Sins & Secrets (8 page)

Go back.

Stay.

Run.

What the hell should I do
?

There’s so much emotion flaring through me, hot, potent, just like the night I killed someone. It’s too much. Life is too much. I want it gone.

Shut if down. Shut if down. I don’t want to feel the pain of death again.

I was able to do it before, when I killed someone, but this time, no matter what I tell myself, no matter what I refuse to feel, Layton is dead and that fact in itself hurts more than anything else I’ve ever experienced. The guy I grew up with, who made me smile, who protected me from everything, even myself, the guy who told me he loved me and I couldn’t say it back is gone forever.

I could have loved him, but now I’ll never know. I wouldn’t even let him kiss me. God, if he was here again, I’d let him kiss me.

As that thought replays in my head over and over, I feel part of myself die too. And I know I’ll never be the same again—that part of me died right along with him.

So I do the only thing I can.

I run.

Refusing to look back.

18 months later….

Lola

I’m not sure who I am anymore. Lola. Lolita. Good? Bad? Somewhere in the middle? All this time running from death and I think I might have landed somewhere in the middle. One of those women who see in blurry color, half good and half bad. Half alive, half dead inside.

God I feels so dead inside. But it’s good. It’s what I deserve.

During the day when the sun is up, I’m Lola Benntingson, the secretary at a car dealership. I wear longer skirts, collar shirts with sleeves that conceal my tattoos. My hair is either loose at my shoulders or pulled back in a bun. So sophisticated. So proper. This is how I have to be, in order to survive life. And the same goes for so my nightlife. The one that I make a lot of money fast, the one I feel more comfortable in because it helps take the pain away for a moment. The one where I’m, Lolita Leigh, the escort who men pay to take out and then have sex with, following right in my mother’s footsteps I guess. It’s life I can’t let anyone know about, because if I allow too many people know Lola Leigh, draw too much attention to myself, then they discover my
real
name, which is neither my day or night name. And if the wrong people found out my
real
one, I’d be dead. Dead like Layton.

God, every time. Stop thinking about him!

“Earth to Lola.” Marla Walterford, a secretary at Danni and Dony’s Hot Deals Dealership, waves her hand in front of my face, jerking me out of my daze.

I blink my attention away from the computer screen, which I’ve been staring at for God knows how long. She’s twenty-five, two years older than me, but looks at least seven or eight years my senior mainly because she wears the wrong shades of makeup and likes to wear sweater sets and slacks.

“What’s up?” I ask her, pretending to sort through files stacked on my desk, like I’m actual doing something instead of staring off into empty space, thinking about a guy I may have loved but will never ever know for sure.

She gives me a fake smile, the one she uses on me everyday. There’s a smudge of pink lipstick on her teeth and a flake of what looks like lettuce. “Danny wants to see you in his office,” she says.

I arch my brow as I set the folders aside. “What for?”

She shrugs, rolling her eyes, but then catches her blunder and plasters the grin back on her face. “He didn’t say why. Just that he needed to see you.”

I set a stack of files aside. “Maybe he’s finally going to give me those extra hours I’ve been asking for.”

“Maybe… or maybe he’s cutting them back. He has been talking about letting a few people go,” she replies and I can hear the hope in her voice, like she’s crossing her fingers that the reason. “But don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a ton of other jobs out there for you.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the extra hours thing,” I say. I’ve been wanting more hours at both of my jobs to make more money so I can move again of I need to. It happens every so often. Things get sketchy and I have to bail. But moving cost money, especially when I have to pay in cash for everything and pay in full since I refuse to give out my real name and let people do background checks. Getting this job was just pure luck and it’s nice to bring in extra income. My other job was much easier to get, the whole business as sketchy as my father’s job. Between both jobs, I’ve managed to stash away some cash but I’m going to need more.

“Well, I guess you’ll find out.” Marla’s struggling to keep a cheery tone and a snide tone is slipping through.

I keep my sweet smile on as I stand up and adjust my skirt to a more appropriate work-length, which causes her to scowl. “Is something wrong?” I ask, smoothing my shoulder length black hair into place. I used to have streaks of color in it, but decided to dye it in an attempt to blend in with society more.

Her lips turn upward, but the hatred burns in her eyes. “You look super cute today.”

“Thanks.” I give her a smile, which only seems to annoy her more, but honestly I’ve got more shit to worry about than whether or not Marla likes me. So I head for Danni’s office. The door is open, so I rap my hand on the doorframe. “Knock, knock, knock,” I say and Danni glances up at me from the computer, startled.

“Lola, please come in..” Danni says, motioning for me to enter. He’s a nice guy and boss, about sixty years old and is married to the nicest women I ever met, Mary Lou. I’ve kind of broken my rules by getting to know them. When I’d ran off, I’d made a promise not to get to know anyone enough to get attached, not only to keep my identity a secret but also to protect them just in case I was found. “Have a seat.”

I sit down in the chair and cross my legs. “Marla said you wanted to see me about something.”

He nods, grabbing a cookie off a plate that’s on his desk. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip.”

“Sure.” I take one from the plate. Biting into it, my taste buds enter heaven. “Jesus, these are good. Did Mary make them?”

He nods, setting the half-eaten cookie down on the plate. “They’re amazing, aren’t they? It’s her specialty—cookies. Can’t cook a damn thing except for the sweet stuff.”

I lick some chocolate off my lip. “Well, tell her they taste divine.”

He nods, folding his arms on the table, his light mood shifting to serious. “I will. And it’ll mean a lot to her, coming from you. She’s fond of you, you know.” There’s an underlying meaning in his tone, but I can figure out what he’s trying to say.

“I’m very fond of her too,” I say, but I’m starting to get uneasy from his shift in mood. “So… what did you want to talk about?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at me with reluctance, worry, uneasiness. “Lola, how ling have you been working for me?”

“A little over a month about.” I try to remain calm—no use getting all worked up until I know what’s up. But it’s still hard when he’s looking at me like he’s about to fall apart.

“And things have been going good for you here in Glensdale?”

I nod, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah, things have been going fine.”

He wavers, looking torn, then blows out a breath. “Lola… I know…”

A ripple of fear shoots up my spine. He knows? About what? There are so many secrets in my life anymore and most of them are bad and have the potential to get me fired. “Know what?”

He sighs then reaches for a piece of paper tucked in one of the folders. Without saying a word, he extends his arm across the desk toward me and sets the paper down in front of me.

I pick it up and read it aloud. “One of your employees is working down at The Dusky Inn.” I frown. Shit. Who the hell told him? “Okay, but what does it have to do with me?” I figure playing dumb is best, since it doesn’t say my name on it.

He blows out a stressed breath. “Turn it over.”

I do what he says, preparing myself for the worse. “Lola Bennington has a lot of secrets. You should look into her.” My hand is desperate to tremble, fear trying to get the best of me, but I refuse to let it—refuse to show weakness. The one good thing about it is that it doesn’t say my real name, which means it couldn’t be anyone from my past, right? But then why does my gut seem to say otherwise. And why the hell does the handwriting look so damn familiar. “Where did you get this?” My voice sounds strained and I clear my throat.

He sighs, reclining back in his chair with a look on his face that I assume a father would give his daughter if he found out the same thing—utter disappointed. “It was left on my doorstep the other day.”

“Of your house?” I ask, surprised. They left it at his house? Who the hell could it be then? Marla? An obvious choice, since she’s the one person here that truly hates me to do this sort of thing and I’m sure knows where Danni lives. And I’ve seen her handwriting enough that it could be the reason why the scrawling on the note has familiarity.

Other than Marla, there are only a few other people I cross paths with and most are people who work at The Dusky Inn or are clients. Would one of them do this to me?

“It was left on my doorstep… Mary found it actually, but don’t worry. She didn’t quite put together what it really meant.” He seems so dishearten about. “Look Lola, are you in some kind of trouble? Because if you are… maybe Mary and I could help.”

“It depends on what you mean by trouble,” I mutter, examining the handwriting. If I could see something Marla wrote, then maybe I could match it up with her’s and case solve.

“Financial trouble.” He appears to be really perplexed. “What other trouble could there be?”

Oh sweet Danni, the fact that you can ask that question shows just how naïve you are.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I was just doing it as a side job… you know, to save up so I can hopefully one day get my own place.” I fold up the piece of paper and keep a hold of it. “Look, I didn’t want to tell anyone that I worked there because I assumed they’d think less of me, but I promise. I just work as a secretary. You can even call there and ask.”

He seems undecided, but I know he likes me enough that he’ll more than likely believe me. People tend to believe what they want to. Like the person and you believe the good things. Hate them and you love to believe the bad.

He starts to relax, sitting up in his chair. “Alright, sorry I made accusations,” he apologizes for something he technically didn’t do. “I just worry about you and when I read this well… The Dusky Inn has a reputation… a really bad one.”

Obviously. It’s basically a whorehouse. “I know it does. Trust me. And I hate working there,” Lie. I don’t hate it as much as I should because it helps me with my self-induced numbness, “But I really want a house. The apartments in this town are all small, rundown, and overpriced.” I hate lying to him, but do what I got to do to survive. If we starting going into the real reason, then we’ll have to start going into the real Lola and that’d be opening Pandora’s Box.

He contemplates what I said with wariness. “Would extra hours here help at all? I know you’ve been asking for them and if it would help get you out of there, I’m sure I could scrounge up some extra stuff for you to do.”

“That would be very helpful,” I tell him, loathing myself more than I already do. Not only because I’m lying about quitting at The Dusky Inn, but also because I know that one day I’m just going to have to take off without saying good-bye and leave Danni and Mary Lou wondering a lot of things about me. It makes me feel like such a bad person, but then again, that’s who I am anymore. A person who ruins and destroys things.

Destroys people.

We chat for a little bit longer then I leave Danni’s office, stopping by the vending machine to buy two Cokes. Then I stroll toward Marla’s desk, ready to interrogate and get to the bottom of the note. Marla seems like she’ll be easy to break too, if she did it.

She’s reading through some papers when I approach her so I catch her off guard and her frown slips through. “Oh, hey Lola.” Her smile is stiff. “How’d the meeting with Danni go?”

“Super.” I take a seat in the chair in front of her desk and then set one of the Coke’s down in front of her while I open the other. “He gave me extra hours and I thought I’d stop by and celebrate with you.”

She gives the can of soda I just gave her a dirty look. “Why?” She picks up the drink. “I mean, thanks I guess.”

“No problem.” I pop the tab on my drink and sit back in the chair, totally in my element at the moment. If it’s one thing I learned from my old life, it’s how to break people down, crack them open, get the truth out of them. “So, how are things going with Chase?”

“Good, I guess.” She takes a sip of her soda. “We’ve been talking about moving in together.”

“That’s great,” I say without taking my eyes off her.
Break her down. Break her down.
“That he loves you that much.”

“Yeah, sure. I guess.” She pauses, getting uneasy. “How do you know about Chase? I mean, that I was dating him? You and I don’t talk that much.”