the face. “Guess I was wrong.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Well, whatever it is, you now owe me a thousand bucks.” His nonchalant attitude is pissing me off.

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” He sits up in his chair. “For losing me money last night and a potential new client.”

I take a cautious step into the room. “Tenner called you last night and told you what happened I’m guess?” I pause, not wanting to ask, but I need to know what happened after I blacked out. “Did he say anything else?”

“Not really. Only that my business was a joke and that he was never going to use or recommend The Dusky Inn services to anyone.” His brows knit the slightest bit. “Honestly he seemed kind of nervous, which makes me wonder what exactly happened between you two.” He waits for me to explain but I keep quiet. As much as I don’t want to answer any of Reagan’s questions at the moment, I couldn’t even if I wanted to since I have no idea what happened.

“Fine, don’t tell me anything,” Reagan says in a low voice that carries a warning. “But here’s what you’re going to do to make it up to me.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” I tell him. “So don’t pretend I do. That guy—Tenner—tried to beat the shit out of me and whatever happened was self-defense. What I did to him was fair.”

“Nothing is fair in this world.” He leans forward in his chair and reaches for a paper on his desk. “Now sit down.”

“I already told you, I’m standing.” I take a step back toward the doorway. “And you know what, I think I’ll leave now. I’m done talking about this.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lola Anders,” he calls out as I’m turning to exit the room.

I freeze mid-turn, my jaw dropping to my knees. “That’s not my name.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Isn’t it?” Amusement laces his voice. Clearly he’s enjoying this.

I ball my hands into fist and stab my fingernails into my palms, attempting to shove down the anxiety claw it’s way through my body. “No…. and you know that.”

“I know a lot of things about you Lola Anders.” He pauses. “Or is it Lola Anelli. I’m not sure what you used to prefer to go by.”