“Well, Reagan never told me this, nor did I get any extra money to let some fucking pervert live out his rape fantasy.” With the gun still out, I move off the bed and reach for my dress. Tenner starts to move for me again, but I shove the gun against his chest. “You touch me and you’re fucking dead.”
He backs away, looking angry, yet terrified at the same time. “Stupid cunt.”
I tell him to sit down on the bed then I hurry and get dressed, keeping the gun pointed at him, getting more and more irritated every second. I should just leave but the bad part of me seeks revenge, wants to teach him a lesson, so instead I move toward him. “Hand me your wallet.”
He shakes his head. “No way. I’m not getting ripped off more.”
Rolling my eyes, I bend down and pick up his pants, searching his pockets until I find his wallet. I open it up and find a picture of his family. No shocker there.
“A wife and two kids, huh?” I ask, taking a thin stack of tens and twenties out of his wallet and tucking them into my bra.
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re going to pay for this you bitch.”
“No, I’m not,” I start to say, but then he’s springing from the bed and running at me. I move to shoot but choke up. The image of the tattooed guy I killed to years ago flashing through my head.
Kill him.
Protect yourself.
I can’t.
I start to run for the door, but he tackles me from behind and wrestles the gun from my hand. I open my mouth and scream, hating that that’s what he wants, that it’s probably turning him on. But I’m clocked over the head with the handle of the gun.
I see spots.
Hear Tenner laugh.
I fight to stay conscious, crawling across the floor toward the door, digging my fingernails into the carpet. But I start to slip away from reality. The last thing I see is the door swing open and a pair of boots appear followed by the sound of a voice I swear I’ve heard before.
Then I black out.
Chapter 5
Lola
When I come back to consciousness, I’m still in the hotel room only I’m on the bed, lying on my side, a wet washcloth on my forehead. I slowly sit up, the room spinning, my head throbbing, feeling like I’m about to vomit. There’s a lamp on but other than that the room seems untouched. I even seem untouched, fully dressed, the gun tucked back in its spot beneath my boot, and I’m not aching anywhere between my legs. The only thing that lets me know I didn’t dream the attack is the bump on my head with a bit of blood caked in my hair, the red marks on my wrists where he gripped me roughly, and the pain erupting through my body.
Where’s Tenner? There’s not a signal sign that he was here, which makes me wonder if he ran or if boots did this to him. I don’t waste time thinking about it though, since the last thing I want to do is be here in case he comes back from wherever the hell he went. I get up and hurry out of the room, taking the stairway out to avoid running into people, trying to put together what happened. Someone came into the room, but who? Who the hell could possibly know what was going on? Were they there to save me? Be part of the situation? I doubt it.
It’s a cold night, the night sky clear enough that I can see the starts shining bright. As I make my way across the parking lot toward the corner where I can hopefully find a taxi, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to get myself to stop shivering. But as I move my arm around, I notice there’s something written on the palm of my hand in what looks like my red lipstick
“Don’t trust anyone.” I look around the area and over my shoulder, with the strangest feeling that I’m being watched. I’d seen boots before I passed out. Who did they belong too? And did they write this on my hand—did they write me the notes too?
Confused beyond imaginable, I find a cab and then dial Nyjah’s private number once I’m in the backseat and the driver is heading toward my apartment.
He answers after three rings. “Hey, I was just thinking about you. Look, I know things got a little intense this afternoon and I just wanted to say I’m sorry and that hopefully you’ll forgive me.”
“Am I also supposed to forgive you for sending me on a date with a sick pervert who likes to rape women.” I don’t mean to sound so bitter, but what if Nyjah knew what Reagan was doing.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He sounds shocked and kind offended. “What happened? And where are you?”
“In the back of a cab.” I slump back in the seat, glancing up at the cab driver who seems to be engulfed in driving. “Tell me you didn’t know about it. Tell me you had no idea your father set this all up.”
“Didn’t know what exactly? Lola, I’m going to need more to go on here.”
“That guy you sent me with. Tenner. He tried to rape me tonight and ended up knocking me unconscious.” I bite down on my tongue as emotions start to erupt through me. I won’t go there. Won’t feel the fear. “Said Reagan had something do to with it—that he told him it was okay. He even paid extra for it.”
He lets out a sequences of curses than I hear what sounds like glass shattering. “God dammit, I’m going to kill him for doing this.”
“You can’t kill your father,” I say dryly, pressing my hand to my hand as it starts to pound. “It’d be unethical.”
“Yeah well he’d deserve it.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t deserve the pain and guilt that came after.”
There’s a pause and I swear I just gave him a time machine that lets him see straight into my past. “Okay, so I won’t kill him,” he says. “But I can beat the shit out of him to the point that he’d be close dead.” Silences stretches between us and I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to instigate violence—I’ve had enough of that in my life.
Finally, he releases a stressed breath. “Are you headed home now?”
I glance out the window at the street sign. “Yeah, I’m only a few blocks away.”
“I can come over if you want,” he says. “And check on you. I need to see if you’re okay.”
I shake my head. “No, don’t do that. I’m fine. Just please find out if Reagan plans on sending me creepers like this every night. I might have to find a new job.”
“I’ve been telling you that since the day you walked into the Inn just over a month ago,” he tells me. “You shouldn’t be working at a place like this. It’s not in you.”
It was in my mother. “How come you don’t say that to all the women who work there?” I ask. “You encourage most of them to keep going.”
“Because they’re different from you.”
“How so?”
“They’re just… just… Look, I’ll talk to Reagan and see what’s going on, but like I’ve been saying, you might want to consider taking that secretary job. It’s so much safer for you, Lola. More than you even realize.”
There’s an underlying meaning to his tone and I wonder just what he knows about his father and his business. “I’m fine. Just let me know what you find out.”
A few minutes later I get out of the taxi and go into my apartment, double-checking that all the doors are locked—a habit I picked up when I was younger. Then I immediately undressed and take a shower, scrubbing my skin until it’s raw, until I no longer feel the day on me anymore. I put a robe on, then open my closet, move a few boxes, and put the gun away in a trunk that holds my other weapons—a smaller gun, a few knives, and a tranquilizer if needed. I’m always prepared for when the Dellefontes catch up with me, in case I have to fight for my life. But after tonight, I’m wondering if I’ll be able to do it. I froze up again. God, I don’t even want to think about what would have happened to me if boots hadn’t shown up.