The Lilith Effect (The Stardust #2)
One
July Twenty-First
Veronica
Ronnie didn’t understand this guy. He had paid for a lap dance but wouldn’t stop talking. She paused, looking at him. “Dude, this would probably be a lot more enjoyable if you just shut up.”
“Listen, Veronica–”
She abruptly stood. That wasn’t her name. Right now her name was Lilith, and no one with good intentions called her by her government name. Everyone called her Ronnie. “I’m going to call security.”
She stepped back to flag someone down.
“Wait, wait, wait.”
He held up his hands like he was trying to corner a feral cat “Just listen to me. I need someone who knows about mechanical engineering.”
He began to talk faster before her shoulders relaxed. “Possibly electrical engineering for a solar project.”
Ronnie’s brow rose as she resaddled him for the rest of the song he paid for, anything to keep the customer happy. “I found your information in the University of Nevada, Las Vegas records. I saw that you didn’t graduate and are a few credits short of a master’s degree.” True, she thought, with a bored expression as she ground her body against him. “Where I come from, that doesn’t matter and I can set you up to work full time, making good money.” She looked down at him and gazed back inches from his face.
“Hm.”
She grunted while arching a brow, inviting him to continue.
“It’s on a secluded tropical island.”
“What? Like a weird billionaire has a kink for helping out strippers or something? Why me?”
His eyes darted to the side, “Uh, no. More of a community looking for someone with this expertise and it’s easier to find people who…”
He looked back at Ronnie. “Have less strings attached.”
She pressed her palms into his shoulders and stood. “Time’s up.”
“Look, I can give you the address to the airport, but you need to make a decision by Friday morning.”
Ronnie thought back to her professor and how he had flunked her three times, leading her not to graduate and forfeit her degree, hence her current occupation. She held out her hand for her tip but he placed the address inside her palm instead. She looked down at it and rolled her eyes, thinking about her unaccomplished life that definitely had no strings attached to anything. “Fuck it,”
she said, rolling her shoulders. “I’ll see you Friday.”
He adjusted his shirt. “You need to come alone, and part of this agreement is to not tell anyone.”
“Cool.”
She turned away without saying goodbye and strutted to the back.
July Twenty-Second
Justin
He walked out of the house of his current electrical job for lunch and was thrown off by a man who was standing near his work truck waiting for him. “Justin?”
“Yeah?”
He approached him, assuming he was someone from the state.
“I am looking for an electrician for a job.”
“What kind of job?”
The guy shifted his weight towards Justin. “A big one. that will require you to go far away and maybe not come back, that is if you would like.”
“I’m not interested in your games.”
It was one hundred and thirteen degrees outside, and he was still on parole, keeping him from wherever ‘far away’ was. He leaned in his truck’s passenger door, grabbing a water bottle out of the cooler.
“It’s not a game. Do you want the honest truth?”
“What? Are you already lying to me?”
He cracked the seal open and put it to his lips. Justin had a temper that he fed into his gym routine, he may have been under six feet but he knew he was intimidating. He pulled the empty bottle away and faced the guy who was staring at him with his sunglasses still on. “Spit it out, I don’t have all damn day.”
“I live in a small community, and we are looking for an electrician. The place is not connected to the U.S., off grid with a secure job for the rest of your life and you won't have a record there. A clean slate.”
“What?”
He knew prison records were public but didn’t know how he found him or connected the whole story with his occupation. Background check, he thought, probably one of those websites that you pay a small fee.
“Justin, I probably know too much about you. You have two older siblings that moved to the other side of the country, your mom is on her third marriage to an unimpressive guy and she is high half the time. You don’t care to see any of them anyway. What do you say about this job? Permanent, full-time, a place to break away from the system in a place they will never find you, and I’ll throw in a free room.”
“I don’t know, man.”
Justin collapsed his water bottle in one hand. “What’s the pay?”
“Name your price.”
July Twenty-Third
Veronica
She had questioned what she would do with her stuff. She stood in her room looking at everything. Ronnie loved her things because they couldn’t leave her. Her roommate was just that, a roommate. She was fine, but they worked opposite shifts and didn’t really know each other. She counted her cash: three thousand seven hundred twenty dollars. Ronnie shoved it in a return envelope from some junk mail and wrote on the back: Going away for a few months. This should cover my rent until then. If I’m not back in six months, feel free to sell my stuff. Thanks.
Ronnie picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder before she closed her bedroom door and stepped into the kitchen. Pushing the envelope across the table, she freed both hands to cup her roommate's cat’s face. “Goodbye, Crash.”
She looked into his wintergreen eyes and gave him a soft kiss while thumbing his cheeks. Crash fell into one of her palms as if he knew she was leaving.
Justin
The roll top to the twenty-four hour storage unit clattered closed, and he wove a lock onto the slot. Auto drafting from his bank account allowed him to store his few apartment items for a little over a year, until it would eventually run out with the rest of his bills. He tossed the keys to the lock in the cup holder of his truck and headed for the airport.
Veronica
Ronnie adjusted into a seat across from a long, blonde haired man, arms covered in tattoos and scruff on his face. She wanted to sit on his lap, instead she grazed her foot against his leg to get his attention. “Hi.”
He said unbothered.
“Have you ever joined the Mile High Club?”
She teased deviously, grinning at him. He chuckled and looked back out the window as his nose ring caught the sunlight. “What’s your name?”
She continued.
He refused to look at her, “Justin.”
“I’m Ronnie, are you from Vegas?”
“No, Boulder City.”
His chin motioned away from the window, guiding his face to hers.
“Oh, I’m from the Whitney area. I knew someone from Boulder City once. He was an asshole.”
She propped her cat eye sunglasses on her head, pulling back her black hair. “How did you meet this pilot guy? Did you have to give him a lap dance too?”
He smirked, looking at her like she was crazy, because she was, “No.”
“I’m a stripper, or was, I guess,”
she responded shamelessly.
“Oh.”
He said, looking a little relieved that someone had sat next to him before she could change her seats to be closer.
The familiar voice from the pilot overcame the intercom system. “Last chance for anyone to change their mind, we have an eight hour flight into the pacific. Buckle in.”
The mouthpiece scratched against the holder coming through the speakers before turning off. Ronnie dropped her sunglasses on her face and for half the flight questioned how far his tattoos went and what was Justin hiding under those clothes.