He pants hard, his breath tickling my face. My chest heaving as I try to catch my breath, my body is nothing but a mess from Landon devouring my senses.
“You asked what I’m afraid of. What I fear.” He pants and I nod, my body sweaty and sticking to his.
“I’m afraid of becoming my father,” he mumbles, his deep voice vibrating against my back. “Ruthless, arrogant, no respect for women,” he admits. “I’m afraid of letting my mother down.”
“Why don’t you just leave the estate?” I question.
“I want to, but I can’t.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“When my mother was sick, she was sent away because my father couldn’t bear to watch her die. When I went to see her one weekend, she said I’d changed. I told her I was fine, but she insisted that she knew me, and knew there was something wrong. I told her I wasn’t interested in working the estate. She then grabbed my hand and made me promise to take the throne next. She said my father ruined the credibility of the estate, made a mockery out of the Blackwell name.”
“You said she was sick? What was wrong?”
“She had cancer.” His tone is grave, and I touch his arm for comfort.
“My mother loved the estate. She was truly the Madam of the place. Before my father inherited everything, working at the estate was only for those who were skilled, and our clients felt privileged to be on our list. Pimps around Vegas feared us and cursed our name. But my father used our girls, put them against each other, had parties to the point we had more than several girls overdose on many occasions. We had cracked-out escorts with STDs spreading around the estate and to our clients.” Landon looks at me, his face hard. “I’ve worked very hard to bring our estate and the Blackwell name back to its rightful worth.”
“So you were telling me the truth. You took me to show the pimps around Vegas that you meant business?” I question, everything beginning to make sense.
“At first, yes, but then when I saw it was you… I knew I couldn’t make you a working girl.” He cups my chin and pulls me close, our lips almost touching. I was right; Landon isn’t the dark asshole he tries to make himself out to be. He’s actually endearing, and holding a promise to his mother. I don’t think a man could be any more loyal.
“From the moment you ran into me in Vegas, I’ve been drawn to you,” he whispers against my lips.
“I hated you for taking me away from Jayden, but how can I now?” I brush my lips against his, my eyes staring at his with a raw emotion.
“You couldn’t stay mad at me,” he replies arrogantly as he presses his lips to mine, rolling me on top of him.
“What about us?” I mumble against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip
“I’ll figure it out.” He moans, grabbing my hips and pulling me on top of his length. My head falls back, and I groan with satisfaction as Landon takes me for another round.
TWENTY
CHARLIE
I wake to the sun shining brightly and my body sore. Sitting up, I look for Landon, and discover I’m back in my room, naked and in my bed. I smirk, thinking about last night. Happiness is gluing my cold heart into something warm and whole this morning. I crawl out of bed, the ache between my legs reminding me of him, the things he said to me, what he said to me. I want to believe that we can make us work, that there might be something there, but from what Landon says about his father, I’m not sure if that will happen.
My eyes widen when a thought hits me. The folder with Evans written on it. I forgot all about it. I run to the clothes thrown on the floor, shimmying on some short-shorts and a white shirt that hangs off the shoulder. I open the door, looking both ways before racing toward the pot in the hallway. My heart pounds in my ears that I may get caught. When I reach it, I look around, making sure nobody is near before I grab the folder. I hide it under my shirt and run back to my room quickly, my heart slamming so hard against my chest I can barely breathe. I shut my door slowly, making sure not to make any noise. Once closed, I slide against it, falling to the floor with the folder.
I bite my lip nervously, scared of what is in it. It could be nothing; it could be some other woman named Evans. I let out a nervous breath and open it, lifting it upside-down and letting the contents fall to the floor. There are a bunch of pictures and some papers. I pick up a piece of paper and see men’s names and figures. It’s a client list, and payments. I frown. It can’t be me; I haven’t had but one client so far. I toss it to the side and grab the picture. Surveying the photo, I see Miller, but he looks much younger, and a woman. A woman who looks just like me. I frown and flip the photo over, my heart a painful ache against my chest. ‘Gala of 2005, Miller and Maria Evans.’ My mother. I drop the photo, my breathing becoming chaotic. I grab another picture and see more of my mother and Miller. Tears drip from my eyes and fall along the photos.
I clutch the piece of paper that was in the folder and look it over, searching for her name somewhere. There it is, at the bottom. Maria Evans. My mother was an escort. My chest heaves. I’m sucking in large amounts of air, but I’m still not catching my breath. I grab another piece of paper on the floor and look it over.
It looks to be some kind of doctor form. My eyes trail along the information of white female, age, hair color, and cause of death is a gunshot wound to the head. My nose flares. It’s a coroner’s report. How did Miller get this? He’s powerful, and he has connections. Did he have something to do with my mother’s death? Why would he hide these in the back of his desk if he didn’t?
I let out a loud cry and kick the pictures and papers, trying to crawl up the door to get away from all the evidence linking my mother’s death to the estate.
I close my eyes and rock back and forth. How? Why? My mother is dead. My lips tremble with sorrow as the news of my mother permanently being gone hits my soul. I used to curse her for being absent when things were rough in foster care, but she didn’t leave me. She didn’t kill herself, and Miller knows something. The way my body reacts in fear when he’s around me, it’s alerting me of danger, even if I didn’t know it.
I stand on shaky legs and grab the photo of my mother. She was so beautiful. I look almost identical to her. It’s no wonder Miller looks at me the way he does.
My legs make their way down the stairs on their own accord, as if my journey to Landon’s office is on autopilot. Tears still stream down my face as I stare at the photo. I push Landon’s office door open and head toward his desk mindlessly. Laughter comes from a room adjoining his office and echoes. I pull open the drawer and my eyes land on the gun. I reach in with a trembling hand, gripping the heavy metal. The office door swings open, but I don’t look away from the weapon resting in my palm.
“Charlie.” I slowly take my gaze from my hand toward the voice, finding none other than Miller.
“Whoa, what are you doing with that?” he questions warily.
“Admit it,” I seethe, rounding the desk on shaky legs.
“I’m sorry?”
“Admit you killed her!” I scream, tossing the photo at him.
He leans down slowly and picks the photo up. Inhaling, his head tilted down, his eyes trail from the photo to me, looking vindictive.
“So, it was you who was in my desk,” he states, his tone of fear gone.
“Admit it,” I repeat.
“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” He chuckles. I lift my head with his comment. He admits he knows her, but did Miller kill her? The only thing I can remember from that day is that tattoo of wings. My eyes dart to Miller. He has a tattoo on his back; I remember seeing a piece of it.
“Take your shirt off,” I demand, aiming the gun at him.