“If you were from there, you’d know that both sides are sketchy, but one is worse than the other.”
He nods. “Right answer.” Jesse backs into the kitchen and pulls a water from his fridge. It’s the fancy kind that comes in a green bottle and is filled with bubbles. “Here,” he offers. “You must be thirsty.”
I look at the delicacy, shocked. “Oh, you don’t have to. Tap water is fine. And even then, I can wait until I get home.”
He extends it to me. “Take it, Destiny.” Those particular words leaving his mouth cause my core to squeeze.
“It’s just water.” He pops the top using his forearm and hands it to me. With him this close, I can smell him instead of cleaning product. It’s like rain-soaked pavement and a hint of cologne. It gives me an immediate jolt of familiarity. I drink it, relishing the bubbles as they slide down my throat while he watches. I lick my lips after several long gulps.
“You aren’t from here either. I know it.”
Jesse’s gaze flicks between the old mop and my face. “Are you working the night shift at the motel? Cleaning rooms for a place to live?”
“What’s it to you?”How does he know?
Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. He has a long scar down one side of his neck. It’s only visible when he looks up. “Maybe I’m not from here and I recognize a piece of who I used to be in you.”
“You can take the man outta the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out of the man,” I rasp. It’s almost a question—seeking answers.
He balks, mouth pressed into a hard line. “You most certainly can.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to finish the job here and be on my way. I happen to have a busy schedule tonight.” I add, “I appreciate your generosity given how this came about.” Which was me lying to his face.
Several noiseless seconds pass, and I make a step to grab the bathroom cleaner, but he interrupts, “Let me help you.”
I narrow my eyes. Still, he wears that stoic, impenetrable mask. “Why? And help me with what? The bathroom?” I hike a thumb over my shoulder, even though I know cleaning isn’t what he’s referring to.
“Someone helped me once, and it changed my life. I know things and circumstances happen for a reason. I think this…” Jesse’s voice trails off. I finish in my mind for him,my lie. “Might be a sign. Today happened for a reason.”
“No one helps for a good reason,” I whisper. Callie helps me because I help her. The owner lets me stay in the motel because I bring more business with my work. Nothing is for free. Nothing.
“I never said letting me help you would be good for you, I just asked that you let me because I think you need it.” Jesse’s gaze lingers on my chest. I fold my arms awkwardly.
“You’re not good for me, or your help isn’t good for me?” I clarify.
His eyes turn cold as his gaze finds the window. My window. “Both,” he mutters. “Maybe my brand of poison is better than the one you’re drinking now.”
“Poison?” I ask, tone teetering higher than it should.
“Destiny, I’ll pay you to clean my apartment once a week. I’ll pay you more than you make at both jobs in a month. Cash, under the table.” He offers this without asking what I make.
He knows. He looked at my window. He has to know. He also has to be loaded. My heart is racing. Not because I’m scared, because this could be it. My way out of a life damned by my lowly past. I continue staring at him, unmoving, not even a blink. “Just cleaning,” he adds when I don’t speak.
“Back to the poison,” I whisper. “What brand is it exactly?”
His grin is wide and dangerous. “I’m a bad man, Destiny.”
Chapter Three
Destiny
This bathroom is already clean, and if I’m being honest, Jesse’s whole apartment was cleaner than any place I’ve seen recently before I even started. I scrub the solid white tile in his bathroom anyway. He said the people coming were important. He means art collectors. Maybe he means his boss. I know little else other than he offered me a lot of money to clean his house. I told him yes, even though he also warned me I shouldn’t say yes. Is he into BDSM? Will some sick fuck fantasy come out eventually even though he told me it wasjust cleaning.
Will he make me clean naked? I have heard of such fetishes. It wouldn’t be the worst I have done. Cleaning. Only cleaning. He said it multiple times. The bleach fumes have dulled my sense of smell. Standing on the edge of the tub, I open the small window in the shower. He knows Dirt Downs. He has an accent. Could this fucker be trying to trap me? Become my pimp? Worse yet, drag me into a gang I want no part of? My mind is spinning as I finish the room and exit into the living area. Jesse is hanging paintings on the huge blank wall he sometimes paints against.
“I’m finished,” I say, hating the warble in my voice. The unknown, I remind myself. It’s always scary the first time.
He doesn’t stray from his task, his large hands gliding across the top edge of the thick frame. Jesse steps down from the stool and backs away several paces. With his hands on his hips, he tilts his head from one side to the other, then walks to the right a few steps and looks at it from another angle. Its words painted on a red background. So many that the black blob looks like messy tangled strings in a huge thought bubble. There’s no hope of me deciphering that mess. Perhaps I could decode one or two if the words were in a neat line, but never like this, it makes my brain want to explode.