Lady In Waiting (Infinite Time Trilogy Book 1)

by Shandi Boyes

  “Seventy-thirty.” My words are barely heard over my heart thumping in my throat. I should not be negotiating. My gut has been in knots all day, warning me to remain cautious, but I’ve got a tuition check due at the end of the month. I can’t miss this payment, or four years of study will go down the drain.

  When Dwain glares at me, I give him the same pathetic mantra I repeat every time I enter the parking lot of Substanz: “Only those who fight for what they want truly achieve it.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why I’m fighting. I’ve got future baby momma nest eggs to save up for.” I know he’s joking. He’s been as dateless as me the past three years.

  When Dwain’s stance remains strong, I bring out the charm. I want to say I thrust my chest high and graze my teeth over my lower lip, but unfortunately, Dwain isn’t a sucker for big breasts and raunchy smirks. He desires what all handsome man crave: he’s a booty lover.

  “Sixty-forty and you buy me dinner,” Dwain grumbles when my dip to gather a loose feather from the floor propels my scarcely covered backside into his peripheral vision.

  My back snaps straight in an instant. "With how much you eat, I'm getting short-changed," I snarl under my breath, though it’s just to cover up my notice of the stranger’s discomfort.

  He’s doing a good job pretending to glance at the flyers disgruntled wives pin to the noticeboard every Sunday after church, but I heard his sharp breath when I dipped low. Just like I saw the briefest shuffle of his feet to ensure his view wasn’t blocked by Dwain’s impressive girth. He’s eager alright. I just can’t fathom if it is for what Dwain assumes or something entirely different. If I were to trust my gut, I’d say it is the latter, but after a few years of bad decisions, I don’t trust my intuition as much as I used to.

  Dwain’s deep sigh rustles my shoulder-length blonde hair. “Come on, Rae. Look at him. He’s more than eager,” he murmurs, spotting the same signals as me. “If I don’t approach him soon, he’ll bust a nut just looking at you, then we both leave tonight with only our measly hundred dollar paycheck in our hands.”

  I wish he were lying, but he is as honest as his tone. With my refusal to do my routine topless added to my constant decline of Jayce's many invitations to join Celeste's private services, my paycheck went from two to three hundred a night to not even a hundred. Men are stingier with their money when they're not shoving it between a set of breasts.

  My heart drums against my ribs as I contemplate Dwain’s suggestion. I’ve been busting my ass the past term to earn the tuition money needed for me to graduate, but can I do this, can I pretend to sell my body to make coin? Even though it is a hoax, and at no time will services be rendered for payment, my worry remains high. The last time I agreed to a ruse like this, I lost more than a few hundred dollars.

  “Sixty-forty,” Dwain negotiates, believing my delay stems from wanting a bigger slice of the pie. It isn’t. It is horrid memories. “But you have to send the extra ten percent to Ms. Sweet Thing. She’s starting out in a big city. She needs a boost.”

  “I think she’d prefer your eyes off her ass the next time she visits,” I snap, my mood as thinly-guided as my morals.

  Dwain holds his hands in front of his body while remaining as quiet as a church mouse. His demure stance serves him well. I am less likely to lash out when my target is subdued. Furthermore, if I were truly concerned at his appreciative ogle of my sister's backside, I would have shut down his interests months ago. Dwain is a good guy, but even if he wasn't, Raquel can handle herself. Our momma taught us well. We are as smart as we are beautiful.

  I shouldn’t baby Raquel, but it’s hard. She’s my little sister—only by a year, but still younger than me. My involvement wouldn’t be so dramatic if she wasn’t as eccentric and over the top as me. For two country girls, we grew up glam. We bedazzled everything: our jeans, shirts, and boots. Even Daddy’s belt buckle was covered with so much rainbow glitter, the ranch workers nicknamed him Sparkie.

  I miss home. I could go back at any time, and my parents would welcome me with open arms, but I don’t want to be a lady in waiting. I want to rule the world. It is the reason Luca and I packed up and left town the week following graduation. We wanted an adventure. We couldn’t achieve that in Milam County, Texas.

  Shaking my backside is how I make ends meet now, but once I’ve cruised through law school, passed the bar with flying colors, and established myself as the number one business lawyer in the state, cow dung, 3 AM milkings, and world domination will once again be on the agenda. But instead of milking the cows and shoveling their poo, I’ll protect the Ma and Pa co-op’s like my family’s estate from being sold to foreign investors.

  “Fifty-fifty, and you take Raquel and me out for dinner next time she’s in town.” For the first time tonight, my voice reveals my determination.

  I didn't leave Luca trapped in his mangled Jeep for no reason. I did it so I could give back a smidge of the love my parents have bestowed upon me the past twenty-two years. If I’d been found in the wreckage with Luca, I would have been forced to lie under oath. If my lies were exposed, my childhood dream of becoming a lawyer would have been destroyed, and I would have reneged on the promise I made with Luca on his sixteenth birthday. We were young, neither of us truly knowing what we were promising, but nothing will stop me upholding my end of our agreement. I lost my life three years ago. I refuse to give up my soul as well.

  Dwain agrees to my suggestion without words by heading for the blond man. His giant steps slow when I say, "Not a food truck meal. I want real food—at an actual restaurant.”

  Since I can’t see his eyes, he answers with a throaty murmur. It is one of those southern drawls that makes me think of bow-legged men with sexy stubble and mouthwateringly wide shoulders. It is as far away from Dwain’s Dominican ethnicity as you can get.

  As Dwain approaches the unnamed lurker, I roll my shoulders. My breasts no longer feel perky since they aren’t stuffed under my chin, and my mood is teetering, but fingers crossed my mile-long legs will make up for their lagging counterparts. I don't see this being an easy hustle. This unknown man is attractive, but I doubt he has a trust fund. His suit doesn't scream wealth and superiority. It fits him as if it was tailored for his slim waist, banging guns, and rigid stomach, but it is the latter three qualities responsible for my light-headed response—not his Hugo Boss knock off.

  His aura, on the other hand. . . you couldn’t put a dollar amount on it. He’s confident, self-assured, and would have absolutely no issues bending me over his knee to spank the sass right out of me. It’s a pity our plan is a ruse. He could have been a lot of fun.

  I shimmy my shoulders, snapping myself out of my uncharacteristic thoughts. I don’t date. I haven’t in years. I merely gobble up attractive men, storing them in my memory bank like calorie-laden sweets before dispersing the energy in a non-ladylike fashion.

  What does my mother call my toys? “Gimmicks designed to make men feel less inferior.”

  I call them gyrating saviors. If it weren’t for my vibrating bunny and his wickedly naughty friends, I’d still be splayed on the back seat of Jamie’s truck, waiting for him to locate my G-spot. Instead, I pointed it out for him, taught him what to do and precisely how to do it. He left feeling fabulous, believing he was the first to bring me to climax. He was the first man, but it wasn’t my first orgasm. Country girls who wake before the sun have a lot of time on their hands for experimenting.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts when a pair of intense, penetrating eyes peer at me. Even with his gaze hidden by the brim of his cap, I can feel the blond’s anger radiating off him. The flare of his nostrils indicates he isn’t impressed with Dwain’s suggestion, much less the tight clench of his jaw. I’m so confident he won’t fall for our trick, I physically balk when he reaches for his wallet instead of sprinting to the quickest exit.

  The veins in my neck thrum when he snags five one hundred dollar bills from his leather pouch. My heart rate isn’t speeding up because of t
he impressive amount Dwain negotiated; it is from the stranger’s pulse-quickening glare pinning me in place. He has a knife-like stare, slicing through my perception as readily as his handsome face dampens my panties. It is a warning glare, one I’ve witnessed only once before in my life. It was delivered by Luca a mere hour before his death.

  My lips pucker as if I am going to be sick when Dwain pockets the man’s money in his bomber jacket. I should be pleased our scam worked, but haunted memories keep my excitement at bay.

  I take deep breaths to settle my flipping stomach when Dwain seizes the man’s shoulder in a firm grip to drag him toward the concealed exit. I almost feel sorry for the handsome stranger, but the fact he assumed I’d accept payment for services stops me. He may be handsome, but that doesn’t excuse poor morals. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before treating a classically trained dancer as if she is a hooker.

  Chapter Two

  I issue the stranger a final sneer before pivoting on my heels to enter the curtain separating backstage from the underbelly of Substanz. Just before I break through the thick material, a deep “oomph” sounds through my ears.

  Jackknifing back, my heart launches into my throat. Dwain is buckled on his knees, holding his gushing nose with his large hand. His attacker is standing over him, wordlessly cautioning him a bloody nose will be the least of his problems if he budges an inch.

  Before my hazy brain can decipher what is happening, the blond man removes a set of cuffs from his belt. His brisk movements reveal that our ruse wasn’t just foolish; it was life-altering. He is a federal agent. If the gold eagle on the top of his badge isn’t enough of an indication, the bright blue FBI print beaming from his leather wallet is a clear sign.

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say. . .”

  The blond’s words trail off when someone grabs me. I’m dragged through a thick curtain without a squeak escaping my lips; I’m too stunned to do anything. Dwain isn’t being arrested by a half-witted cop who would accept a bribe. He’s being taken into custody by an agent from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  This can’t get any worse. If I am arrested, I cannot go to law school; I cannot sit the bar, and I will not save my parents' property from liquidation. This undoes all the good I've achieved since Luca's death. It will unravel everything.

  "Unless you want to be arrested, keep your head down and your legs moving." My savior's voice is deep, protective and laced with secrecy.

  "My. . ." My quivering words end when the man clutching my wrist snatches my purse from my dressing station before taking a sharp left.

  How did he know which one was mine?

  Bitterly cold winds smack into me when we exit the secured side entrance of Substanz. It was the door Dwain was heading for before he was detained. We glide down the blackened sidewalk, a rusty awning keeping us concealed from the helicopters hovering above our heads.

  The scene is frantic, matching ones I’ve watched many times on Cops. Clients race for their cars parked blocks up so their wives don't grow suspicious of their nightly routine. I do the same thing, but more to hide my secret life from the dean of my college and the one or two people from my study group hoping to weasel their way from study companions to friends. I wonder if they’d still like me if they knew about my double life?

  As riot officers circle the premise, ensuring everyone inside Substanz remains trapped, I raise my eyes to my suited companion. “They have us surrounded. We can’t get out.”

  He brushes off my worry with a smirk. “It isn’t what you know, Regan. It is who you know.”

  My feet stop as my heart rate rockets sky-high. “How do you know my name?”

  I haven't been called Regan in years. Since venturing down this sordid path, I've gone by the nickname my father calls me when I give him sass. Everyone at Substanz refers to me as Rae. No one here knows my real name — not even Dwain.

  “I’ll explain everything the instant we get out of here. But we need to dodge your arrest first. Okay?” His question doesn’t match the sternness of his tone.

  He stops dragging me across the cracked asphalt when an armed agent steps into our path. The riot officer’s shield is lowered, hiding his face, and his weapon is pointed at the unnamed man’s chest. He looks peeved. Rightfully so. He did break formation to approach us milling about in the far back corner of the parking lot.

  “Henry said to say hello.” I glare at the dark-haired man clutching my waist. Is he certifiably mad? We’re about to be arrested—now is not the time for niceties.

  Feeling the heat of my gaze, the stranger lowers his eyes to mine. Their intensity has my throat drying up. Not because I’m in fear for my life, but because their unique gray coloring is diverting the moisture in my body to a more needy region.

  With a wink acknowledging he noticed my whitening tongue, the stranger returns his focus to the armed agent. “Which way?”

  "Go west for half a mile; the trek is steep. When you see an old set of railroad tracks, wave your arm in the air three times." The agent steps closer to us, ensuring we can hear him through his face shield. "Three times only. Do two, my guy will shoot you. Four—”

  “He’ll shoot me. Get it,” the gray-eyed man interrupts. “What’s the deal?”

  He nudges his head to the line of men and women kneeling outside of Substanz. The agents haven't segregated the groups from the longtime clients who spend more time here than their homes to the one-off visitors who couldn't contain their curiosity for a moment longer. They’re all being treated as criminals.

  I finish scanning the ashen faces for Dwain when the agent answers, “Don’t know. This isn’t Henry. He only got word of our sting while we were in transit.” Although I can barely see the agent’s eyes, I’m certain they are on me when he adds, “Why take her with you? She’ll slow you down.”

  “She’s got something I need.” The dark-haired hottie chuckles when I take a step back, apparently humored by my desire to flee. “Thanks for the knock to my ego, sweetheart, but I’m not here for your body.”

  His term of endearment seems off. He has wise eyes and an affluent taste in clothing, but his lack of wrinkles reveal he isn’t much older than me. He may even be the same age, so a term my grandpa regularly uses doesn’t suit him.

  After thanking the guard for his assistance, the unnamed man curls his arm around my waist and forces my legs forward. Since we’re moving away from an assembly of people who could sweep my every wish out from beneath my feet, I let him.

  Approximately five minutes later, we reach a hole cut into a chain link fence separating Substanz from the adjacent property, which is covered in a thick underbrush and weeds. The scene is as chaotic as ever, but with the focus centered on entrance and exit points, our escape goes unnoticed.

  I eat my words when a deep, profound voice yells for us to freeze only seconds later. Without fear, my unexpected superhero dives through the fence, ignoring the repeated demands for us to stop or he’ll shoot.

  “Watch the edges; they’ll shred your skin to pieces.” His deep voice strains when he pulls apart the steel to ensure my skin remains unnicked.

  The ruffled skirt of my corset shreds when I haphazardly fall through the hole. I’m not usually so rash, but the stranger’s confidence is making my head swim. Besides, if my dreams go up in smoke, at least I can say I didn’t go down without a fight.

  After interlocking our fingers, the stranger races us toward the blackness of the night. We barely make it six steps before the frightening ricochet of a bullet freezes me. My abrupt stop only pauses the strangers’ flee for barely a second. He's smarter than me. He doesn't stay standing at the edge of a meadow field, making himself a prime target. He uses the overgrown weeds to conceal himself.

  Only once the unnamed man's profile is hidden from view do I spin to face the consequences of my actions head on. My legs wobble as I struggle to stop tears from slipping down my face. I worked at Substanz as it was the only way I could continue t
he ruse Luca and I began years ago—the one that made my parents believe I had a scholarship.

  My parents are wonderful people, but they couldn’t afford to send me to college, much less Raquel only a year later. The hoax Luca and I plotted wasn’t ideal, but it was better than seeing my family’s dairy farm divided and sold to land-hungry investors. Within hours of telling them I had a scholarship, the for sale sign was removed from a parcel of land our family farm needed to survive. Without land, we can’t grow Lucerne hay. Without feed, our cows go hungry. Hungry cows don’t produce good quality milk. My family ranch would have gone under in months, if not weeks.

  I swallow the bile burning my throat when I notice who is approaching me. It is the man from the corridor in Substanz—the one Dwain hoped to play for a fool. He is standing on the other side of the fence, seemingly conflicted about whether to climb through the hole and chase me down, or use his weapon.

  He must decide on the latter when he warns, “If you run, I’ll have no other option but to shoot you.” He sounds as conflicted as me, like his decisions aren’t his own. “Don’t make me do that. Come back on this side of the fence and face your choices in a respectable way. I can help you, Rae. You just need to pick the right side of the law.”

  My earlier wish to see his eyes grows rampant. His pledge of assistance sounds authentic, but with the low hang of his cap sheltering his eyes, I can’t reach a sound conclusion.

  “Are you arresting me for prostitution?” I bite on the inside of my cheek, annoyed at the snivel in my tone. I am stronger than this.

  After a roll of my shoulders, I quote, “State laws were implemented to target offenders conducting the prohibited act of engaging in sexual conduct with another person in return for a fee. I didn’t touch you, so you have no basis for arrest.”

  I expect my extensive criminal knowledge to stump him. It doesn’t—not even for a second. “Prostitution laws also target those agreeing or offering to engage in sexual activities in return for a fee. Solicitation is as criminal as the act itself.” The way he sneers “act” leaves no doubt to his feelings on the matter.