I think back through the last six months. Hayley’s always there. Always watching. I seem to be the only person who pays her any mind. Because it’s my world, I know just how many secrets are in this hotel. Secrets are dangerous things. They are currency.
Hayley probably knows all of them.
CHAPTER 3
HAYLEY
I clock out of work and make my way to the lockers. Takes me three tries before my shaking hands get through my combination. Davis had almost caught me. It was so stupid of me to try, but the blonde—yes that one—had stopped me in the elevators.
She’d demanded that if I or anyone found the iPhone, for it to be personally delivered immediately. With the order given, and a flick of her hair, she’d dismissed my existence. She told me. The grunt. Not the manager. Just some random employee as far she was concerned to play fetch.
Before the anger could take root, I realized her phone was everything I’d been hoping to get my hands on since I decided to help take on the Empire.
How did I become a rebel? A true rebel that you read about in history books who raged against the machine? A kind of, sort of spy?
I woke up every morning for three months straight just hearing this inner battle cry—fuck the very fabric of society. Mind you this didn’t happen in a vacuum. I work alongside men and women struggling to make ends meet. We all live precarious lives as it is, but the tone of fear saturated every corner last year. That fear transformed into reality when co-workers were questioned about their work visas. When plans to visit family out of the country were put on hold. And when people quit because the barbed comments from guests became too much.
I couldn’t not do anything. Since I didn’t have cinnamon buns on the side of my head and a white gown (not to mention an actual mission), I had to figure out my own path.
And that path is where I was headed after throwing my uniform into my locker. I smile at my co-workers and head out of the side door that we’re “encouraged” to use. Our guests come to Hartsburg Park because we’re discreet and upscale. Apparently coming face to face with the maid in the parking lot punches the bubble of reality that a fairy didn’t leave a mint chocolate on their swan shaped towel.
I try to shake off the day. Yet my mind keeps going back to…Davis’s dick. No one would blame me. The man was hung, and the longer I stared, the harder his cock became. I would dare anyone not to be transfixed. The tip had a ruddy complexion, and the veins that traversed the underside had beckoned to my tongue to trace them. My panties are still damp from being that close to it.
What makes it worse is he knows he sets me on edge, and makes my skin itchy for something…physical. It’s what he’s paid to do—set a woman’s panties on fire with a look. I don’t hold his profession against him, but fucking Davis is the best example of a bridge that leads to nowhere.
I stick to reality instead of fantasies of what fucking him would be like. I walk where I know no cameras can capture me. Takes longer for me to reach my destination this way, but the less evidence I leave in my wake, the better.
Around the third block, my nape tingles like someone’s watching me. I’ve learned not to ignore that sensation. I stop at the next crosswalk and pretend I need to tie my shoe. My gaze takes in the street and the buildings around me. Everyone’s going on about their day. I don’t see anyone paying too much attention to me or anyone trying not to pay attention to me. No cars are moving along slowly. The last few months I’ve become hyperaware of my surroundings at all times. There’s no one watching me. Yet. Hopefully there never will be.
I keep my head down, my senses open and I make my way to the library. It’s public, innocuous—the perfect place to leave anonymous information.
I climb the steps and don’t release my breath until I’m inside where I feel safe. The librarians are nice, the space itself quiet for the most part. There are cameras, ways to track who looks at what online.
But who pays attention to the books patrons browse? Periodically the tomes will be placed back on the stacks. Anyone trying to walk out with one would be caught.
Other than that…
I head straight for the 808 aisle—the writing section—plucking an old edition of how to write sci-fi and fantasy. I keep going down the aisle until I hit the camera’s blind spot to slip in the note. I stuff it between the cover and the flap so even if someone randomly flips through the book, they won’t find the missive. I make sure to round the shelf and pick up a few other titles.
Like always I give myself a fifteen-minute buffer by scanning the pages of all the books, then circle back to the original spot to leave the note. When that deed is done, I check out the rest of the books then leave the library.
I’ve done this routine so many times over the last few months, it’s practically rote. I keep doing it because spilling these secrets helps keep corrupt individuals in line, and as my hacker contact informed me, leaving notes at the library is the safest gray hat activity. We met on an innocent but rebellious forum. She gave me a link to something a little more dark webby, and here I was—Deep Throat of the Hartsburg Parks.
I should say, it used to be safe.
My feet freeze at the bottom of the steps. Davis leans against his cherry red Mustang’s door, his dusty blond strands catching the sun. The mid-afternoon light makes his hair look platinum at the tips and dark as caramel at the roots. I can’t see them now, but he has laugh lines that etch so deep around his full mouth they look like dimples when he smirks. He’s rugged and pretty. It’s unfair and wrong that he has a big dick on top of all that male honey-trapness.
But as he stands there outside the library, his attention only on me, Davis looks dangerous.
My heart tries to cartwheel out of my chest from fear. Him being here, now, is not a coincidence. I’ve had a lustful crush on him not just because he’s easy on the eyes, he’s also wicked smart. He fucking knows I didn’t just “find” that phone.
I could run, but on some level I know his pose only looks relaxed. And who am I kidding? I’ve never been athletic. Davis didn’t get a six pack, and muscle-sculpted thighs with wishful thinking. I can scream for bloody murder. Then what? I explain I’ve been slipping a hacker messages to help take down local shady politicians?
The only reasonable thing is to maintain my innocence, my ignorance of the type of people who come to my hotel. I force a smile to my lips and go to him.
My brain yells at me to show some kind of damn self-preservation. To do anything but waltz up to him.
Ten feet. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. I lift my chin, donning all the bravado inside me. “Didn’t take you for the library type.”
Which is a lie. We’ve talked about his eclectic reading choices.
His jaw flexes. “Didn’t take you for the lying type.”
Shit. “Excuse me?” Shit. I overplayed my righteous indignation.
One of his brows lifts, telling me without words I’m full of shit and he knows it. “Where did you find the phone again?”
“Just a bit under the bed.” I check that there are still people around if I have to scream to draw attention to us. “Now that you know, I’m heading home.”
It’s smart to not confront him about following me. There’s no other explanation that I would believe. He may have been flirtatious and sometimes inappropriate, but I have no doubt he knows powerful people. He keeps powerful secrets. Lovers always do, and that’s his stock and trade. I can blow the lid on his life. Even though I’ve never had to clean blood in his hotel rooms (you’d be surprised at what I find in rich people’s rooms), I don’t know what’s he’s capable of.
I take a step back. “I guess I’ll see you again?”
He pushes from the door. “Get in the car.”
I don’t need experts to tell me that’s a bad idea. “I really can’t. I have to get dinner on the table and some sleep. I work another night shift tomorrow. I’m dead on my feet.”
“I don’t recall posing it as a request.”
I should rip off my shirt, scream and run down the street. A spectacle gets attention. It’s hard to go missing and dead when everyone has their eyes on you. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
For the first time ever his smirk doesn’t make my knees weak. “Don’t you trust me?”
I almost laugh, because he has to be joking. “Why should I?”
“I’m not the one leaving secret notes in library books.”
Shiiiiiittttt. I take another step back with the intent to run, but it’s too late. He grips my arm. The hold isn’t polite. It’s used to drag me the passenger door where he pushes me into the seat. Numbly I put on my seat belt. What else can I do? I can jump out of the car. From the hard set of his jaw as he rounds over to his side, I know he’ll chase me down. Or worse find out where I live and wait for me.
I inhale deeply. The inside of his Mustang smells of expensive leather and sandalwood. He climbs behind the wheel confirming he’s responsible for the second scent. He doesn’t glance in my direction, much less offer a threat. He doesn’t need to. My mind fills the silence for him.
Haven’t I been imagining this moment for months? The chickens come home to roost? I’ve been leaking secrets of very connected people. Isn’t this why Davis became a constant fantasy? Or partly why. He’s part of that world. He’s also so real to me even when I’m home alone, I can breathe in his scent.
I’ve been playing with fire for months, and now I’m about to get burned.
CHAPTER 4
DAVIS
I used to think I was a good guy.
Okay.
I used to think I wasn’t reprehensible. Yet as I slow my car to creep up my driveway, I know I am. I live on the outskirts of Hartsburg, where most of the homes are more land than house. Mine has a one-story layout, but it sits on three to four acres.
From Hayley’s point of view, I’ve taken her to the boondocks where no one can hear her scream. I can only assume this because Hayley’s tugged her pointer finger the whole way here, her anxiety rising with each mile. She’s probably thought of all the ways she’s about to die and I haven’t told her otherwise. I don’t plan to until I know the truth. I watched her in the library. She was so damn good. Anyone not looking would believe she picked up books at random. The life I lived could only see the dishonesty.
I don’t know what the paper had on it—the one she slipped into the books, but I need to know. My neck depends on it. I pull in front of the garage and spare her a glance. Her shoulders are high and tight. Her eyes wide. My instinct is to reach over, cup her cheek and tell her everything is okay.
But the world I’m living in everyone is a potential enemy. I can’t drop my guard, not with her, not again. This whole time I’ve been weaving fantasies around the sweetish maid who makes me laugh and makes sure I eat the best food for lunch.
This whole time she’s been picking through my trash, finding out all my dirt and telling someone about it. In short, she’s been fucking me over without the courtesy of lube.
No matter my feelings about her, I can’t go soft now. “Get out,” I tell her.
“I don’t know where you’ve brought me, but if you let me go, I won’t tell anyone.”
There’s a tremor in her voice I can’t ignore. It digs in. “Too late for that, Hayley.”
Her chin trembles, and I don’t allow myself to react. She nods then steps out of the car. I wait a few seconds to follow her before taking the lead. Her footsteps sound behind me once inside. Those ugly ass shoes squeak against my wooden floors. I go for the kitchen to pick up glasses and the strongest liquor I have on tap in the cabinets. I’m sure she’s shocked that I have a house, and how clean it is. My place is mostly wood and dark hues, but it’s mine. I force myself to walk out to the patio and not check to see if she approves. She follows me. Her movements become stiff when she sees the backyard is endless. Meaning, no easy escape route.
I put down the liquor and glasses on a small patio table then sprawl on the porch chair, kicking my feet up. My life is all about what looks good on paper. Right now, I’m showing her I don’t care about what happens next. The truth is I don’t want my world to eat her alive. I’m still hoping she’s not a part of it.
When I notice she hasn’t taken a seat, I say, “Sit down. Pour yourself something to drink.”
“I don’t—” She clamps her mouth shut then makes us both drinks. I don’t take mine. She might need both of them.
“What did the note say?”
Her gaze shifts to the left. “I—”
“Don’t lie. This will go faster if you tell the truth.”
She glares at me. “How will you know?”
“If you’re telling the truth?” I fold my hands behind my head. “That’s the question for the ages. How can I tell when a woman is lying to me? Me? A man who is paid to know a woman’s every desire. Let me think.”
Her glare doesn’t lessen, and that alone lets me know Hayley is as smart as I guessed. She knows what I do at the hotel. “I used to admire your arrogance.”
My brows flick up. That’s surprising. “Why?” I ask, honestly confused.
She purses her lips like she has to think about the answer. “You have a panty-melting smirk. Most guys look like douchebags when they have all-knowing smiles. You…”
“What?”
“You look vulnerable.”
I hiss out a breath. That answer is why I hate what I’m doing right now. Hayley knows what it means to fight, and she’s fighting right now. She can see I’m waffling on the hard parts. She’s digging her fingers into me to squeeze any soft spots.
I laugh. It sounds sour. “Touché. What was on the paper?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“If it was nothing, you would have told me.”
Something like defeat flashes across her expression. Fuck me. I soften more. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her, hoping the sincerity rings through. “I just need to know what you wrote.”
Her teeth scrape along her bottom lip. “Information.”
That could mean anything and as long as that information includes the debutante or her father, I’m fucked. “What kind of information? Was it something you found on the phone?”
“Yes.”
I sit up and scrub a hand down my face. “To the first or last question?”
Her mouth quirks. “Yes.”
My ass is on the line and I can’t help but like her more for that answer. “Hayley, just tell me.”
She strolls to the chair farthest from me then sits down with her drink clutched in her hand. “Three months ago, I started to give information to a hacker I know.”
I try to see the end goal from that, and I can’t. Maybe it’s because I can’t get past the fact it’s her. The Hayley I’ve imagined wouldn’t know anyone on the dark web, much less feed them secrets. Yes, the dark web because that’s the only place people are recruiting those who are willing to leak ugly truths. “The kind of information that’s used for blackmail?”
“Never blackmail. It’s… People who are not a good fit for certain positions in our local government are given the option to decline any job offers. When I look around us, and the things that impact us, it all starts locally. Corruption starts at the grassroots.”
I stretch my shoulders to see how that confession settles on me. It’s not a comfortable fit, but do I blame her? A few years ago, I might have. Now I can’t. “Sounds like blackmail to me.”
“Blackmail works if you promise the information will never get out. This information does. It doesn’t look good, and whatever happens happens.”
I’m no lawyer, but that didn’t sound exactly legal. Yet she’s doing it. A maid at a hotel with everything to lose, but also with everything to gain if her community is better for it. I don’t find it surprising she sits there with her chin lifted in defiance, waiting for me to judge her for it.
This woman isn’t a fantasy I’ve conjured up to keep me tethered to myself. She’s her
own person and suddenly I’m dying to know more. “Why is that important to you?”
Her expression blatantly asks me if I’m kidding. I laugh. “I’ll give you that,” I say. “Shit has gone tits up this year, but why didn’t you just take the phone?”
“You came out of the bathroom naked.”
Ah. “My anatomy is not that impressive?”
This expression says the same as earlier—are you shitting me? My ego feels thoroughly petted. She takes a tentative sip of her drink, and hums. The sound brushes along my senses.
Her shoulders lower then she sighs. “Why do you care about the note?”
“That’s a question.” I frown at her. My gut tells me she’s telling the truth and I can trust her. Her plans can fuck up mine, but not on purpose. I can’t condemn her for wanting to help other people. “If it has anything to do with my client, that note cannot leave that library.”
“It’s too late. I leave a note in a book. That book is a few feet away from a camera’s dead spot, and once I leave, the note is picked up.”
When will I stop being optimistic? At some point I’m going to have to accept fate is always against me. I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a curse. “What did the note say?”
“I copied her last text to her father verbatim.”
The her didn’t need to be mentioned. I dig into my pocket to pull out the phone. My client sent a text to her father, and after reading up thread it’s not good. It’s the kind of text you read in a newspaper and think why are people so damn stupid?
I nix the Wi-Fi on the phone then turn it off. Thirty minutes have passed and that might be more than enough to fuck me in the ass with a sand paper condom.
She says, “You look like you’re headed to the gallows.”
Shit. Maybe. “I made a deal with the devil. You might have fucked my get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Her mouth forms into an ‘O.’ “Being an escort?” she guesses.
That’s close to the truth and so far from it. “What I tell you next is a hypothetical.”
Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series) Page 8