Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
More curious than I probably had any right to be, I made my way back around the building toward the office door.
Jack kept the place a wreck.
Or maybe it was more accurate to say he’d inherited a mess and simply… never felt the need to change anything.
Filing cabinets lined the walls with towering piles of paperwork on top. Old, faded pictures were stuck to exposed nails here and there. The wall color itself was sun-bleached. The floors were worn.
Even the desk in the center of the space was one of those faux wood vinyl ones you saw in old cop dramas.
The desk was neater than usual, though. Most of the paperwork that used to adorn it was piled on top of a nearby closed garbage can, leaving only Jack’s four cups of coffee, two books, and the expensive desktop computer that cost more than the whole damn building.
Jack himself was sitting leaned back in his old chair.
Jack was handsome in what people might call a ruggedly good-looking way: tall, classic features, a beard, blue eyes, and a frame that said he did move it occasionally but also wouldn’t turn down a good steak. Even in this godforsaken heatwave we were dealing with, he was in jeans and one of his flannels—this one green and gray—but he did have it open for once, revealing a ribbed tank beneath.
An oscillating fan blew back and forth over his desk while the window unit groaned away near the entrance.
“What’d you get kicked out of the club?” Jack asked, turning toward me with a creak of the ancient leather on his chair.
“No. I actually have a question for you.”
“If it’s about what I told Hail, that’s—”
“No, it’s not—wait, what did you tell Hail?”
“That if he’s gonna have an orgy, he has to do it in his room. Not in the hallway. It’s bad enough I gotta clean the sheets. I don’t want to spend my time bleaching the fucking walls too.”
“As soon as he’s off probation, he will be taking his orgies to the clubhouse full-time.”
“The steady money has been nice. But having to restock the fucking vending machine twice a day because of his ravenous ass… not so much.” For someone on the thin side like Hail, he really did shovel away a lot of food. “So, if not for Hail, why are you here?”
“Is Lula staying here?” I asked.
Jack managed to mostly keep his face in straight lines. But there was the tiniest tick to his brow that told me everything I needed to know.
“You know I can’t tell you about who is staying here. Or not staying here.”
“Her car is out back.”
“Is it?”
I wasn’t going to get far with him. He was usually open with information. But when we were pressing him for it, it usually involved some sort of dangerous situation. If this wasn’t that, then he was doing the right thing by protecting Lula’s privacy.
“Does she seem panicked? Is she hiding from something?”
“If, hypothetically, she was staying here—which I can neither confirm nor deny—someone who, hypothetically, saw her might say she toggles between devastated, determined, and angry. They wouldn’t, hypothetically, say she seems scared.”
“And if, hypothetically, that changed, would you tell me?”
“I’ve never been the sort to casually sit by and watch bad shit happen to women.”
I reached for a random sheet of paper and ripped off a sliver to jot down my number.
“Just in case you need it,” I said, sliding it over to him.
He gave me a nod but said nothing.
I didn’t either as I made my way back outside to stare down the line of rooms with lights on, wondering which might be hers. And what the hell was going on in her life to have her crashing there?
I moved toward the sidewalk, glancing down toward the main street of Shady Valley, knowing my club brothers were in The Bog likely saving me a drink and the ‘something pretty’ I requested.
But for the first time, instead of chasing the good time I was guaranteed to find there, I walked back to the clubhouse by myself.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lula
The stains in the carpet matched the stains on the paisley bedspread when I arrived at room four.
It was my favorite number.
I chose to take it as a sign that things were going to look up soon when Jack handed it to me after asking exactly no questions—not even to inquire if I was going to stay longer than the month I paid for when I showed up.
I had to give Jack credit—the bedspread did reek of bleach. Like he, unlike major hotel chains, did actually launder the full bedding instead of just the sheets. That said, I couldn’t get over the possible fluids that had touched that damn thing.
As such, it sat, untouched, behind the door where it wouldn’t be in my way. The sheets had been stripped as well, then the mattress completely soaked in disinfecting spray that created a cloud of scent so noxious, I’d needed to air the room out for hours.