Sins & Secrets

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 I

Destroys people.

We chat for a little bit longer then I leave Da

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 Da

“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.”

I shrug as I open the soda and take a sip. “Lana was telling me out your relationship and how super cute you two are. Way cuter than when the two of them dated.” Lana is probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Long brown hair, skin like honey, perfect lips, perfect body. Plus, she’s super nice and sweet. I serious have a girl crush on her, which makes me feel bad for using her my play, but she’s also nice enough to forgive me when this is all said and done.

“Wait. Lana dated Chase?” Marla looks horrified at the thought of sweet, perfect Lana dating her Chase. “Neither of them mentioned this to me.”

“Oh.” I place my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

Her eyes flare with anger. “Will you excuse me for a moment.” She rises from her chair and storms off toward the break room.

Once she’s out of sight, I grab a few papers from her desk and compare her handwriting to the note Da

What if I’ve finally been caught?

Chapter 3

Lola

For the last two years, I’ve had nightmares about the night I shot and killed a man with a tattoo of 99 and the name De

I’m really off my game, unable to get past it and the fear of who wrote it. I can barely concentrate—barely get anything done, almost as bad as the few months after I found out Layton was dead. Even when Marla comes back and chews me out for lying to her about her boyfriend, I can barely conjure up a good lie. My thoughts are elsewhere.

It’s time to run again. Move again. Disappear. The notes said secrets. What if they know more about me than just my nighttime job? What if it’s one of the Dellefontes? What if I’m found? Even if I try to run now, they’ll find me or catch me before I can even escape.

Fortunately through the chaos in my head, I do manage to keep it together on the outside, even when I go straight to my second job at The Dusky I

“He didn’t ask for sex?” I question warily after I get the lowdown on tonight’s “date.” “Really?” They always ask for sex, although some don’t go through with it in the end.

“It happens sometimes, just not a lot.” Nyjah shrugs, kicking his feet up on the desk, His jeans are frayed and his shirt’s unbutton, revealing his colorful, detailed, tattoos covering his chest. There’s always been one in particular that’s caught my attention—one on his neck. It looks like a family crest, a triangle with a strange symbol inside that looks like the roman numeral ten. Back home a lot of people I know have tattoos of their family crests, but I haven’t seen any since I left Boston. When I asked Nyjah, he said it had to do with his past and his mother, but didn’t go into details. Afterward, I’d done a search on their last name—Peirton—just to make sure they weren’t mobster.

“It still seems a little weird,” I tell him, picking at my fiery red nail polish. I’m in my nighttime attire, my earrings in place now, lining up the lobe, like silver and diamond artwork along with a few studs on my eyebrows. My black hair is down and wildly wavy, my lips are stained red, my eyes like smoke, and I have a dress on that barely covers up my ass and boots that go up to my thighs. And strapped to my thigh, underneath my dress, is a gun