The Land of Rabbits (Long Shot Love Duet #1) (24 page)

“I-I’ll... I’ll do whatever you want. I’m a good cook, I can clean the rooms, give me a job and I’ll do it.”

She grips my hair and yanks my head back, my eyes wide when her hand slithers under my shirt. “Tell me why the fuck you’re here. Answer me!”

I’m set free, right when Quinn’s about to attack.

“Tyler.” She marches over with an open palm. “Give me your gun. I know it’s on you. You can have it back when you leave. And if any of you have cells or weapons, take ‘em out.” She snatches his gun and cell then grabs mine from my hand, slamming all three on the lobby desk. “You can stay.” She points to Trent. “Show your friend to my room then get cleaned up.” She turns to Dylan and tosses him his shirt. “Shower when you get into my room then get in my bed. Stay erect. Your cock bringing in money isn’t only about its size. Prove you can use it and you can stay.”

They leave the lobby, laughing like this is all big fun. Assholes.

“And Quinn, prep for me in the basement.”

“What? I just got here. Why?”

“Your punishment for leaving. I don’t want it to happen again.”

“You fired me!”

“I said go to the basement!” Her arm shoots toward the hallway leading to the back of the retreat. “Move it!”

“What about Adlyn?”

She smacks him on the back of the head, but he doesn’t budge.

“Why did you come back here if you’re going to act this way? You’ve been a nasty boy since day one.”

“How much money have you lost with me being gone?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll hire a professional if it comes to that.”

“Sure, hire a guy, but what’s he gonna say about the way this place runs? Don’t treat me like I’m dumb. What you just said goes against your entire concept of Afterglow. You won’t be bringing in the huge profits if you start paying your employees. You’re talking shit.”

She takes a step closer, a long-nailed finger tapping his chest. “If you recall, you were a complete failure your first month. I kept you on because of that face.”

“Yeah, but then I became godlike to these women. They want
me
, not a new hire. I’ve got the upper hand. Adlyn stays.”

She pinches his nipples and twists, bringing him to his knees in an instant.

“Fuck! Son of a bitch!” He grabs her wrists, causing her to squeeze even harder. “Fuck!”

“Are you trying to cut a deal?”

“Yes! Damn it!” He pants. “I am!”

“If I have to wait a month or two for another boy to learn your skills, I will. It’s better than your mouth. Now buck up, or get out!”

He pulls back, rubbing his chest. “Face it Roxanne, I’m talented! Good luck finding my replacement.”

He rises, standing tall with his hands behind his back, fighting for us to stay, acting arrogant and using every reason he can think of to turn this in our favor. “My brother will make up for ten men, he’ll be your best fuck yet, and I’ve got the patience and the hands for the massages.”

“Great. I still don’t need her.”

“Fine.” I pick up my duffle bag and toss Quinn his pack, walking to the door. “We’re leaving. We’ll find someplace else to go, like west. Far west. All the way to the fucking ocean.” I reach my hand for his, but he doesn’t move. “What?”

“It’s been a day since... we shouldn’t be walking the roads for a while.”

“Quinn, we don’t even know if—”

“Exactly. We don’t know, so let’s stay out of sight.”

I drop the bag, and lower my head, hoping Roxanne will take pity on me... although I’m sure she won’t.

“What?” I sigh. “What do I need to do?”

Her lighter flicks... once... twice... and I hear a long inhale. Seconds later, there’s a rapid exhale and a short cough coming from behind the desk—the air is filled with pot smoke and the scent of spicy cologne. That’s not Roxanne.

I look up, seeing a guy about my age taking off a black sport coat. He lays it on the counter next to a smoldering bowl; his heavily tattooed arms and muscular chest are outlined with a fitted grey tee. Handsome, except for his mutilated earlobes which are easy to spot, sticking out like a sore thumb beside his chiseled jawline and straight white teeth—an extreme blemish amongst beauty.

He swaggers toward us—not a walk but a swagger—his shiny black oxfords sounding like tap shoes on the wooden floor.

Both he and Quinn are the same height and build, one running his ringed fingers through his light blond mop, swooping it to the side and back, the other scratching the top of his short brown hair. Amber eyes scrutinizing spaced-out blues—poverty in the company of wealth.

“What are we dealing with?” His thunderous voice echoes through the open two-story room.

“One’s a return, the other’s new,” Roxanne says.

He pulls out a gun from the back of his jeans, using the barrel to scratch his neck before racking the slide and pointing it at Quinn.

“This your wife, girlfriend, sister? What?”

Quinn steps back and the guy steps forward, following him until his back hits the wall. “She’s my girl.” He speaks quickly, raising his arms and surveying the gun.

“You won’t get it out of my hand so stop looking at it.” He grins like mad. “Did Roxanne ask you to go into the basement?”

“Yes.”

“So why aren’t you down there?”

“I’m not leaving Addie until I know she can stay.”

“Protective... I like that.” He lowers the gun. “That’s good for a relationship, but not for my business.”

“
Your
business? Who the hell are you?”

“Yeah fuckwad,
my
business. I own all three Afterglow Retreats. She’s just a lowly manager.” He waves the gun at Roxanne. “I need to check in from time to time to make sure no one’s fucking shit up, like what came out of her mouth a moment ago. Paying employees? Hell no. Did I just hear you correctly?”

“It would just be until I found another massage boy to take his place.”

“Bullshit. What’s wrong with him?”

“For one, he won’t get in my bed!”

“Excuse me?” He points the gun at her face. “Cry me a river, bitch. I never said these kids had to touch you.”

“I did,” she snarls.

“They’re here to fuck the guests, not an old washed up porn star.”

“Eww,” I say under my breath.

“
I
have the right to benefits too!”

“Are you telling me I lost money because you didn’t get laid? What the fuck?”

“He won’t screw the guests either.”

“Is he good at massages, or no?”

She scowls in our direction, reluctantly nodding at the guy.

“Case closed.” He turns to Quinn. “Get in the basement. You don’t have to fuck her, but do what she tells you otherwise. I’m sure there’re twenty other men at this place who’ve already stuck their dicks in her. That’s plenty without you getting involved. Ain’t that right, Roxy?” He steps back to the desk and takes another hit from his bowl, blowing smoke high into the air with a grin. “I hate it when greed manifests itself on the low end of the ladder. That shit destroys companies.”

“What about—”

“I’ll make sure your girl’s okay.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Why?” An unrestrained burst of laughter fills the room. “Because you always trust the guy holding the gun.” He points it toward the back of the retreat. “Go on. She’ll be fine. If you want to stay, take your punishment then get back on the job.”

I nod to Quinn that I’m okay, for some reason trusting this guy more than Roxanne.

He hands me his pack and disappears into the dining area, on his way to the basement.

“I have no use for her,” Roxanne says.

“I sure as fuck do. You’ve got one woman here and I want at least three. I’d like more men booking stays.”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “I’m not fucking people. I’ll do anything but that.”

His smile fades, gesturing for me to follow him down the corridor toward the suites.

“Tell the guy in the basement I’m putting her in the first room. She’ll be there when you’re finished messing with him. Give me until morning to decide where she fits in.”

She snubs me on her way out, lighting a cigarette with a devious grin, barely able to walk in her tight jeans.

“A washed up porn star,” I whisper, dragging the duffle bag and Quinn’s pack as I follow the owner.

We pass the open door of Roxanne’s room where Dylan’s naked in her bed, stroking his dick. He kneels so I can get a better look, flaunting it in his hand.

“I think I’m in Hell,” I whisper again.

“More or less,” the guy says, opening the door to the suite. “What’s your name? Abbie?”

“Addie.” I drop our stuff, my shoulders burning and the room a blur.

“Last name, too.”

“Moore.”

“Do your parents know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

“No. Not a soul.” I swallow hard, keeping the truth hidden away.

He hands me a Snickers from the mini-bar and I devour it, shoving the chocolate in my mouth, moaning at how fucking good it tastes, not giving a shit that a mix of drool and melted chocolate is running down my chin.

He steps closer, cocking his head in curiosity—the gun positioned between my breasts with the barrel pointed toward my chin.

“This is how it starts.”

“Please... don’t touch me.” I place my unsteady hand over his, making the gun shake.

He grips my hip, bringing me closer so he can sing softly in my ear. I become hypnotized by his deep voice, somehow allowing him to get inside my head.

You shoulda listened

To what your mother had said

If you had, you’d be safe today

But being so young and unwise, poor girl

You let love

Lead you... astray

“Don’t stereotype me as being on some destructive path,” I say, intimidated by the seductive brush of his hand across my stomach. “And I know that song, ‘House of the Rising Sun.’ You’ve got the lyrics wrong.”

He unbuttons my jeans, the gun still in place. “That song might date back to the Civil War, could be even earlier. I think that’s cool, no one knows the true origin.”

“Don’t sing it to me. Stop!” I grip his wrist. “Don’t.”

My hand’s pushed away and the gun’s pressed under my chin, my head lifted and neck exposed.

“It’s
my
song.
My
lyrics. And you should listen to it, because if you hear it again, maybe late at night when you’re all alone... if you hear it and it makes you shiver—someone around you is about to die. Could be one of my prostitutes, a prisoner like in that song. Like you.”

“I’m not a whore or a prisoner.”

There is a man

In the cold dark night

They call him the Rising SON

He’s been the death of many a poor soul

And you, oh God, could be one

“This is business. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Please, don’t touch me,” I beg.

“Like I said...” He sniffs my skin, feels my hair between his thumb and forefinger, then reaches into my jeans, skimming a finger over my underwear and pulling out in less than a second. “It’s business.”

He takes a short whiff and points the gun toward the bathroom.

“You’re one of filthiest women I’ve come across in a long time. Your foul scent’s coming right through your panties. Get in the tub and wash.”

I cover my lower body, trying to protect myself from another touch.

“Hurry up, in the fucking tub.”

“I need to sleep... can I just sleep? I’ve been awake for days.”

He points the gun at my head and I stop arguing, hurrying into the bathroom to turn on the water. I sit on the toilet, staring at my muddy sneakers while the water warms.

“That’s better.” He leans alongside the doorframe. “You know, my dad always sings to his victims to let them know he’s coming. He suggested I do the same... said it’s soothing and will keep me in control when I concentrate on the words instead of the man screaming for mercy at my feet. Less mistakes that way.”

My heart just stopped. It was racing a minute ago, but is frozen by his words.

“Are you going to kill me?” My voice cracks.

“I don’t have much reason to. Doubt I’d ever kill a woman anyway. It’s not fair game.” He takes out his cell and smiles at the screen. “Where ya coming from?”

“Albany.”

“How long have you been on the run?”

“I-I don’t know... a day or two.”

He searches his cell, still humming his song. I take a mere glance at the door leading to the corridor, nervous that he’s blocking my path. I wish Quinn were here, and I’m praying this guy doesn’t ask me to undress.

“Wash your pussy.” He tosses me a washcloth with his face still in his cell. I place it under the water and wring it out, wrestling to get it under my clothes, trying to clean myself without having to take off my jeans. “I’ll see it sometime this week, so just undress and get it over with.”

“You won’t.”

“This is how it starts.”

“You said that when we walked in.”

“And I’ll say it again.” He holds the cell in front of my face. A short news article about a body pulled from the Hudson is on his screen. “Your man do this?”

I stare at his cell in disbelief... she was found. There’re no details of who she is, but I’m sure more will come out this week... and if any of the homeless open up to the cops...

Fuck, just fuck.

“I don’t see much else in today’s evening news.”

“I don’t know anything about her.”

“So then what’d you do? Rob a bank?” He laughs. “You’re tired, hungry, covered in dirt, hiding out... what’s the story?”

“There’s no story.”

“Uh-huh... so tell me, you feeling vulnerable right about now?” He stares at my hand in my pants.

“Can you leave me alone? I want to clean up and go to sleep.” I toss the washcloth in the tub and slip out of my sneakers, feeling an instant burn when the air hits the open blisters. They’re on my heels, my ankles, and on the tops of my toes—raw and on fire with dried blood around the edges of each one.

“When I’m finished talking, I’ll leave.”

I exhale, turning to put one foot under the running water, jerking it out when I’m hit with a flare of burning pain. It eases and I try a second time, little by little getting it under the stream.