Page 17 of Cinder (MC Fables #2)

E lla

The motel is the worst place I’ve ever seen.

Imagine the seediest, dirtiest motel in the world and multiply it by a thousand million trillion, and that is the Blue Lagoon Motel on the county line.

I look around the room.

It’s got everything you would expect from a place that should probably be knocked down.

Threadbare bedspread on a bed that takes up most of the room. Check . Yellowed peeling wallpaper. Check . Damaged wooden nightstand with an alarm clock. Check . The musty tang of body odor and stale nicotine. Check . Matted carpet with stains I don’t want to know about .

Jesus.

It’s also my home for the next two weeks while I work at the clubhouse.

But let’s back up a bit.

After returning to the clubhouse, retrieving my mom’s watch, and Lars offering me a job, I spoke to Luca the following morning.

“I didn’t mention it, but I was offered a job working in the kitchen.”

Luca had scoffed. “You? Work? What a pathetic joke.”

I ignored him and the fear in my chest. Because I only had a few minutes to sell the idea of me working at the clubhouse.

“If I work there, I will have access to inside the club. Not just to get the recipe. But to get insider information. Can you imagine how beneficial that would be to Viktor? And to you, if I am inside that clubhouse every day. I will be invisible. I will hear things and then I will be able to pass on the information I overhear. As rivals, Viktor will see the value in this. Imagine how impressed he will be when you tell him it was your plan.”

Of course, pandering to Luca’s giant ego and unrelenting vanity worked, and my stomach roiled with disgust when Viktor congratulated him on executing a clever plan, and my brother puffed out his chest and proudly took all the credit.

Luca immediately set about putting things in play. A motel. A bunch of clothes from the thrift store. A warning to not fuck it up or else.

Viktor had his own caveats. Let anyone near my pussy and he’ll cut off the pizda’s dick and the deal will be off .

Yeah, one day these men will pay for using and abusing me.

But until Lucretia and I can make it out safely, then I need to behave like their pretty little pawn.

To ensure my compliance, Luca has placed one man in each of the rooms either side of mine, and I have to check in with them every night. I’m also supposed to catch a bus to and from the clubhouse without stopping on the way. “ Or I’ll know.” So he’s obviously having me followed as well.

Luca looks around the room with complete disdain. He is out of place here in his Armani suit, Rolex watch, and the bottle of cologne he’s wearing.

He glances in the wardrobe then takes a quick look at the tiny bathroom with its stained tiles and plumbing from the middle of last century. Seeing the inside of the shower, he quickly moves away as if the mold and water stains are contagious.

“This will work well.” He flashes a smile of perfectly straight white teeth. “It might make you a little more appreciative of what you have at home.”

I glance around me. Yeah, there is a big difference between the two. Home might be a sparkling mansion, but it is full of monsters. While this motel, with its water stains and sour air, gives me the tiniest bit of freedom.

Right under Luca’s nose.

A smile plays on my lips, but I fight it. Because if Luca thinks I am anything but terrified of being left here then he will pull the pin .

I swallow thickly and do my best to look forlorn. Which, let’s face it, is easy to do considering I’ve had months of practice.

Luca mistakes my silence for bewilderment. As if I’m wondering how I’ll cope in this predicament.

It wouldn’t occur to him that I’m silently high-fiving myself for getting this far.

Walking toward the door, Luca stops when he reaches me. He hands me an envelope. Inside is a driver’s license, birth certificate and a social security card.

It only took a matter of hours for one of Viktor’s men to create a new identity for me. Not a huge feat when you’re a part of a massive crime syndicate, but still swift.

I study my new driver’s license. In the photo, I have blonde hair and bangs. I look at the other ID and it all looks real.

I look at my new last name. Antonio .

Luca’s middle name.

Meant as another reminder that he owns me, no doubt.

Until he hands me over to Viktor.

“Viktor’s man also created a small history of you online should those biker fucks decide to dig further into your past.”

“I told you, they already did that with facial recognition,” I say.

“Yes, but Viktor’s man was able to create some kind of plausible reasoning for that. Something to do with facial configurations or something.” He waves it off. “Your job is not to understand how others do their job. It’s to make sure you do as I tell you.”

He also hands me a phone, which also looks like it’s from the last century.

“This is so I can contact you. If you don’t answer, I will see it as a breach of trust.”

One day, I am going to shove this phone down his throat and watch as he chokes on it . But until then, I nod, biding my time until I can do exactly that.

“And before you think about calling anyone else, just remember, I have access to the calls you make.”

It’s a burner phone. Not even Luca Moretti is that powerful. But again, I just nod.

“Don’t let me down, sister. Or I’ll have my men show Lucretia what happens to those who disobey me.”

I don’t look at him. Just him mentioning Lucretia makes me burn with hatred.

Instead, I imagine myself stabbing him in the heart and then cutting it from his body. It makes it easier to force the compliant smile across my lips.

“I know what is expected of me,” I say.

“Good, otherwise it will be too easy for you to fuck this up.”

He walks out of the motel room as if he is the most important man in the world. As if he was the man who built the mighty Moretti empire. As if he isn’t an evil monster who sold his half-sister to another evil monster .

I watch as his driver opens his car door, and Luca slides in and puts on his sunglasses. When the door closes and the darkened window rolls down, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me from behind black sunglasses as the car pulls away.

I close the door behind me and let out a quiet squeal.

I can breathe.

I can finally fucking breathe.

The next morning, I wake up feeling well rested and happy after sleeping better than I have in the past three months. Despite the scratchy sheets and the groan of the ancient plumbing whenever anyone in the motel used it throughout the night.

Before climbing out of bed, I stretch and inhale a deep breath, then relax and feel a foreign contentment soften my limbs. This place is gross. But it is a haven where I can take a moment to figure things out.

After a quick shower, where I successfully dodge a couple of patches of mold in the cubicle, I dress in a pair of denim shorts, a faded band T-shirt, and a pair of well-worn cowboy boots Luca had one of his staff pick up from the thrift store.

Taking in my reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall, I can’t help but smile at what I see, and I twirl and laugh even though I have no idea why .

Maybe it’s because being dressed this way makes it easier to believe I am this carefree version of myself. Ella, the girl with no past. The free spirit who works at an MC clubhouse and who doesn’t have a care in the world.

Or an evil half-brother whose men will always be waiting outside their motel rooms whenever she comes and goes.

There is a knock at the door, and my smile vanishes.

Speak of the devils.

I pick up my keys and phone from the small table and open the door.

The two men who are on Ella-watch don’t greet me with smiles or a good morning.

Just cold, nefarious expressions. They’re both young.

Probably early thirties. Both are clean shaven, but one has a scar that runs the length of his face, temple to chin. He hands me a bus timetable.

“Mr. Moretti asked me to remind you that you are not to speak to anyone or stop anywhere while you are enroute to the clubhouse.”

Luca and Viktor decided I should catch a bus to the clubhouse.

A car means a license plate. And a license plate is easily trackable.

I also think Luca assumes the bus ride is another inconvenience for me to bear.

Something to further my misery. But he’s wrong.

It wouldn’t occur to him that I’m looking forward to climbing on that bus and having it ferry me away from here.

I snatch the timetable off him. “I am well aware of what I am meant to do.”

His lips tremble with irritation and I have no doubt about what he wishes he could do to me. It’s blaring in his cold, dark eyes.

But I don’t show him an ounce of fear.

Instead, I close the door and make my way across the parking lot to the bus stop where I wait for the 102 bus to St. Boniface.