Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
JULIETTE
Johnny gives me a ride to the motel, towing my crappy car behind him. Thankfully, he doesn’t creep me out and seems like a genuinely nice person. Granted, he’s getting a screaming deal here, and I’m under no impression that he’s only doing it out of the kindness of his heart.
Once I have a room for the week and all my stuff is offloaded into it, I sign all the paperwork he says he needs to take over my car, then stand in the doorway of my motel and wave.
He lifts his hand in the air, then jumps into the front seat of his rig before backing out and driving away, my car loaded onto the back.
The sound of a motorcycle revs in the distance, but I don’t bother to look over to see it ride by. Nevada must be a mecca for motorcycles. I’ve never seen as many as I have here. Exhaling slowly, I close my eyes and wonder how the hell I’m going to get on with my life here.
Starting over again and again is not for the faint of heart. And yet, for the first time in a while, I’m a little excited about it. I don’t know if I should be, but I am. Maybe this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
As exciting as that is, now the hard part begins. I need a job. One that pays under the table in cash. Chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, I wonder if I should look online, or maybe… the front desk.
That guy running the desk is a little rough around the edges. No doubt he’ll know of something I can do for cash. Although I might not actually want to do those things. It’s worth asking, though.
Gathering my courage, I slip the key into my back pocket and head outside. Looking around, I notice that the parking lot is completely empty. I wonder how many people stay here in town. I can’t imagine many, given how close Vegas is.
Walking toward the office, I reach for the handle and tug it open. The rough guy behind the counter lifts his head. His eyes find mine, and while I flash him my kindest smile, he doesn’t return the expression.
“I was wondering,” I begin, clearing my throat. He watches me, his expression unmoving, unimpressed as he waits for me to continue. “If you knew where I could find work… umm… work without providing…”
He holds up his hand, his palm facing me. “Under the table, I take it?” he asks.
I dip my chin in a single nod, pressing my lips together as I wait for him to help me, or maybe he won’t help me at all. I have no idea what the hell he’s thinking. I couldn’t guess if I even tried.
He tilts his head to the side, then his lips twitch into a smirk, and I almost take a step backward because I really cannot read him at all. I hold my breath for a moment as I wait for him to speak.
He lifts his hand, and I see a piece of paper. I watch as he places it on the counter, then scribbles something down before he slides it across the surface. Taking a step toward him, I reach for the paper.
I look down at the scribbled words and let out the breath I had been holding. It’s a name and a phone number. I flick my gaze back up to meet his, my brows snapping together.
“It’s the name of a woman who owns a cleaning company in town. I don’t know if she’ll do it, but she’s your best bet for working under the table.”
Chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, I nod a couple of times, my exhale escaping in a slow stream of my breath. “Thank you,” I murmur. “I appreciate it.”
He grunts. I meet his gaze again and tilt my head to the side. His lips twitch into a smirk. “Clocked you as someone on the run the moment I saw you. I’m here most nights. Don’t work during the day too often. But you just need to call the front desk or bang on the door, and I’ll come to you.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“My mother was beat to fuck by my father. Day in and day out. She ran, and we ended up here. Boulder City, being in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, saved her life and mine. I don’t know your story, but I can tell that it’s close. So I’ll help where I can.”
His words send a chill down my spine. He can tell I’ve been abused. I never thought it was that obvious, but apparently, it’s written all over my face… and clearly.
“I appreciate that,” I murmur, my gaze focused on the card.
It’s a woman’s name, Elodie, and a number. I’m going to run back to my room and call her immediately. Shyness is not something you can afford when you’re desperate like me. Because that’s what I am: desperate.
“Thanks,” I call out as I walk away from the desk, out of the office, and head straight for my room.
Once I’m locked inside my motel room, I slip my phone out of my pocket and call the number.