Page 1

Chapter 1

Anders

S leazy fucking bastard.

The guy from apartment fifty-six is definitely having an affair. I’ve met his wife, and the woman he’s currently finger-banging in the hall on the fifth floor is not her. Couldn’t even wait until they got inside before committing adultery. The audacity, honestly.

Mr Abbott is an arrogant prick, whereas his wife is a bit of a wallflower. Not that I see her much; he probably has her tucked away in a plush house in the countryside. I can only assume this place is his shag pad.

It’s time to break up the party. No one’s getting their dick sucked tonight, not on my watch.

Logging out of my secret security system, I head up there, opting for the stairs because I don’t want the lift chime alerting them of my arrival. At the stairwell entrance, I take a few moments to catch my breath, then ease the door open and lightly tread towards them.

I lean casually against the wall, my inner voyeur taking advantage of the free peep show.

The woman throws her head back as he sucks on her neck like a hungry leech. The way he’s ramming his fingers inside her can’t possibly feel good. I’ve been with a few women, and I’m pretty sure most of them don’t enjoy such an aggressive approach.

“You like that, don’t you?” Abbott mumbles against her collarbone.

The woman’s eyebrows draw together in an undeniable wince, but then she releases an over the top moan. My eyes roll; surely he knows she’s faking it.

“That’s it, take it, you little slut.” The lady’s eyes widen in horror and her smile falters at his grim words.

Dear god, I’ve seen enough. I loudly clear my throat, making them freeze like mice caught in a trap.

“Sorry, excuse me, Mr Abbott. I hate to interrupt, but your wife called the front desk. She couldn’t get through to your mobile and is terribly worried.”

The woman gasps while arsehole Abbott swiftly removes his hand from underneath her silky skirt and stumbles back.

The loud clash of the woman’s hand colliding with his chubby face sends a jubilant shiver down my spine—attagirl.

She steamrolls towards the lift as it pings open; now that’s an exit. Mr Abbott stands there like a gormless twat, catching flies. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’s experienced much rejection, so that has to sting. Boo-fucking-hoo.

“Stop her!” he eventually yells once his oversized ego comes online. “I’ve been assaulted.”

I brush my hand over my mouth to hide my childish smirk.

“Don’t just stand there. Do something!”

My heart trips as he steps closer. As much as I want to ruin this sleaze ball’s night, I don’t fancy getting into a fistfight at work.

I keep a straight face, stepping backwards out of reach.

“Sure, I better call the police. You have been assaulted, after all. What would you like me to tell them exactly? That you engaged in indecent exposure and unfortunately got walloped.” I laugh at the last word, adding a gallon of fuel to the fire.

He’s as bright as a freshly plucked tomato now, and it fills me with unadulterated glee. The adrenaline from putting Abbott in his place makes my hands vibrate, or maybe it’s a smidge of fear. I’m not too sure, but it feels invigorating. I love nothing more than catching nasty bastards out; it’s my favourite pastime.

He starts spouting some macho bullshit while edging towards me. I turn on my heel and practically run towards the exit. Better take the stairs; I wouldn’t want to end up in the lift with arsehole Abbott. He’ll most likely leave a complaint at reception, but if this is the only entertainment I’m getting all night, it’s totally worth it. I’m in for a long night, after all.

My head hits the desk with a thunk. It’s just past one in the morning, and I’m already counting down the minutes until my shift ends. I don’t usually mind working nights at Emeralds, but tonight it’s especially slow.

The luxury apartment complex I work at in Leeds caters to high-end clients, although they don’t all behave like they have class. I’ve seen all sorts come through here, from coked-up B-list celebs and sex workers to religious cult leaders. Well, the cult leader thing is just a rumour; I wouldn’t be surprised, though. Despite all the debauchery, the salary’s decent, so it’s not a bad place to work all in all. Another perk of the job is free use of the facilities; I’m a sucker for a sauna.

“Yuh betta nuh be sleepin’, yuh little rascal,” Femi teases as she ruffles my dirty blond hair, which I recently tried to va-va-voom with subtle highlights. It’s giving queer quarter-life crisis.

I groan into the desk before forcing my head up to scowl at her.

“You missed a spot.” I point at an imaginary mark on the counter.

“Cheeky.” Femi kisses her teeth, then whips me with a manky cloth she’s used to clean god knows what.

Although I’d never say it to her face, Femi’s a bloody delight. She’s in her late fifties, originally from Jamaica, and moved to the UK as a child. And luckily, or not so luckily for her, she has the pleasure of working the reception night shifts with my miserable arse. I tend to let nights tick by, but Femi’s always pottering around. It’s exhausting just to watch.

“Will you sit down, woman,” I complain, watching her manically scrub at a mark that’s not even there.

“Anders, yuh want a beltin’?” Femi slams her hand on her hip, and her chestnut eyes pinch together. She has a splattering of light brown freckles that decorate her dark skin. They look adorable when her nose is scrunched up like that, but that’s another thing I’d never say to her face.

I flash her an innocent smile and flutter my lashes before putting the nail in my coffin. “Yes, please. Spank me, Mummy.”

I think fast, sliding along the reception desk on my wheely chair as she scrambles for me. I crack up at her playful glare. Femi comes at me again, but I’m already up, clambering over the desk and not even bothering to use the hatch. I stumble over and almost land face-first on the white marble floors.

“Oh, yuh a go get it now,” she roars, wearing a jubilant smile.

I’m about to reply something inappropriate when the sound of the automatic doors sliding open brings me to a halt.

Fuck, tenant. Not just any tenant…Jahmar Walker.

Jahmar has rented an apartment at Emeralds for the past six months. He’s always wearing a charming smile—which I think looks slightly sadistic. Half of the staff here swoon over him, though. He screams opulence in his crisp white shirt, tailored trousers, and designer shoes. You’d assume he’s an arsehole, but no. He’s so fucking cheery and friendly; it’s a bit of a mind fuck. I’m so used to hating every rich bastard who comes through these doors that it throws me off-kilter when he tries to charm the pants off me.

“Evening, Anders. I love what you’ve done with your hair. Did you get highlights?” he compliments, flashing me that sadistic fucking smile. I internally roll my eyes, yet what comes out of my mouth is far less sassy.

“I, erm, my hair, I—” Oh dear god, let the ground swallow me. “Thank you,” I eventually squeak.

Femi sniggers behind me, so I shoot daggers over my shoulder.

“Do you mind giving me a hand, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart!? I should punch him in the gut for calling me that. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old grown-ass man. He can’t be more than a few years older than me. Then again, he has flawless black skin, which is often deceiving when it comes to age. Unlike my pale skin that doesn't hide the sneaky wrinkles I’m convinced are starting to show. But that’s beside the point. I am not his fucking ‘sweetheart’.

I stand motionless, gawking at him as he pushes a large trunk through reception.

“Anders, help di man,” Femi whisper-shouts.

Springing into action, I almost stumble as I reach him and the obnoxious trunk.

“I’ve got it!” I blurt out, cringing at how loudly my voice echoes around the sparse lobby.

“Thanks, you’re the best.” Jahmar beams at me while leaving me to struggle with the trunk. Knob . He swans up to the double doors, holding them open for me at least.

It’s heavy as fuck and has no handles, making it awkward to navigate.

What the hell has he been buying now?

He rings for the lift, climbs inside and pops his foot by the door, keeping it open for me as I fumble to push it in. The wheels get stuck on the edge of the lift, so I have to shove it several times, hearing something thump inside before it eventually slides in.

“What on earth have you got in here, a dead body?” I ask under my breath, hoping he didn’t hear me—must keep it professional.

I step around the trunk and stand next to him. We’re backed up against the mirrored wall with little room because of the ridiculous trunk. The deliciously rich scent of cocoa butter teases my nose. Jahmar presses the button for his floor, and we stand in uncomfortable silence. Of course, he has to live on the fucking top floor.

As the lift ascends, I keep my eyes trained on the lit-up keypad, watching the floors pass by painfully slow. I’d love nothing more than to turn and face him. I want to carefully catalogue every tight ringlet and bristle of his thick beard, but I won’t indulge. It’s much better to watch people when they have no idea you’re looking.

My skin grows prickly. I’m fully aware of him staring at me now, with zero shame, burning a hole in the side of my face. He’d never get away with what I do; he’s too obvious.

I tug at my tie, loosening my shirt collar in the hope I don’t suffocate before we make it up there.

“Yes.” The way the word rolls off his tongue, I can already tell he’s wearing a devilish grin.

“What?” I ask, finally turning to face him. My stomach flips as we lock eyes; his are full of mischief.

“You asked if I had a body in here. The answer is yes.”

I splutter an awkward laugh, unable to form words. He’s joking, right? There’s no way he has a body in there.

My jaw hangs in disbelief as I stare at him. There’s a playful gleam behind his chocolate eyes, daring me to ask more questions. My cheeks and ears heat. I already know I have the most humiliating blush, so I’m sure he’s eating this shit up.

“Oh, Anders, relax, I’m pulling your leg. It’s only clothes.” He softens his sinister smile before lifting his large hands and gliding them through my hair. I flinch and suck in a breath, frozen as he combs through the straight strands. I should tell him to stop. This is beyond inappropriate.

“I really do like your new hair,” he says, tilting his head to the side like a dumb puppy, curiously examining me.

I look up at him, nostrils flaring. He’s only about an inch taller than me, but right now, he feels like a king sitting on his throne, and I’m one of his subjects, kneeling at his feet, begging for a scrap of bread. I practically melt against the mirror as he continues to pet me.

Time comes to a standstill as he inspects me. He’s looking at me like he wants to pull me apart piece by piece, eat me up, and leave nothing but bones. I have no idea why that’s my first thought, but he’s giving off serious predator vibes. He licks his lips, and his eyes glimmer in the fluorescent lights. My traitorous dick flinches in my tight trousers as his eyes bounce back and forth between my eyes and lips like he’s toying with the idea of leaning in and kissing me.

Jahmar’s eyes catch on the trunk, and when they’re back on me, there’s something eerie hidden behind his stare. Every hair on my body stands, and an undercurrent of uncertainty washes through me. There’s something off about this guy. No one is that fucking smiley and polite. I suddenly feel vulnerable, wedged in this lift with no way to escape.

Jahmar takes a step closer, making our chests brush. Even though he puts me on edge, my dick thinks it’s appropriate to do a little dance again and I lean into the touch. When a wild smile spreads across his face, he looks anything but genuine, snapping me out of his hypnosis.

Not today, Satan.

“Stop it,” I murmur through hooded eyes.

“Sure,” he cheerily replies, like he didn’t just play with my hair like I’m his long-lost lover. He eases back, creating distance I’m not sure I want, leaving me panting and confused.

The ding of the lift makes me recoil.

“Thanks for the help. I’ve got it from here, sweetheart.”

I swear to god if he calls me that one more time, I’m going to chop off his balls and wear them as earrings.

Jahmar smirks as he pushes the trunk out of the lift with ease. Like he needed my help in the first place; he’s lean as fuck.

As the doors are about to close, he winks at me and releases a sinful laugh, sending what feels like a bolt of electricity straight to my groin.

What the fuck just happened?

I’ve let this sly bastard run under the radar for too long because he’s annoyingly hot and charming. I’ll have to keep a closer eye on him from now on. He’s up to something. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones, and even if he isn’t, he’d be so pretty to watch…and I do love to watch.