17. Elle
17
ELLE
I can’t believe that I actually sucked his cock. I, Elle Summers, daughter of a mayor, sucked a gangster’s cock in exchange for not being falsely arrested for drug and weapons possession. What on earth has my life turned into? What have I turned into?
Shaking my head at myself, I continue down the street and towards the abandoned gym outside St. Mary’s school downtown.
Why was that even my first thought? When he said please me , my mind just defaulted to sucking his cock. But in hindsight, I’m not sure if that was what he actually meant.
Heat sears my cheeks at the mere memory.
God, why did I do that?
Maybe it was simply because I was already on my knees before him and my brain just used those circumstances to interpret his words.
I desperately try to cling to that explanation, but I know that it’s not the real reason. The real reason is far worse. And something that I will never admit out loud .
I wanted to suck his cock.
Because God damn, the sight of him in only a pair of black sweatpants was the hottest thing I have ever seen. His entire body is a work of art. A masterpiece of lethal muscles and breathtaking ink.
When I walked through the door and saw him half-naked like that, with his hair messy and damp from the shower, I almost forgot that I was supposed to be angry. I almost forgot myself and what I was doing there in the first place. My mind immediately snapped back to that furious kiss in the alley. To how his hands felt on my skin when he pushed my shirt up. How his lips felt against mine. How his tongue dominated my mouth. How he pinned me to the wall and pressed his firm body against mine. And for a second, I desperately wanted to feel that again.
So maybe that’s why I sucked his cock.
I don’t know.
All I know is that Tristan Kane is turning me into someone I don’t even recognize anymore.
And I’m not entirely sure if that’s a bad thing.
The thought of that sends a spike of alarm through me. Giving my head a few quick shakes, I shove aside all thoughts of those ridiculous notions and instead focus on what matters. My mission tonight. I’m just going to hand a duffel bag to someone, and then after that, Tristan will stop trying to get me expelled. I will never have to see him again after that. Which will solve all of my problems.
The area around me is dark and deserted. St. Mary’s was an elementary school that apparently shut down a few years ago due to a lack of funding. But because school buildings have such a specific layout, they haven’t been able to sell it to someone else for redevelopment. I glance into the darkened windows of the red brick building as I walk past it and towards the gymnasium on the other side. There is no one in there, but I still can’t shake the sudden feeling that I’m being watched.
I glance over my shoulder. Only a deserted schoolyard stares back at me. A soft rustling sound comes from the low bushes that surround it when a warm wind sweeps through the foliage. They must have been well-trimmed at some point, but now branches are sticking out on all sides. I scan the otherwise empty area again as I close the final distance to the old gym.
Just like the rest of the school buildings, it’s dark and silent. However, there are no windows on this building. Probably because they would’ve been shattered several times a day by stray soccer balls or whatever else the kids used to play with inside.
A flash of nerves ripples through me. God, I can’t believe that I’m going to be part of what is likely a drug drop. What if something goes wrong? What if I’m arrested for dealing drugs or something?
I swallow, and glance over my shoulder again before I walk the final distance to the door.
Just like Tristan said, there is a black duffel bag waiting for me there. It’s tucked in behind a planter made of dark wood, so that it’s not visible unless you’re standing here right in front of the door. Weeds have sprouted in the soil where there no doubt used to be decorative flowers before.
For a few moments, I just stare down at that black duffel bag on the ground.
My heart patters in my chest.
Part of me still worries that this is some kind of setup. That Tristan is going to have me pick up this bag only to yet again turn around and have me arrested. But this time for carrying an entire bag of drugs.
Biting my lip, I quickly check the area around me again while indecision pulses through me.
I want to check what’s inside the bag. Tristan explicitly told me not to, but it seems stupid and dangerous to just go in blind. For all I know, there could even be a bomb inside the bag. I can’t just go in completely clueless.
With a nod to myself, I make a decision. Grabbing the bag, I pull it out from its hiding place behind the wooden planter and then gently place it on the ground in front of me. After yet another worried glance over my shoulder, which still doesn’t reveal anything suspicious, I turn back to the duffel bag and carefully zip it open.
To my surprise, it does not contain drugs.
My brows furrow into a confused frown as I stare down at the odd assortment of items inside.
A sledgehammer.
An axe.
A bat.
Carefully, I reach into the bag and move the topmost items to the side so that I can check if there are drugs hiding underneath them.
There aren’t any.
It’s just a bag of… tools.
With that frown still on my face, I zip up the bag again and straighten. Why would?—
Realization hits me.
Oh.
It’s probably equipment for a hitter, or whatever the guys are called who beat people up and provide security for the ones who carry and sell the drugs. I’ve already come to the conclusion that Tristan and that other muscular dude, whose name I think is Amir, probably do those kinds of jobs. It would make sense, given their impressive physique.
I glance down at the bag again.
This must be an equipment drop for another muscle guy.
Relief washes through me.
At least it’s not drugs.
Or a setup.
A small smile tugs at my lips as I pick up the duffel bag and start towards the door. Tristan really did just want a favor. A normal favor. And then, after this, we can both move on with our lives as if we had never met.
The thought sends an unexpected flicker of disappointment through me, but I ignore it as I pull open the metal door to the gym. It creaks in its rusted hinges as it swings open. With the bag in one hand, I make my way into the silent building.
Because of the lack of windows, the massive space I enter is pitch black. It’s so dark that I can’t even see where I’m going. And when the door swings shut behind me, I can’t make out anything .
I hesitate. I can’t go in if I can’t even see my feet. And how is the other guy even supposed to find me? Besides, if there are no windows, no one from the outside would even be able to tell if the lights are on in here.
Making a decision, I reach out to my left and then right. Blindly searching for a light switch.
My fingers finally brush against one.
Then light floods the space. It’s a harsh white light from fluorescents that flicker in several places, but at least it illuminates the entire room. I sweep my gaze over the old gym hall as I walk farther into the room .
Jesus Christ, they really left this to fall completely into ruin.
Every piece of equipment still left in here looks like it has been smashed or hacked apart. Several rows of the small section of bleachers have been similarly shattered. Chips of wood and broken planks are scattered across the floor. Someone has also spray-painted graffiti on one of the walls.
I shake my head at the unnecessary destruction as I come to a halt in the middle of the room. Then I turn towards the door. And wait.
Five minutes pass.
Then ten.
Fifteen.
I shift my weight nervously and adjust the grip on the duffel bag several times. Tristan didn’t say when the other person was coming. Just that they would come. I could be here all night.
Turning slightly away from the door, I begin studying the graffiti on the wall instead to pass the time. It’s mostly just random patterns and crude depictions of genitalia. I shake my head and start to turn back to the door. But then my gaze snags on a smaller drawing at the edge of the red-painted mess.
I squint at it.
It’s hard to tell, because the person who did this is clearly not artistically gifted, but it almost looks like… a snake eating a rat.
Cold dread slams into me like a shovel to the back of the head.
Don’t tell me that this is?—
The door is yanked open.
I jump in shock and whirl around towards the door again right as four police officers charge into the gym. And not campus police. Real police officers.
“Stop right there!” one calls.
“Drop the bag,” another yells.
“Hands above your head,” the third one adds.
And suddenly, I understand what’s going on.
The bag. The tools. The destruction inside the gym. And yet again, an anonymous tip to the police. To the actual real police about an actual real crime that has been committed. And I’m left holding the bag. Literally. I’m literally standing here, in the middle of the scene of the crime, holding the evidence like an absolute idiot.
God above, how could I have been this stupid?