Dark Exposure Read online

  Dark Exposure

  Amy Isan

  Published by Amy Isan, 2014.

  ~*~*~

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Dark Exposure

  First edition. August 22, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Amy Isan.

  Written by Amy Isan.

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill / EDHGraphics

  Sign up for Amy's newsletter for prizes, review copies, and new release info here: http://bit.ly/18WuvMU

  Also by Amy Isan

  Misty Highlands

  Highlander's Embrace

  Highlander's Kiss

  Motorcycle Romance

  Charred (MC Romance #1)

  Scorched (MC Romance #2)

  Ruin Outlaws MC

  Bomb (Ruin Outlaws MC Romance #1)

  Spark (Ruin Outlaws MC Romance #2)

  Iron (Ruin Outlaws MC Romance #3)

  Flame (Ruin Outlaws MC Romance #4)

  Burn (Ruin Outlaws MC Romance #5)

  Standalone

  Catching Caitlin

  Dark Exposure

  Watch for more at Amy Isan’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Amy Isan

  CHAPTER 1 — LILY

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11 — GIOVANNI

  Further Reading: Charred (MC Romance #1)

  Also By Amy Isan

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1 — LILY

  "Lily," my boss says, peeking his eyes over my cubicle. I look up from my monitor, a stream of numbers and spreadsheets that would embarrass even Neo with how confusing it all looks, and meet the eyes of my boss. I can only see his eyes, and can't tell if he's displeased with me. It wouldn't be the first time I've displeased him.

  Last week, Scott, my boss, caught me on the phone taking a personal call. I thought I was in the clear since other people in the office did it, but apparently, I needed to get special permission from him. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was to the effect of me still being on my three month starting probation. I remember the tension in his office when he disciplined me, while it wasn't physical, I still felt my face burn.

  I hate this state sometimes. I can't believe what some of these companies get away with.

  "Yes?" I say, pulling out my earbud from my left ear. He also scolded me before about wearing both earbuds at the same time, since it might keep people from getting my attention. I don't know who would need to talk to me, except him, I guess. He steps out from behind the cube wall and presents himself to me. He doesn't look angry, and I immediately breathe a sigh of relief.

  "You can go home early today," he says. I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. He raises her eyebrows. "It isn't a joke. You can go, Lily, seriously."

  "But I kind of need the hours..." I start to plead. I don't, but I feel like his offer is some kind of test, some kind of trick. Sure, he's been stern with me before, but he hasn't really given me a reason to not trust him.

  "Don't worry about it, just get out of here. It's beautiful out today, and almost everyone else has already clocked out. I'm impressed that you've stayed this long. I know when I start seeing people leave, I lose all focus."

  I have lost focus since my cube mate left an hour ago, but he doesn't need to know that. I just try hard to look busy, which I guess does the trick. "So I can just go?"

  "Yeah, get out there. It's eighty degrees, and I'm leaving anyway. There's no reason for you to stay. Have a good Fourth of July weekend."

  "Oh, right." I completely spaced the Fourth. I can't be too upset though, because I'm too busy dreaming up what to do for the long weekend. Scott waves goodbye to me and walks away from my cube, leaving me to finish up saving my work and getting out of here right behind him.

  I can't wait to see Patrick. He just gave me a key to his apartment last week, and has been one of the nicer boyfriends I've ever had. I'll surprise him. Grab some fireworks and head over to his house a couple hours before I usually would. We could even light off some firecrackers tonight if he wants to. Grinning, I shut down my work station and gather my things, nearly running on the tips of my toes out the door.

  It's gonna be a great weekend.

  — — —

  I park at Patrick's apartment complex, pulling into a spare space that he said I could always grab if I got here before eight o'clock. Today, that's easy enough. I grab the bundle of fireworks I bought on the way over and climb out of my car. As I start my hike up the stairs to the third floor, I feel strange. Something isn't right.

  I don't know why or what. I've always had a weird intuition about things like this. My gut is usually right about most everything, but like most people's gut-feelings, I only realize it after the fact. Which doesn't do me any good.

  I step up to his door and fish out the shiny bronze key he handed me last week. I slip it into the lock and jiggle the knob, and the deadbolt unlatches. I push the door open and immediately smell sweat and humidity. Laughter. Giggling. Moans. All coming from his room. My heart races and I clench my hand around my purse so hard that I feel like I could break the strap through sheer force. What the hell?

  I step inside and try to be quiet, as if by revealing my presence I'll blow my chance to catch him in the act. Is he really doing this to me? I lean over and peer around the corner into his room and see him on top of another girl, a brunette that I only vaguely recognize. The front of her body is pressed against the sheets, and she's moaning like a cat in heat. I can't look away, but I can't stare at it either. My breathing grows heavy and my legs feel like jelly. Dizzy and lightheaded, that's all I can feel. Everything else is numb. Her face is turned toward the door, and her eyes flutter open for a second as Patrick continues pounding her.

  "Oh my god!" she screams, pushing herself away from Patrick. He scowls and follows her pointed hand and finds me. I stare at him, keeping my face plain and doing my best to keep the horror out of my eyes. He jumps in surprise.

  "Lily!" he yells, as if he's blaming me for what I just saw. "What are you doing here so early?"

  I hold up the fireworks, as if that's my excuse. I shake my head as I feel the dam breaking. I can't fucking cry in front of this whore. I can't fucking cry in front of this asshole. What good will that do? I throw the fireworks at him as hard as I can, hoping to cut him with one of the sharp corners of the cardboard. He shields himself and blocks it, as I turn to leave. I grab the doorknob just as he grabs my shoulder. I look at him, his body still naked, her smell still on him. His dick still rock hard. I'm disgusted.

  "Wait! Don't go! Can't we talk about this?" he says. I push him off me and yank the door open. I take the key he gave me and throw it at him. I pull the door closed and descend the apartment stairs as quick as possible without stumbling and cracking my skull open. At this very moment though, I almost wish I would. I almost wish I would.

  I get in my car and turn it on, yelling for the engine to start already as it turns and turns before kicking over. He's still naked, so I'm sure he won't follow me before I can leave. That mother... I can't. I close my eyes and lean back, the car idling and the air conditioner kicking to full blast. The air feels dry against my damp skin, as it slips around my neck and shoulders. I sigh heavily and focus on my breathing... that's all I can do right now. I remember where I've seen the brunette before. She was at some party he threw when he moved into his apartment, one of his coworkers. I strain to remember which car is hers... I thin
k... the gold Pontiac next to me. That bitch.

  I reverse out of the space and cut the steering wheel hard enough to scrape the side of her driver's side door as I leave. My headlight is damaged, but the rush feels so good it doesn't even matter what my car looks like.

  I throw the car into drive and my tires screech out of the parking lot, my aging Honda catching air on every speed bump. I wish I had less of a will to survive, maybe I could just plow my car right into oncoming traffic.

  I reach the main road and try to decide what I'm going to do. Turning right will take me back home, but I don't want to go home. He knows where I live and I don't want him showing up with flowers and candy as if that'll make it all better.

  It isn't like we were dating for a long time, only about eleven months. But I was looking forward to that one year anniversary. I thought he was too. He was always so sweet... so gentle... Maybe that was the problem. I flip my blinker left and cut off the cross-traffic, veering into the median and getting ready to merge. I know a place I can go.

  A casino a couple hours away. I've always wanted to go, but was waiting for an excuse to take Patrick. I'm sure with the Fourth of July coming up on Monday, it'll be full of people I don't know or care about. Which sounds perfect to me.

  If I lose some money in the process, who gives a shit, right? Whatever.

  I check my fuel gauge and note its level. It's always off by a little, but it should be more than enough to make the four hour trip.

  Hopefully I've exhausted all my bad luck on catching my ex-boyfriend fucking another chick.

  Fucking. The word tastes vile in my mouth. Not because I'm against the word, but because... I just can't stop hearing her cat-like yowls and remove the sight of him pounding her from behind.

  — — —

  Leaving work early worked out nicely for me. By the time I reach the only casino in the state, the sun is setting. Not quite dusk yet. I find a parking spot that I think I can take and pull into it. I didn't bring any clothes but the ones on my back. My only other belongings are my purse, car, and... right, I threw the fireworks at him. I wish I hadn't bought them at all, it would be nice to have that thirty bucks back.

  Flipping down my mirror, I check for dried makeup on my cheeks. I don't want to look like I just got in a fight or was crying for hours or anything like that. I wanna look good. I wanna look kind of fake, even. My makeup is smeared, like black chalk was rubbed down my face. I chuckle, it's almost funny looking, like I'm a sad clown. Half of me wants to walk right into the hotel lobby and demand a room, looking as shoddy as I do.

  I smile a little as I wipe the smudges of dried mascara and eyeliner off my cheeks. I dig around in my purse for some lipstick and pull out the only tube I have. The plastic wrap is still on it. I frown as I break the seal and roll it open for the first time.

  Patrick didn't like me in lipstick. Of course, he told me the day I bought the tube, when I was excited to present myself to him for our date. Which... he ended up canceling. Am I remembering that right? Anger floods my chest and I finish applying the lipstick and slam the visor closed. Good enough.

  — — —

  In the hotel lobby, people are bustling and moving around. The concierge is getting slammed, and the busboys are pulling carts full of luggage up and down the hall to the elevators. It's way busier than I imagined, but I'm sure they keep some extra rooms just for special winners at the casino. The flashing lights and beckoning call of the electronic bells and jingling coins fills the air. To the right of the reception area, down a small flight of stairs, is the casino floor. The entire first half is filled with slot machines and the back half with tables and sharply dressed men with scantily clad women hanging off their arms.

  I feel out of place. My work suit makes me look like I'm here to conduct a health inspection of their kitchen, not to let loose and party on. My lips feel tacky from the lipstick, and I wait in line for a couple to get their luggage manhandled by two overworked busboys and brought upstairs for them.

  The receptionist is a woman in her early twenties, maybe a little older than me. Late twenties? She smiles when I step up, even though I can already tell it's an act. I mean, I know what I look like. Trash.

  At least if I was dressed like the couple who was just in front of me, to the nines in Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops, I might just look like a ridiculous tourist.

  "Hello, welcome to Jackpot," she says, her voice chipper but rehearsed. "How can I help you today, ma'am?"

  Ma'am. What am I, eighty? She smiles and I nod, placing my hands on the desk and smoothing out an invisible paper between them. "I need a room."

  "Okay, one second," she says, her fingers flying across the keyboard hidden from my view. She stares at a monitor hidden directly below my hands and I can see the green text reflecting off her glasses. She looks back up at me and frowns. "I'm afraid we're all booked out."

  A heavy sigh. "I should have known, it's the Fourth of July weekend."

  "Yeah..." she says, trying to be consoling but also clearly trying to get rid of me. I consider my earlier thought.

  "What about winning a room?"

  She perks up and raises her eyebrows above the rim of her glasses. "Winning a room?"

  "Don't you guys do that? If you win enough money in the casino, you can win a room?"

  She smiles and her lips make a wet sound as she does. I shudder at the sound. "Those are for very special guests. We can't just hold one for anyone who walks in."

  I want to roll my eyes and punch the lady in the face. After the long drive and the roller coaster of a day I've had so far, I really don't want to put up with her patronizing. "Okay, fine. I wasn't asking to take one, I just wanted to make sure that was a thing. Thanks," I say sternly. I walk away from the counter, trying to be as loud and annoying as possible. I can just see the frown on her face in my mind, her muttering under her breath that I'm a bitch.

  Today, I don't give a shit.

  — — —

  After gathering a meager amount of casino coins, I flit around the place like it's an amusement park. The bright flashing lights and lack of windows and clocks certainly makes it feel like it's stuck in time. The bells and chimes are almost embedded in my subconscious, even though I've never been in a casino before. Thinking on it as I approach a coin machine, I insert some quarters and pull down the lever hard. The digital cherries and fruit spin like they're actually on wheels, even though it's just a computer monitor. It's like an arcade for adults, right? Except kids don't get to play blackjack or poker. As the machine beeps at me for sucking and suggests I try again, I turn my head and stare at the tables full of sharply dressed people. None of them look out of place. I've never had the chance to play blackjack before, and I'm sure I'll do poorly, but that isn't even my concern. Just look at how they're dressed. Nothing like the tourists that were in line before me earlier. Cocktail dresses, suits and tuxedos with cuffs that the men occasionally fidget with.

  I can't even step past the velvet rope that separates the two sections without a dress, I'm sure. They don't want homeless-looking bums having a grand time playing poker or something. That's gotta be a rule. Like a James Bond thing. That's why he's always sipping dry martinis and wearing tuxedos. You can't be a secret agent in a sweater and leggings.

  As I'm staring at the patrons playing blackjack, I notice one man in particular. Dark eyes and olive colored skin. His eyes meet mine and it makes a shudder rise up my spine. I want to turn away immediately, but... maybe he isn't looking at me? I keep looking at him, and notice the two women he has locked around his shoulders, like they're vultures waiting for scraps of food. Their eyes are fixed on the table, on the cards, and most importantly, on his chips. Which are mountains. He can't be that good, can he?

  Glancing up again, he's still watching me. I feel like I'm being spied on, and I'm not sure if I should be flattered or ashamed. Is he wondering what a poorly dressed woman is doing in a casino? With a frown, I turn back to my machine, finally taking it up on
its offer to try again. I slip another few quarters in it and pull the lever down, and I keep my eyes fixed on the digital fruit as it flies up and off the screen. I shouldn't even be thinking about other men right now, after what happened with Patrick.

  It isn't like I have a lot of good luck in that department. I constantly end up getting surprised by some kind of betrayal.

  His gaze is still on me. I can feel it heating my cheek like the sun on a hot day. Like my arm hanging out the window of my car. I desperately want to glance over, to see if he actually is looking or if I'm just making things up, but I can't. My body won't let me. I play another round on the machine and the fruit stops dramatically: Cherry... beat, beat, Cherry, beat, beat, beat, Cherry, and then the spinners locks solid and a bell goes off.

  I stare up at the payout board just as coins start flying out of the machine. What the hell did I just win? I look up at it again and finally see what triple cherries earned me: a Super Jackpot, worth 2,000 bucks. I only played with a dollar worth of coins. Jesus Christ. I have no idea how to gather up all the coins, but apparently it isn't necessary. Within moments, two casino staff members swirl around me and lock the machine down and dump the coins into a bag. The bag is thrown into a bin and locked inside a cart, and one of the staff members hands me a receipt. I stare at it as they walk away, their footsteps being drowned out by the chiming and whirring of nearby machines. The slip of paper says to redeem the winnings at the chips counter. I guess where I originally got my coins, a dusty looking counter in the corner of the room. The sign above it says "Exchange."

  I go to collect my winnings, forgetting my rule and glancing over my shoulder to catch the olive-skinned man still watching me. I blush as I turn away and vanish from his sight behind another row of machines.

  What's his deal, anyway? I can't be that alluring. I'm like a bum in this place. What about those chicks he has wrapped around his arms? They must be something to him, even if they just seem like leeches and parasites to me.