Chapter 3
Iwonder what she’ll do when she gets out of the shower and finds me still sitting on the chair.
I check the time. It’s been over ten minutes, and I know—also because I grew up with a girl in the house—women take long showers, at least longer than most dudes.
And I’m definitely most dudes. Unless I’m jerking off, I’m in and out quickly.
If I’m jerking off, it’s ten minutes tops.
My hand is fast and furious and knows how to stroke my dick.
Yawning, I contemplate getting some shut-eye, but decide to grab more coffee, sit back in the chair, and browse the news and scroll through the tiring shit the world’s yapping about.
I get to the local news, which is generally way better than national.
The target’s mistress found him in the hotel room and called the cops, who promptly came, then notified his wife and two previous wives.
The paper then went on and on about the wife and mistress’s squabble, and I keep scrolling, finding the locals still handling the case. They won’t be for long. The feds will move in fast.
Upstairs, the water shuts off, and I place the coffee on the table, throw my head back, and close my eyes, but the second I do, the hair dryer wakes me right up.
It’ll take another twenty minutes to style all that hair, and I set an alarm just to see if I’m right.
Sure enough, twenty-two minutes later, Isla comes down the stairs. I turn.
She wears jeans, fur boots, a white sweater, and lip gloss. I love licking lip gloss. “You’re still here,” she says.
I open my mouth to answer when someone knocks. Well, well, well, here comes Mr. Homer. Been looking forward to this moment since last night. Usually, I’d answer my own door, but I don’t want Mr. Homer to run before I have a chance to scare the shit out of him.
“Are you expecting someone?” Isla asks, because she believes I’m Homer.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Let him in.”
She fluffs up her hair.
She’s nervous as fuck. I don’t blame her.
This poor girl and her fucked-up study weekend.
I almost feel bad she’s stuck with me. Almost. I mean, I will eat her out and pleasure her in ways her small-dicked college boys couldn’t possibly even watch in porn.
I’m not gonna hurt her, but I’m not leaving my house either.
Since Isla stands there, unwilling to open her door, I get up and swing it open.
In one second flat, Mr. Homer goes from looking like a kid at McDonald’s to something Stephen King would write about.
He wears a black jacket, boots, and I know those are overalls underneath.
Oh, the look on his chubby, rosy face. It’s priceless, and I’m happy I opened the door.
“Ludi,” he says.
I smile. “Come in.”
He eyes the steps to the driveway. He can’t outrun me, so I’m not sure what he’s planning other than admitting to what happened with my safe house.
“Don’t make me repeat myself. It makes me violent, and there’s a nice girl inside.”
“Okay.” He puts up his hands. “I can explain.”
I grab him by the jacket and throw his ass inside, then close the door and lean against it.
Isla stays on the stairs, backing up a few steps.
Mr. Homer huffs and puffs, head bobbing between me and her.
“Look at me,” I say. “And sit your ass down.” I glance at the girl so she picks up on the next bit. “Mr. Homer.”
He sits. “I can explain. We’re short on money, Mr. Ludi.” His chin quivers. “My wife broke her leg and can’t work no more, so she got let go from the slopes. I’m on disability ’cause of my hip, and I thought instead of letting this nice place sit by itself, I’d rent it out.”
He’s giving me a sob story. A glance at the girl tells me she’s falling for it. Her face drops, and sure enough, she says, “Awww, I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Homer.”
Well, fuck. “How much for a night?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “Four fifty.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Four fifty?”
“But it’s buy one night and get the second one twenty percent off,” Isla says.
I cross my arms over my chest. “That’s a lot of money for a college student.”
Isla sits on the stairs, and I take a harder look at her clothes, namely the fine leather boots. Designer shit. “My parents are paying for it.”
“Who’s your daddy?” I ask.
“A deputy sheriff.”
God hates me. “What city?”
“Korentown.”
Caught off guard, I blink, thinking this must be some sort of setup. Paranoia is my middle name, and rightfully so, because I popped the sheriff of that department just yesterday so a new deputy could ascend.
The sheriff dealt with a gang from New York, and we needed our own man inside.
The deputy sounded interested, but needed more convincing, and so Nikola sent me after his boss as a warning of what could come if he missed the lovely opportunity of working with us.
He’d have to work with someone, and if we didn’t hire him, the New Yorkers would.
He’s one of those good boys, but will let soft activity slide, namely he’ll turn a blind eye as our trucks make their way through the States. He’s a hustler and obviously likes to spoil his kid with nice things. I don’t blame him.
“I’m an only child,” she adds.
“Mm-hm,” I say. I’ll deal with her later.
“Mr. Homer, you understand you broke the law when you rented out my house.” My safe house, of all places, but I can’t say that.
And hey, I sound like a cop. All authoritative and proper and shit.
“You broke the law,” I repeat. I like the sound of those words coming out of my mouth instead of Judge Stanley’s when he sentenced me to seven years at the age of sixteen.
What else had the judge said? I purse my lips. “And now you will pay.”
Mr. Homer drops to his knees and starts crawling, bawling, begging for his life.
Oh, come on. I bang the back of my head on the wooden door. “Get up, man.”
“Please, please, don’t kill me, Ludi. You can have all the profit. One hundred percent of the profit.”
“Get up.”
From down there, he peers up at me like a whipped puppy. Isla stares at me, and she’s probably wondering what in the fucking hell and why would this man ask me not to kill him. I have zero intention of explaining right now.
“Well,” she says. “I’ll be leaving now.”
Not likely.
Mr. Homer stands, and I slide away from the door to open it. “Get out of my house, and if you collect a single dollar from her, you’ll hear from me.”
“No, no, I swear I won’t.”
“You’re still working for me. Understand?”
“Oh yes, Ludi, thank you.”
I hand him my car keys. “Park it in the garage.”
Mr. Homer runs down the steps, and I close the door to find Isla dragging the suitcase downstairs.
She manages, which is no small feat, because that thing is packed with a month’s worth of shit and weighs over seventy pounds.
She leaves it by the stairs, then starts packing her textbooks, which weigh even more, into a red backpack.
Looking around, she searches the place as one would search a hotel room right before one leaves. In the drawers, under the table, in the kitchen… All the while, I stand there, contemplating this situation.
“I didn’t see a car when I drove in,” I say.
“I don’t drive.”
She must’ve taken a cab, or someone dropped her off. “Did your daddy drop you off?”
“Yes.”
Of course he did. And I bet a million dollars Daddy dropped her off away from town because he knew what was about to go down there. What a fucking coincidence he’d rent out my place. There’s no way he would have known this is my safe house, but I don’t believe in coincidences.
Is it possible Daddy delivered me his daughter as a bribe of some sort? A plea for his life in case Nikola didn’t like something? Was he looking for long-term ties to the family? Because nothing spoke family more than marriage and blood.
“Are you missing something?” I ask.
“My phone.”
“I haven’t seen it.” It’s in my pocket. “Maybe you forgot it.”
She taps her chin. “I’m pretty sure I brought it.” She shrugs. “My head was in the books, so I could be wrong.” She sits by the couch and picks up the landline. I walk over and put my hand over hers, then pause. Isla looks up, eyes wide.
“You can use my cell.” From my pocket, I get my phone and unlock it, then give it to her.
A little rattled, she thanks me and calls someone. The phone is loud, and I hear a man’s voice answer.
“Hey, Daddy,” she says, and I sit next to her, trying to hear both ends of the conversation. It’s broken up on his end, but as her face falls and she hangs up, staring into space, I grab my phone and see the call has ended.
“He wants you to stay?” I ask.
“He says he’ll double the rent for your trouble if you let me stay, because he can’t come to get me now and Mom’s at Grandma’s out of state.
Um, I can call one of my cousins. I’m very sorry about this.
Had I known Mr. Homer lied, I wouldn’t have, you know, invaded your house.
” She turns bright red. “I can’t drive because I can’t see well enough for driving.
” She taps her glasses. “And I depend on other people. It sucks. Though if you wouldn’t mind driving me, I’d pay for your gas.
It’s only a two-hour drive.” She smiles.
I used to think there’s no such thing as innocence and nobody was innocent, but I really think Isla will prove me wrong. She’s fucking worried about inconveniencing me while her Daddy put her in my way to tell me…what? He knows about my safe house?
This motherfucker’s playing a dangerous game, and I don’t like that he’s playing with a girl with no fucking clue I’m a circling predator. Of course, he could be completely oblivious about who she’s staying with and adamant about keeping her away from town.
“I have a better idea,” I say. “I’m gonna make you breakfast, and we’ll go from there.”