Interracial Mega Bundle (Interracial Urban Erotica)

by Asia Marquis

  Only a few blocks away is a new motel. It's clean enough, but all motels have a certain amount of sleaze to them. Still, it's the best I can afford, and it has a TV and internet access. It'll have to do.

  I consider looking up old friends, chatting with them about life. I think better of it, though. I need to focus on getting Lucas out of my life before I can even think about making friends again.

  Instead, I settle for laying down on the lumpy motel bed and having a pity party while I watch the news. Just for a little while. I know better than to wallow in my depression for too long.

  Chapter 2

  Some time after seven, my stomach starts to growl. I realize with irritation that I'm going to have to eat if I want to be able to think clearly.

  I try to remember what restaurants are in the area, but I give up and use Google instead. Too much has changed, my life has been too uprooted. There's no point in trying to use my memory when nothing I remember is true anymore.

  There's a simple diner down the road, so I settle on going there for a burger. I resist the urge to check my bank account, because I know how close I am to screwing myself over and the last thing I need is to give myself a panic attack over it.

  When I get in there, I'm relieved to not recognize anyone. There's no music playing, and only one old couple reading their own newspapers at a booth near a window.

  I sit down, and the waitress brings me over water. I order immediately, and pull out my phone as I settle in to wait for my food.

  The bell on the door jingles, and I hear footsteps. A man walks in, but I can only see the back of his head as he sits at a table a few feet ahead of me.

  “Officer Green,” the waitress says, setting down a coffee cup in front of him. “Your usual?”

  “Of course,” he says. I recognize that voice, and that last name. That's Hunter Green, the boy everyone thought I'd marry when I grew up. Hell, we were even planning to be 'backup spouses', meaning if neither of us got married before 30, we would marry each other.

  I'm not married yet, but Hunter married early. When we were really close, he was kind of a dweeb. He liked cartoons well into high school and focused more on video games than school or fitness. In sophomore year of high school, though, everything changed. One of his friends bribed him to get him into the gym, and once he started to see the changes he was hooked.

  The girls quickly got hooked on him, too, and as I retreated into solitude after Dad's death, he became more popular than ever. Last I heard, he married the prom queen a week after we graduated. I wanted to hope he was happy, but while I was suffering through hellish Harvard classes I only found myself bitter.

  A car honks outside, and Hunter turns suddenly. Our eyes meet. Damn. Now I'm going to have to talk to him.

  Is that really so bad, though? He's become even more handsome over these last few years. His black hair is curly and longer than the buzz cut he had in high school. And, oh. There's no ring on his finger. Does he take it off to work?

  “Destiny?” A smile creeps across his face, genuine and warm. “It's been so long!” Picking up his coffee cup, he carries it over to my booth and sits with me, one of his hands taking mine. The waitress brings over my food at the same time.

  “Yeah, it's been a long time!” I say. The warmth of his hand surprises me. His green eyes glitter in the fading light of the afternoon. God, he's good looking. If the ring is gone because he got divorced, that woman is insane. If I could look into those eyes every day...

  But I can't. I need to stay focused, I have a task.

  “What are you doing home?” He asks.

  I shrug, sighing. “I guess I'm just trying to remember why I left.”

  He laughs for a long time at that. “I'm sure the town is giving you plenty of new reasons to leave again.”

  I want to tell him it's suddenly given me a new reason to stay, but that's ridiculous. I haven't spoken to him in years. Just because he's nice on the eyes doesn't mean he's the same person I loved in high school.

  My heart skips a beat. I hadn't even consciously admitted before that I loved him. Sadness washes over me, but I try to push it back. I've gotten good at that, pushing back the sadness. If I could have admitted that to myself when I was younger, would I have stayed? Would I have had a life with Hunter Green?

  “Yeah, it's given me a few. It's not all bad, though. Things definitely have changed.” I stuff a fry into my mouth, trying to stay casual. “Like the library. It's huge now!”

  “Hey, no doubt. So many people getting married, too.” He shakes his head, his hair bouncing a bit as he does so.

  I snort. “Yeah, like my mom.”

  “What! No way. Who's she engaged to?”

  “The worst man I have ever met. His name is Lucas and-” The funny look that crosses Hunter's face makes me stop talking. “What?” I ask.

  “You don't mean Lucas Young, do you?”

  I nod. “I do. Why do you ask? Did you have a run in with him? Because I know how much of an asshole he is.”

  “He's more than that, Destiny. He's dangerous. At least, I think he is. The bastard has every other cop in this town convinced otherwise. I'm investigating the murder of his father.”

  “Holy shit,” I say. “What did he do? I know he's bad, but I never expected something like that.”

  Hunter's face is serious. I imagine this is what he looks like every day at work, serious and manly, all business. It's kind of hot. “It's a suspected suicide, but there are some things that just don't make sense. Mr. Young, Edward Young, was the man who bought the fishery a few years back. He moved in after you left for Harvard.”

  “Oh, so he's the one who brought in the money and changed Bedford so much.”

  He nods. “I shouldn't be telling you anything about this, but like I said no one else is investigating. The other cops, even my own partner, is scared of Lucas. Or, if they're not scared, they were charmed by him, or paid off by him. All I know, is something is going on, and I need help.”

  A way to get Lucas out of my mom's house? “I'm in.” There's not even a question in my mind. I have to look into this.

  “Good. I'm going to be heading over to the Young mansion after midnight. Will you join me?” He pulls out his cell phone. “I have to be clear about this, Destiny: It might not be terribly safe for you. I have a gun, but unless you're trained you're going to be practically defenseless.”

  I take a bite of my burger and chew it while I think. Swallowing, I say, “That's a little scary, but I want to help. If things get bad, I'll just try to stay near you.”

  “Good.” He takes my hand again, smiling with relief. He has some premature worry wrinkles on his forehead. I suddenly want to ask him if his wife is still in the picture, but now's not the time. “I'm glad you're back, Destiny. I've missed you.”

  My heart skips and I can't help but smile. “I missed you too, Hunter.”

  When I go back to my mom's house, this time I go to the front door and knock. I don't want to accidentally walk in on something, especially not sex. Mom's a Christian woman but Lucas is a corrupting force.

  Mom answers the door. Her dark face is angry when she sees me.

  “Mom, I had to come back and apologize.”

  Her anger melts away and she smiles. She's a sucker for apologies. No matter how many times you hurt her, she will forgive you. Too many people abuse that forgiveness. “I know it's a lot to take in, dear, but you'll see. I'm really happy.”

  “I know,” I say, resenting that I have to ruin my mom's happiness just because Lucas is some kind of stalker or something. Did he try to find my mom specifically to get to me? “I'm just worried about you.”

  Mom nods, and then steps aside, beckoning me to come inside. “I have something for you.”

  I stand near the door and wait as she bustles up the stairs, spry even in her older age. She's out of view when Lucas comes into the room. His hands are in his pockets, his blonde hair slicked back.

  “You're back! I didn't get the c
hance to say that you look absolutely beautiful today.”

  I want to tackle him to the ground and choke him, but instead I lean against the wall and ignore him.

  “Come on, say something. I did all this, just to find you. What a surprise that Dad moved to your hometown! It took some time to research you, but when I saw that your mom lived right in this small town that Dad was trying to reinvigorate? Well, I thought,” he steps closer, pushing me harder against the wall. His breath is hot against my ear. “It must be fate.”

  I press my hands against his chest and push him away as hard as I can. “Ugh!” I cry, feeling clammy and cold for even having his breath on me. Right as he's away from me, my mom comes down the stairs humming her song again. In her hands is an old box, nearly in tatters.

  “Oh, Lucas! You're back inside. I hope you two didn't fight.”

  Lucas shakes his head, looking to me about as innocent as a raccoon caught with trash in his hand. “Of course not! We were just making amends.”

  I shoot him a glare, but then turn to smile at Mom. “What's in the box?”

  “Old things, things your father left you. I don't know, I was cleaning up my room before Luke came to stay here.” She hands the box to me, and I'm surprised by how heavy it is. “Hopefully something in there will help you while you're home. Where are you staying? You can come back to your old room, of course.”

  I bite my lower lip, doing my best to not tell her there's no way in hell I'm staying under this roof with Lucas here. “No, I'm okay! I need my own space for a while. Maybe in a little bit, I'll take you up on that. Anyway,” I hold up the box. “I'm going to take this back to my room at the motel. I'll come over soon, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you too, dear!” She waves as I leave. Lucas, on the other hand, watches my ass.

  Pig.

  Once I'm back in the motel, I set the box on my bed. I don't even want to start to unravel the pain that lurks beneath the surface, the pain I've held back for four years. Still, I'm too curious to stop myself from going through the things in the box.

  There's a stuffed animal I only vaguely remember Dad winning for me at the fair the one time it came to our town. An old white bear. I slept with the thing for years and years, until one of the eyes popped out. Dad must have sewed it back in, because Mom can't sew but there it is.

  I touch the plastic eye and smile. There are a few old shirts, like that Hawaiian shirt that he wore every time he barbecued. Some other toys and clothes, plus a hat. I set all these things aside, in piles of things to keep and things to throw away. I don't need all of this to remember him, but some things, like the bear and the Hawaiian shirt, are precious to me.

  Then I pick up a framed photograph. The frame is a cheap one, the kind they kept at dollar stores in the early 2000s. The photo is of my dad holding me up over his head in old Emerald Lake, where we would go swimming in the summers. His black skin was even darker then, tan from the sun he got while fishing.

  I press my hand against the glass of the frame and remember the smell of Dad's cologne, the smell of his pancakes. How rough his hands were when he picked me up. How safe he made me feel in his arms.

  Oh, Dad. I miss you so much.

  When I go to set the photo down, to move on from the memories and come back into the real world, the back of the frame falls off. “Crap,” I mutter, trying to keep it intact, but it falls apart onto the bed.

  Beneath the photo is a folded letter. I'm surprised it even fit in the frame, since it's even in an envelope. Opening it up with shaking hands, I realize the handwriting belongs to my father.

  I put the paper down, too scared to read it, then pick it back up because I'm too scared not to read it. I do this a couple of times before I finally get up the nerve to actually look at the words.

  Destiny,

  My darling daughter. You truly are the light of my life. If you are reading this, then I was taken from you too soon. I'm so sorry.

  There are so many things I wish I could have told you. There is a good chance I might die soon, because I wrote my own fate with my mistakes. Even though you weren't my real daughter, when I adopted you I promised to raise you as my own. Destiny, you need to look for

  The letter suddenly stops. It isn't torn. There are just no words after that, like Dad got distracted and never got around to finishing it. Maybe he didn't have time.

  More important, though, is that Dad... wasn't my dad. Not biologically. I never suspected. I even look like him! There's something wrong with this. There has to be something, some kind of explanation. One that doesn't involve me not knowing who my real Dad is.

  And what do I need to look for? Something that will answer my questions? How did he know he might die? Am I to think his drowning wasn't an accident, but murder? There's no way, that's too far out of left field.

  My head swims with these thoughts. There's not one thing that I can wrap my head around in that letter. I fold it back up and put it back in the photo frame, sealing it away to be dealt with later. Maybe never. Maybe I can forget I ever read it, or I'll wake up tomorrow and check the frame only to find it gone. Only a figment of my imagination.

  I'm just closing the last clasp on the frame and setting it up on the table next to the motel bed when there comes a knocking at my door.

  Chapter 3

  Thankful for the quick distraction away from what was sure to be a complete emotional meltdown, I swing the door open. “Hunter!”

  “Hey, Destiny. You look tired, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just,” I pause. “I've just had a long day.”

  He frowns. I notice he's changed his clothes, out of his officer uniform and into a brown button down shirt and jeans. His muscles are easier to see now. Swoon. “If you're tired, we don't have to do this.”

  I step outside and shut the door behind me. “No, no! I'm ready to go.”

  Hunter eyes me suspiciously, but I just ask him to show me to his car. It's an old truck, but it's well maintained. I hop into the passenger seat.

  The Young mansion sits exactly where Mom's church used to be. It's on top of a hill overlooking the biggest lake near the town. The church was torn down and replaced by a new building, its architecture strange because even though it's new, it looks Romantic.

  The garden is still well maintained, with freshly cut grass. “Does Lucas come here?”

  “Not that I know of,” Hunter responds. “Why?”

  “The lawn is taken care of.”

  “Oh, they hired a gardener. He still comes every day. I'm sure that once they're married and the crime scene is properly cleaned up, he'll move your mom in.”

  I wince, but follow him in through the huge front door. The first room is something like a lobby, with checkered black and white floor and two staircases leaded up to the top floor. Hunter leads me through to the next room on the ground floor, a large living room with a huge TV and a beautiful piano.

  All the beauty is really marred by the blood stains on the ivory carpet and white walls. I cover my mouth, looking over the whole room. There's no body, but it's obvious from the blood stains where one used to be.

  “Sorry,” he says. “It should be cleaned up by now, but it's impossible to get our cleaners in here for some reason.”

  For some reason, I think about my dad. “I know this is probably the wrong time for this, but I need to tell someone.” I take a deep breath while Hunter turns around to listen to me. “I found a letter from my dad. He said he isn't my real father.” I decide that the bit about his death maybe not being an accident can wait for another time. Even I'm not ready to believe that.

  “Oh, wow.” He comes and pulls me into his body, holding me close. I feel myself go hot. If I weren't so dark skinned, it might be easy to tell that I'm blushing. Thank goodness I'm black. “I'm so sorry, Destiny. Did he say who your real father is?”

  “No,” I say. “I never even thought he wasn't... We look so much alike, you know.”

  “I do know.” He holds onto my should
ers as I stand up straight. “Obviously I can't do much right now, but once this investigation is over I will do everything I can to help you find your answers.”

  “Hunter, you don't have to do that.”

  “I know I don't, but I'm saying I will. As your friend.” He pushes a strand of my black hair out of my face.

  “Well, it might be best to just let the past fade away,” I say, the last few words little more than a mumble. Hunter steps away from me, and rummages in his pocket. He hands me two gloves.

  “I won't press you again. Here, wear these. We don't want to tamper with evidence.”

  I put the gloves on. “So what am I looking for?”

  “Anything that might point to Lucas as the killer. Oh, and come look at this.” Hunter leads her to a door from the living room outside to a small garden and pond. He points to the carpet. There are muddy footprints leading inside, and then very faint reddish footprints leading back outside.

  “Do these belong to the murderer?”

  “I think so,” Hunter says. “They're a men's size 12. Can you check Lucas to see if he fits that size?”

  “Sure. Are you sure it isn't just Mr. Young's size?”

  Hunter looks around, then opens a nearby closet and pulls out a pair of books. “Nope. These are a 9 and a half.”

  So that rules that out. I nod and then keep looking around the room, but I don't find anything. “I'm going to check upstairs,” I say, climbing the stairs. Not long after, Hunter joins me.

  The room in the middle of the top floor is just the bathroom. To the right is a study, the walls of which are lined with thousands of books. “Wow,” I say. If I had a library like that, I wouldn't ever leave it.

  Checking the desk, I find what looks like a diary or a business journal. I flip through the pages, most of which are filled with notes about the stock market, or from phone calls or meetings. There's a couple of pages in the middle, however, that are more like a real diary.