Please God let this be the right choice because if not, I’m as good as dead.
* * *
At least the purple dye in my hair isn’t a big dramatic change, I mean it stands out pretty well as I turn my head side to side in the mirror after I dried it under the bathroom hand dryer. It kind of blends in with my long dark hair, never trust a box of hair dye. At least I made it in one piece even if the whole time I was a mess at each bus stop with people coming and going. Two days flew by on the bus and I’m finally in Los Angeles, I can hardly believe it… I’ve never even been outside of Nevada. I’m beyond tired, exhausted to a new level, and feeling kind of gross being stuck in a tin can for hours. The dye was a cheap one and it’s making my scalp itch but at least it does the job at making me look somewhat different. Bracing my hands against the sink, I take a deep breath before heading out into the unknown. Pushing past the automatic doors, I stand on the curb waiting for a taxi to pass and hope no one asks any questions about why a girl is traveling in the middle of the night by herself. Just as my luck would have it, rain starts to pour down like the floodgates opened and I’m soaked in seconds. So much for drying my hair, the top of my shirt is now stained a light purple as the dye continues to wash off.
Squinting, I wave down a taxi just as it turns the corner before halting in front of me. I get into the cab, and give the taxi driver the address, before I know it I’m heading right towards a stranger’s house that’s supposed to help me. City lights pass by in a blur, people walking in groups as they enter a club or restaurant while laughing in a carefree way and I can’t help but wonder what that feels like. Palm trees line on either side of the streets and rolling down the window, you can practically taste the salt from the ocean in the air. It’s a busy city and the closer I get to Beverly Hills, the rich start to come out of the woodwork with their flashy sports cars, and people wearing designer brands like it’s attached to their bodies at birth. My own clothes scream outcast, sticking out like a sore thumb with too short shorts that shape to my butt like a warm hug and a light sweater that’s stained and a little bit see through with the mesh material, a sliver of my stomach showing, and my tattoos on display. Black combat boots complete my look. You may escape the biker atmosphere but you can’t take the biker out of the girl. Doesn’t help that my clothes are sticking to my body from the rain and my hair is wet, with water dripping down my back, making me shiver in the back seat. I’m anxious to get out of the cab, I catch the driver glancing back every few seconds, his mirror angled towards my breasts.
Sometimes I really hate men. I just want to be that bad bitch who takes what she wants, when she wants it, instead of living in fear that someone will take it without permission. He starts to slow down with his blinker on as he pulls onto a street lined with mansions that have long, curving driveways on hills that end at the road with gates to keep the riff-raff out.
I can already tell I don’t belong here. What am I doing?
The driver comes to a stop at a dead end with the last house on the street, a winding private driveway leading to a mansion that sits on a hill. An iron gate with a capital R branded on the front blocks most of the view and rows of tall palm trees on either side.
“You sure this is the right address?” He asks skeptically, dragging his gaze over my drowned self, flashing his eyes back towards the mansion.
I have no fucking clue if this is where I’m actually supposed to be but it’s written in Doris’ handwriting and I don’t think she’d send me somewhere that I could be found. I hope.
“Yea, thanks. Keep the change.” I’m already halfway up the driveway when the taxi drives away, muttering to himself with his window down so I hear half of what he’s complaining about.
Something about rich fuckers? Yeah buddy, I completely agree.
I’m shaking with nerves every step of the way until I stop at the gate next to an intercom. Pushing the button after a deep exhale, I stand there for a while with a light drizzle falling from the sky now and wondering if anyone’s actually home. I’m about to give up and find a way to get back into the city to stay at a cheap hotel when a voice travels through the speakers.
“Yes?” The soft voice scares the crap out of me, making my heart pound as I push the button again.
“Hi, um, I’m a friend of Doris and she sent me here. I think I’m at the right place...” I trail off, my hands shaking and I start to feel the panic set in.
I wait for her to reply and it goes so quiet that I can hear my own breathing, making me think I got the wrong place until the gates smoothly start to swing open. Gripping my duffle bag, I climb up the long driveway that feels like I’ve been walking for hours but is probably only a few minutes until I’m standing in front of a set of huge double doors. There are floor to ceiling glass windows on either side of a mahogany door. Looking around, I figured the woman would meet me at the door since she let me through the gates. My knuckles tap softly on the glass and I can see a shadow move on the other side of the windows.
Okay then… maybe I should come back?
The door swings open in a rush, a woman in her early forties stands there with wide brown eyes as she takes in my appearance on her expensive doormat.
“Who are you?” She asks in a shaky voice, not looking away from my face like she’s staring at a ghost as her trembling hand clutches the pearls around her neck.
There is something oddly familiar about her. I stare at her like I know her, trying to place where from. Brown eyes stare back at me, her skin bronzed naturally from the side of her that looks Latina. She’s slightly shorter than me and her hair dyed a fake blonde, not matching her dark eyebrows.
Where the hell do I know her from?!
“My name is Tillie, a friend of mine, Doris sent m-” She drops like a sack of potatoes at my boots, a small scream leaving her mouth, and her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
I stand there frozen for a second, not sure what just happened before dropping my bag and crouching at her side to check her pulse. Is she on drugs? I’ve seen this before plenty of times as a bad case of coke slipped into the club unnoticed. Payne had prospects test that stuff out before passing it around to the members and selling it to their buyers. Did the rich really need drugs to escape from a life where they have everything they could possibly want?
Silly drugs, messes up lives everywhere in seconds. Doesn’t matter if you're poor or rich I guess.
A sturdy thump under my fingertips tells me she’s at least alive so that’s good and her eyelids are fluttering as she starts to come around.
“Who the hell are you?” Startled, I glance up quickly from my crouched position to see a man walking calmly down a long hallway towards us, the heels of his shoes clicking over the marble floor. “What have you done to her?!” He snaps, his face stoic but I can see the controlled rage burning in his gaze as he finally reaches my side.
The air around him is suffocating, almost unbearable. I can recognize a man of power and this man has it in waves. He’s dressed in an expensive suit, a Rolex gleaming on his wrist as he slicks back his greying hair at his temples but the look he gives me stops my breathing. He has the look of a cop with that hard stare, but no way a man on a cop salary would dress like that. His hazel eyes narrow at me with suspicion the longer I stare. I feel like I’m under a spotlight with the hard glint his eyes are giving me. What the fuck? The fainting lady is the one that let me through the gate, glare at her instead!
“I didn’t do anything! She fainted, I swear.” I gesture towards the lady at my feet, my palms out as I stand up and back away so he can check her over as he glares at me some more. “I’m Tillie.”
“Tillie,” the lady mutters, her eyes snapping open with a gasp as if she’s drowning, and looks up at me with tears gathering in her eyes.
“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Look, I don’t want any trouble so I’ll just be going now. Sorry for bothering you.” My palms sweat and my boots shuffle backwards on the floor, probably leaving black scuff marks but I need to get away from them.
As if he could read my thoughts, he snatches my wrist in a hard grip and points inside his house, practically dragging me into the hallway.
