Page 3 of Dirty Reads

ONE

Jess

THE clock in my car said 3:01, but I kept it five minutes fast so I wouldn’t be late to work again. Sitting in the alley roughly one hundred feet from my parking spot, the two cars stopped in front of me and the truck directly behind me caused me to wonder if the four minutes I had to spare were going to be enough. Unwilling to take the risk, I pressed my palm against the center of my steering wheel and blared the horn.

The driver of the first car got out and walked toward the black Mercedes-Benz parked in front of me. The clock clicked to 3:02.

Fuck.

My boss was a prick. He was the type of asshole who should have an online $99 webinar teaching the unknowing how to become assholes. I had been late enough times to know if I was late again, he would fire me on the spot, no questions asked.

I rolled down the window and pointed at the six-stall employee parking lot directly in front of the two cars blocking the alley.

I was so close.

The driver of the Mercedes opened the door and got out. He was wearing dark jeans, a powder blue untucked button-down shirt, and dress shoes. The light growth of beard that covered his face made him seem rugged and slightly more handsome than I imagined he would look without it. He clenched his fists and stretched his shoulders back, revealing an extremely broad chest.

Dear God.

Everything about him emanated sex.

I wagged my finger toward the empty parking stalls. “Can you pull over? I just need to get right there!”

He turned toward me and took a few steps. He was built like a linebacker and had the confident strut of the criminals in the books I loved to read. Mysteries and suspense were my favorites, and I always dreamed of being the girl who was the hero’s main lady.

“Honk that motherfucker again and see what happens,” he seethed.

Oh wow.

What an asshole.

I really needed to keep my job. I pointed beyond him and toward the bar. “I just need to park over there,” I squeaked.

“Well, here in about five minutes you’ll be able to.”

I’ve only got four.

“Please?”

He turned away.

I cleared my throat. “Please?”

He turned around and stared. It was only for a second, but it was long enough that I realized pleading with him would probably get me nothing but an early trip to the cemetery.

He looked menacing and handsome at the same time. As much as I wanted to tell him to fuck off, his demeanor warned me against it. I raised both hands in surrender, prompting him to forget about me and approach the other driver. While they talked, I anxiously watched the two men, paying more attention to the man driving the Mercedes than the other.

They exchanged what seemed to be heated words. I turned down my music and tried to hear what was being said. Clearly frustrated, the truck parked behind me disappeared from view in my rearview mirror, speeding down the alley in reverse.

The driver of the first car was dressed like a businessman; wearing navy slacks, a dress shirt, and jacket. He shrugged and started to speak. The guy from the Mercedes shook his head and interrupted, waving his arms as he spoke. His shirt clung to the muscles of his biceps, leaving little to the imagination regarding what appeared to be a very athletic build.

“I’ll give you until two weeks from Friday,” the Mercedes driver said. “If you don’t have it, I’ll burn your house down and sell your fucking wife to the Sinaloa Cartel.”

“I’ll have it.”

“You fucking better. I’m not fucking around, Seton. I’ve got that money promised out. People are counting on me, and you’re making me look like a goddamned fool.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Visions of a drug deal gone bad or a botched kidnapping filled my mind. The driver of the first car said something in response, nodded, and got into his car.