Page 9 of Ordinary Secrets (Secrets Trilogy #1)

9

TREY

Phase two: complete. Not without a mishap though. I don’t feel bad for breaking that crooked-teethed goat-fucker’s ankle last night. Sex predators don’t deserve sympathy. Honestly, he’s lucky I didn’t break more. I wanted to, especially after Arella passed out.

For a moment there, I thought she died. I checked her pulse at least seventeen times before I was satisfied. I almost took her to the hospital, until I figured that Healing Water would work better than any medicines the Ordinary doctors would give her.

While she slept, I sponged Healing Water into her mouth. It didn’t hit me until three sponges in that the Healing Water might not work on her since it derives from Zordi powers. Once the color returned to her face, I knew it was working. I don’t know how it worked, but I’m glad it did.

Am I allowed to use Zordi products on Ordinaries? Nope.

Could I get into deep trouble if anyone ever finds out that I did? Abso-fucking-lutely.

Do I care? Hell no.

All I care about is making sure that Arella is okay.

I stare at the taillights of her car leaving my street as I call my uncle to give him the update he asked for.

“Find out anything yet, kid?” Victor says when he answers. No hello . No hey, how ya doin’? I don’t know why I’m surprised.

“Nothing out of the norm so far,” I say as I pace my living room with the phone pressed to my ear.

“What have you learned about her childhood?”

“Not much. I’ve barely been able to talk to her.” Fuck. Why did I just say that?

As the CEO of ZIRDA California, Victor assigned me this mission. As my uncle, he threatened to beat me up if I fail. I don’t mean in the philosophical sense, either. He will actually bloody me up. I should be more careful of what I say and only tell him things that will make him think I’m accomplishing something.

Victor’s tone turns icy. “Isn’t that the fucking point of your mission? To talk to her?”

“I was planning to last night, but some bastard at the bar drugged her and?—”

“Well, make sure it doesn’t happen again! If you don’t have any progress to share, why the fuck are you calling?”

Um, because you asked for an update? I can’t say that. Instead, I say, “I do have progress to share. She finally agreed to go out on a date with me.” Technically, she agreed to dinner as friends , but Victor doesn’t need to know that.

“Wait a fuckin’ minute. You haven’t even been on a date yet?”

Shit. “Like I told you, she’s reserved and?—”

“Don’t call again until you have something good to say!” Click.

Really? Sometimes I wonder why I give a damn about getting Victor’s approval. He’s an asshole to me more days than not. Most of all, he’s not my dad. I can’t even say Victor’s like a dad to me. Sure, he took me in after my parents died, but it’s not like he actually took care of me. At a young age, I was forced to learn how to fend for myself.

Sadly, Victor wasn’t always like this. He used to be that fun uncle who came over with new toys—just because. We used to play basketball in the driveway for hours. He’d take me out for ice cream after dinner, and we’d go for walks around the park. Many of my weekends were spent at his house, where we’d stay up all night eating spray cheese straight from the can.

Then one day, out of the blue, Aunt Jodi left him. I guess coming home to a half-empty house and a note about her finally finding her soul mate is awful. But I don’t understand how Victor’s personality took a complete one-eighty after that. All of a sudden, he was always angry and hated my guts.

It was normally Aunt Jodi who hated me, not Uncle Victor. She used to push me out of her way and call me a “piece of shit” under her breath. She’d take my favorite toys and shove them down the garbage disposal in front of me. Once, she kicked me down a full flight of stairs and claimed it was an accident. Since she never acted that way in front of my parents or Victor, no one believed me when I told them.

After she ran off with another man, it was like Victor felt the need to replace her—as if there always had to be someone who bullied me. I used to overhear my parents talk about Victor’s overnight attitude change. They were just as confused as I was.

I would give anything to not only have my parents back but also have my loving uncle back. That’s partly why I want to succeed in this mission so much. This is the first time he’s ever trusted me with anything important. If I can do something he’ll be proud of, perhaps our relationship can be better. No, I don’t expect us to have sleepovers with spray cheese again, but it’d be nice to finally have a conversation with him without all the animosity.

I spend the rest of my morning planning out my “dinner as friends” with Arella.

After lunch, I head to the Soul House for band rehearsal. By the time I’m done with that, performing our two-hour show, and doing our lengthy meet and greet, I’m exhausted.

Back in my dark garage, I park my Harley next to my car, then kill the engine. Still on the bike, I drag out my phone to do the one thing I’ve been thinking about doing all day: text Arella.

Before she left this morning, she entered her number into my contacts. I wanted to text her earlier but didn’t because I didn’t want to seem desperate.

The screen glows in my face as I search for her contact and send her a text.

Hey gorgeous! Thanks for putting your name into my phone as Arella. It made it easy for me to find you.

Now comes the waiting game.

I stare at the screen for a full minute to see if the little dots will start jumping around. Nothing happens. She’s probably not by her phone. Or worse, she read my text and ignored it. Or maybe she’s already sleeping? Dammit, I’m being pathetic. I’ve never sat around waiting for a text from a girl before.

The moment I hop off my bike, I freeze. Someone’s emotions hover toward me—coming from inside my house. What the fuck?

I tiptoe through the door, being as quiet as possible. No lights are on. I don’t hear anything either.

Whoever’s here probably didn’t hear my garage door open, because the emotions I’m sensing from them are content, not scared, and, oddly, a little horny.

I tread down the hall to where my gift leads me. It’s not until I’m near the bedroom that my chest tingles, and suddenly, I know exactly who’s here.

I stomp through the door. “Get out.”

Jess doesn’t even bother looking up at me. “Is that any way to greet a person?”

She’s lying on my bed with her ankles crossed over each other. The lamp’s on, and she has one of my naughty magazines flipped open over her thighs. Her low-cut pink tank top gives me a full view down her shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. Based on the wrappers on the floor, I’m gonna say she’s been in my pantry.

“How did you get in my house?”

Keeping her attention on the photo of the topless woman, she gestures toward a key on my nightstand. “I know where you leave it outside.”

“Good. That means you know where to put it back.” I lift my finger, and the key flies into the air. When I drop my finger, the key falls into Jess’s lap. I wave at the door, and it swings wide open, coming to a halt just before it hits the wall.

Finally, Jess looks my way and tosses the magazine and key over her shoulder. They land on the carpet with light thuds. “You haven’t seen me in months, and you’re kicking me out already?”

Jess is never an easy person to get rid of. Maybe if I’m nice to her, she’ll leave faster. I soften my tone. “What’s up, Jess?”

She pouts. “My boyfriend dumped me.”

“The Teleporter?”

“Yeah.”

Jess and I used to have an on-and-off relationship. I haven’t seen her since she started getting serious with her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now.

“I went to see him today.” Her sadness drenches me like heavy rain from a gray cloud right above my head. “I thought maybe we could work things out. He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

I sigh, plopping next to her on the edge of my bed. I have no idea what to say to make her feel better. Thinking of a happy time and pushing those feelings into her might work.

She continues talking before I can think of anything happy. “I thought maybe if I showed him that I want him back, he’d want me too. But all he said was—” Jess’s skin bubbles as her shoulder-length blonde hair transforms into curly black dreads. Her skin fades from a California tan to a deep bronze until there’s a brawny Black man wearing a pink tank top next to me.

Jess drops her voice into a deep, husky tone. “You’re too fucked-up for me. Go get your shit together.”

Her skin bubbles again and her hair grows, turning blonde until the real version of Jess is back.

“Sorry,” I say because I suck at pep talks. Also, her ex is right. She does need to get her shit together, and that’s coming from me, a man who never has his shit together.

She stares at me with a dark expression in her eyes. I know that look. Before she can say anything, I’m back on my feet with my hands in my pockets. “Not tonight, Jess.”

“What? Why not?”

Because I have important shit to do. Besides, even if I wasn’t in the middle of something, I still wouldn’t want to have sex with her. This woman only ever shows up when she needs a rebound fuck. Yes, I’ve always allowed her to use me, but I’ve been getting sick of our relationship existing on only her terms. She’s never here when I need her.

Five months ago, when I was going through a rough patch, she wouldn’t even answer my texts. Now that I think about it, I’m still fuckin’ pissed.

I hook my thumb toward the door. “So, you gonna leave, or what?”

“Seriously?” She gives me a look like I’ve just smeared mud all over her shirt. “Can’t you feel my pain? I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

Of course I can feel her pain, and it’s exactly why I don’t want her here.

“I want to get fucked like an animal, Trey. And you’re the only man who’s ever rough enough with me to do it right.”

“Jess, you can’t just break into my house and demand that I fuck you. Especially when you haven’t spoken to me in over five months. Plus, you went through my shit.” I point a stern finger at the empty chips bags on the floor.

“I’m sorry, okay? I couldn’t talk to you back then because of my boyfriend. He didn’t like me talking to any of my exes. As for tonight, I didn’t want to be alone. It’s not my fault you weren’t home when I arrived. I didn’t think you’d care as long as I made it up to you...”

With her best screw me now face, she hooks her fingers through my belt loops and yanks me in. As soon as she flips her emotions to make me feel what she wants me to feel, I’m a goner. Within seconds, my energy feeds off hers, and it’s not long before she’s won the fight. Her erotic emotions take over my mind, and the next thing I know, she’s beneath me—topless.

As I kiss her neck, I wonder if I would still want this if I weren’t feeling what she’s feeling. It’s hard to know. While I rip my shirt over my head, I decide it doesn’t matter. As long as she wants this, that’s all that matters.

It doesn’t take me long to finish. It’s been at least a month. I lie on my back, panting as I pull the rubber off and toss it into the air. When I point a finger at it, it flies across my bedroom, landing into a little trash bin in the corner.

Jess scoots toward me and props her head on my shoulder. Then she rests a hand over my chest as she lets out a little exhale. My body stiffens. She knows how much I hate cuddling, yet she does it to me anyway. I know how much she hates when I shove her away, so I make sure to do it extra rough this time.

On my way to the bathroom, in the corner of my eye, I see her roll her eyes like she’s disappointed. Call me an ass, but it’s not like I’ve never warned her. As if it’ll make things better, I offer her a little shrug. “You know I don’t like cud?—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “I know.”

After we’re both cleaned off and dressed, Jess asks for a loan. Without hesitation, I grab my wallet and offer her two thousand dollars, knowing I’ll never get it back. We’ve gotten to the point in our relationship that when she asks to “borrow” money, we both know it’s a gift. I’ve never asked for the money back, and she’s never offered. I wouldn’t accept it anyway.

Jess struggles a lot financially. Her father walked away before she was born, and her mother died of a z-drug overdose before her second birthday. The way she grew up consisted of hopping around from foster home to foster home where nobody wanted her and even fewer people cared.

I’d probably be in the same financial situation if my parents weren’t the researchers who discovered how to turn Healers’ tears into usable products that keep their healing abilities. Royalties for Healing Water, Healing Goo, and Healing Spray are like a never-ending gold mine. Lucky for me, I’m the main person reaping the benefits.

Jess waves to me from the Uber as it drives away. I’m not even back in my house before I’ve got my phone out.

Yes! I’ve got a text from the woman I’ve been waiting to hear from.

I figured if I added myself into your phone as Ari, you’d get confused.

I smile. A real smile. Not one of those fake ones I use out in public.

I am a man. We are easily confused creatures.

My phone buzzes within seconds. I’d like to think she was on the other end, waiting for me to text back.

I’m very familiar with your kind.

You excited for dinner tomorrow?

Yes. Dinner. With a new FRIEND.

OK, friend. Let’s carpool. I’ll come pick you up.

I can meet you at the restaurant. Thanks tho.

You don’t even know where we’re going.

I would if you told me.

It’s a surprise! What’s your address?

I’ve been to her apartment before—plenty of times. I’m always parked on the street, hunched in my car, studying her routine. I’ve never been inside her apartment though, and that’s where I need to get. Seeing her living space might help me know her better. There’s only so much a background check and Google searches can tell me, which is nothing of value. Her background check was pretty blank, and all I got from Google were pictures of people who weren’t her. She doesn’t have any social media for me to scroll through, either. It’s like she’s purposely making this harder for me.

My phone buzzes.

Okay, we can carpool.

Her next text includes her address.

Then my phone vibrates again.

You know, one of these days, you’ll learn that you can’t always get your way.

I snort. Funny that she thinks I always get my way. I figured out as a child that life will hand me rotten lemons and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Some might say that living with Victor wasn’t that bad. A kid can survive demeaning comments and some violent outbursts here and there. A few smacks to the face usually shut me up. Nothing I couldn’t handle. To make myself feel better, I always compared every hurtful thing Victor said or did to seeing my parents get blown up. After that, taking a few hits was nothing.