Chapter 2
What’s Done In The Dark
The shrill sound of an alarm shattered the quiet.
Tyreek groaned and buried his face deeper into the velvet comforter.
The mattress beneath him felt too soft to belong to any place he'd ever slept before this job.
White linen tangled around his legs while the oversized bed swallowed him whole.
Even half asleep, he could tell the room belonged in a mansion.
Dark mahogany wood furniture. A sitting area near the windows.
Fresh flowers arranged on a dresser. The scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.
Next to him, a woman cursed.
"Oh, hell no," she said, throwing back the comforter. "Get up."
Tyreek squinted against the lamp clicking on beside the bed. "Huh?"
"Get up!"
She was a dark-skinned BBW, holding her D-cup breast against her arm and snatching up clothing from the floor with one hand. She moved with purpose despite the early hour, curvy and beautiful with the kind of presence that turned heads. She looked like she'd been born knowing exactly who she was.
Tyreek blinked at her. "Who are you?"
She stopped. "What?"
"You heard me."
She stared at him. "Do you remember anything?"
Tyreek rubbed his eyes. "Damn." He looked her over again. "All that ass and titties, I hope I put it down right. Give me a minute. It'll all come back."
He rolled over and closed his eyes.
"I don't have a minute," she snapped. She slipped on her shoes and smoothed her maid's uniform.
"I'm Teresa, damn it. I work for Brenda."
That got his attention. Tyreek sat up. "You do?"
"I run the maid service. Breakfast has to be served, my girls have rooms to prepare, tables need setting, and people around here expect perfection." She bent to look beneath the bed. "Get up. You have to get out of my room."
Tyreek frowned. "Did I sleep here last night?"
"Barely." Teresa continued searching. "Have you seen a set of keys?"
Tyreek pulled back the sheets. "You mean these?"
A ring of keys glinted in his hand.
"Yes." Teresa rushed over and snatched them away and clutched them to her chest. "I need these to get in and out of the guest rooms. Now get dressed and get out."
Tyreek looked down at himself. "I don't have anything to wear out there."
Teresa disappeared into the bathroom. A second later, a towel flew out. He caught it.
"Use that," she said.
Tyreek wrapped it around his waist before climbing out of bed and stretching. Even exhausted, his body looked carved from long nights in the gym and years spent hustling to survive. Lean muscle shifted beneath dark skin as tattoos disappeared beneath the towel tied low around his hips.
Teresa glanced over, then quickly looked away.
"Thank you," she muttered.
"For what?"
She paused near the door. "You know what."
Tyreek grinned. "Do I get a tip?"
Teresa laughed despite herself. "As hard as you fucked me, I should be the one asking for one."
Tyreek laughed.
She walked over, grabbed his face, and kissed him. "If you survive another night, I got you, baby." Then she pointed toward the door. "Now get out of here before I have to slash your ass."
Tyreek froze and narrowed his eyes. "...You flirting or threatening me?"
"Maybe both." Teresa smiled.
He followed her into the hallway, towel secured around his waist.
The mansion had quieted since earlier that night. The distant hum of early activity echoed from somewhere below as staff moved through another day of luxury most people would never experience.
Tyreek glanced both ways. "Can you at least tell me where my room is?"
Teresa pointed down the corridor. "Last room on the left."
He started walking backward and asked, "Will I see you tonight?"
"Boy," Teresa called after him, "will you get the hell on before you get both of us fired?"
Tyreek laughed all the way down the hallway, but as he reached the end of it, his smile faded.
He stopped and looked back toward Teresa's door, then frowned.
For some reason, he still couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.
A sick sensation hit his gut, and a thought came to mind.
Did this bitch drug me? He dismissed the thought almost as fast as it arrived.
Tyreek tried the knob, but it didn't budge.
He knocked twice before the door swung open.
Darius stood on the other side fully dressed as if he'd been awake for hours.
He wore a fitted white collar shirt stretched across his chest beneath an open Gucci jacket.
Pressed slacks hung neatly from his waist, and dark socks covered his feet while fresh Gucci loafers waited beside the bed.
His eyes dropped to the towel wrapped around Tyreek's waist, then back up to his face. He shook his head.
Tyreek walked around him without saying a word.
"Damn, bruh," Darius said. "I thought we talked about this before."
Tyreek rubbed the back of his neck. "Come on, man. I don't need no lectures right now."
Darius turned toward him. "You're the one who told me to make sure you keep your head on straight. Remember?"
"Yeah, but you're going overboard." Tyreek dropped into a chair and leaned forward, scratching his head as if he'd heard all this before. "We're in a mansion filled with beautiful rich women stacked to the ceiling and you want me to sit around looking square. I came to get money, big bruh."
"Show me." Darius held his palms out in front of him. "Where your money at, baller?"
"Can we talk about this later?" He rubbed at his stomach. "My head hurts and my stomach aching."
Darius walked over to the bed and pointed at the stack of money sitting on top of the comforter. "You see this?"
Tyreek didn't answer.
"Look at it, damn it." Darius picked up a handful of cash. "I made over fifteen hundred dollars in a few hours before your dumb ass ran off and left me." He dropped the money back onto the bed. "And now you come back with nothing to show but that stupid ass look on your face."
Tyreek stared at the floor. "I'm sorry, big bruh." He rubbed his head. "I'll do better."
"Man, you're always sorry." Darius laughed, then stepped closer, his face going serious. "Haven't you learned yet that being sorry is for broke niggas?"
Tyreek opened his mouth.
Darius lifted a hand. "Look, I ain't got time for this." He grabbed his keys from the dresser. "I'm going to the dining room for breakfast," he said, pointing at him. "It's important that the host see your face."
Without waiting for a response, Darius headed for the door. The door slammed behind him. Tyreek sat there alone for a moment, holding his stomach as it cramped again, his head throbbing behind his eyes.
He glanced at the money stacked neatly on the bed, then the closed door. He exhaled slowly, wondering if Darius was beyond disappointed.
Tyreek was fucking up... and he knew it.
Toward the back of the dining room, away from the laughter and flowing mimosas, another table had been reserved.
The staff table.
Darius sat with his back straight despite the irritation written across his face.
Tyreek occupied the chair beside him, freshly dressed and trying his best to look like everything was fine.
Teresa sat quietly on Tyreek's other side, hoping this wouldn't take long.
The DJ sat across from them, scrolling through playlists on his tablet, while the two security guards ate in silence, their broad shoulders filling the space around the small, round table.
One of them, a bald man named Reggie, shoveled eggs into his mouth without looking up. The other, Marcus, reached for another strip of bacon.
"Storm or not," Marcus muttered, "this food worth coming to work."
"Facts," the DJ agreed.
Tyreek pushed scrambled eggs around his plate, but Darius hadn't touched his food.
Brenda appeared beside the table carrying a cup of coffee and the conversation stopped.
"Darius," she said.
He looked up.
"You've worked with me before."
"Yes, ma'am."
Brenda nodded before turning her attention toward Tyreek. "But your boy here is new."
Tyreek straightened in his seat.
Her voice remained calm. Professional. "I hire experienced entertainers because my clients expect professionalism."
She looked directly at Tyreek. "You're a little too loose."
Heat crept into Tyreek's face.
"If you can't handle your job, let me know."
He shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, I can explain—"
Brenda lifted a hand. "No."
"I can handle it."
"I certainly hope so." Brenda folded her hands in front of her. "I can't have you running around fucking up marriages."
Tyreek opened his mouth again. "It wasn't like—"
Darius's hand clamped around Tyreek's arm beneath the table, the silent warning enough to make him glance sideways, but Darius never looked back at him.
Brenda continued as if neither interruption had happened.
"I have cameras all over this property to protect my business and my clients." She glanced toward the security guards. "Sometimes security guards aren't enough."
Neither Reggie nor Marcus reacted. They continued eating as if conversations like this happened every weekend.
"Keep it professional." Brenda pushed her chair back and stood, her eyes settled on Tyreek one last time. "Please meet me at my suite at eleven o'clock." She offered a polite smile. "And don't be late."
Tyreek swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."
"Enjoy your meals." She walked away.
Silence settled over the table. Tyreek wiped his palms against his slacks as sweat gathered at the back of his neck.
"Damn," the DJ muttered.
Darius stared at his untouched breakfast. The appetite he'd managed to recover had disappeared completely.
Reggie reached for his coffee. "You ain't dead yet," he said.
Marcus shrugged. "Brenda don't play about her money bruh."
"She got cameras?" Tyreek asked, staring down at his plate.
"You heard what she said," Teresa replied, standing to her feet as a folded napkin in her hand slipped to the floor beside Tyreek's chair.
"You dropped something," he said.
Teresa bent slowly, her uniform riding up to her ass cheeks. Tyreek's eyes widened, the security guards found their plates less fascinating, and the DJ coughed into his fist.
Teresa picked up the napkin and pushed her skirt back in place, then placed it beside Tyreek's fork.
"Excuse me," she said sweetly before continuing on her way.
Tyreek unfolded it beneath the table. Four words had been scribbled across the white cloth.
You better not snitch.
He looked up but Teresa never turned around or looked back while walking away. He folded the napkin, slipped it into his pocket, and felt his stomach tighten a second time.
Maybe Darius was right. Maybe he had fucked up worse than he realized.
Vicky sat between Sky and Celeste, picking at the fruit on her plate while conversation drifted around them. Champagne glasses clinked together. Somewhere behind them, someone had already started another round of mimosas.
Sky leaned closer. "I'm telling y'all right now, CC probably in her room getting fucked."
Celeste nearly choked on her coffee. "Girl, stop."
"What?" Sky shrugged. "You know how her wild ass used to be."
Celeste shook her head. "She grew out of that stage."
"Did she?" Sky lifted an eyebrow and waited.
"Yes." Celeste lowered her voice. "Besides, it's nothing but women in here, and CC don't get down like that."
Sky laughed. "I can't tell. You saw how she groped all on Vicky last night. I thought she was gonna take the pussy."
"Don't pull me into your gossip," Vicky said. "And I don't get down like that either, but I'm sure what goes on in this mansion stays in this mansion. I don't want no parts of it."
Celeste laughed. "CC is grown. If she's getting fucked, at least she's getting it out of her system before she says I do."
Sky raised her mimosa. "I guess." Then she frowned. "Why hasn't the maid of honor shown up?"
Celeste shrugged. "Could have something to do with the weather."
Sky snorted. "Or she could be at CC's house fucking the groom."
Celeste turned toward her. "Bitch, why are you being so messy?"
Sky lifted one shoulder. "Because I never trusted that bitch. I'm serious. I don't trust her. Something about her don't sit right with me. I should've been her maid of honor."
"You're drunk."
"I'm serious."
Celeste reached for her glass. "That's CC's business. She's my friend." She raised her mimosa. "If she like it, I love it."
Sky stared at her for a second before lifting her own glass. "Let's toast to that."
"To friendship."
Celeste and Sky clinked glasses.
"I'm going to my room," Vicky said softly. She dropped her fork. The noise of the dining room suddenly felt louder than before. The laughter. The gossip. The familiarity everyone else seemed to share. She wiped her mouth with her napkin and pushed back from the table.
Sky blinked. "What?"
"Excuse me."
"You okay?" Celeste asked, reaching for her hand. "Don't go."
Vicky forced a small smile. "I'm fine. I just need a little time alone. Nothing personal."
Neither of them looked convinced.
Without another word, Vicky turned and walked away from the table, leaving behind the laughter, the gossip, and the feeling that somehow everyone else had arrived with a place in this mansion except her.