Sexy Dirty Grinder (Book 1 of Legacies of the Fortuna Nike)

"Time's almost up, but I know you've got to get to work. I love you, Lyd."

Lydia forced the smile to stay on her face, kept her voice light, and avoided the newest black eye and the slow-healing cut on Quillan’s lip. He’d grown paler from the lack of sunlight and buzzed his hair down to the scalp again, too.

She bet someone had pulled him around by it again. Maybe it had attracted the wrong kind of attention. Again. New guards? His cellmate? Someone else? She didn’t know. Quillan never gave her specifics. He couldn’t without risking more trouble, and he was too exotic-looking to stay out of trouble no matter what he did.

Where she had inherited more of their mother’s looks in the dark tone of her skin and her frame, Quillan had taken on a lot more of their sperm donor’s looks. He had a much lighter skin tone than she did, nearly light tan in the winter, a slim waist, and though he’d put on a lot of muscle over the years in jail, she knew that it did him little to no good against the kind of prisoners he was with in Statesville.

Real murderers.

Her eyes burned. Her stomach churned, threatening a revolt. She swallowed the burning bile and held her smile in place.

Keep it together, Lyd’.

Maybe she could pick up another shift at the Bar.

"I love you, too, Quill’. I'll coordinate with grandpa not to hog all of your visitation."

Quillan laughed, low and a little wry. Was his voice cracking on the edge? His voice trembled a little.

“Let the old man have his kicks.”

The call disconnected, taking all the air from her lungs and most of her strength with it. She swayed forward until her forehead rested against the cold metal of her locker. A tremor ran through her, and she smothered the whimper clawing its way out of her. Smothering the sound behind her hand, she forced her stomach to settle and her legs to bear her weight.

She didn’t have time to wallow or sink right now. Her shift started in about ten minutes. Ten minutes to change and get across the lawn to her assignment.

Ten minutes? She could do it in seven.

Sucking in a breath, she shook off the despair, dried her eyes, and opened her locker. Her own dark brown eyes looked back at her, slipping over the high, round cheekbones and the light brown skin dotted with freckles. She grabbed her brush and swiped a bit more gel through her hair to tame the flyaways threatening to turn back into curls.

Her flat iron had finally given out on her this morning while she’d been going over her budget. She had to make the last pass she’d managed last for as long as possible, but this time of the year, the island’s humidity made that nearly impossible.

She’d have to come up with the money for a new one sooner rather than later. Her straightened hair was the only reason she still had her job. Her supervisor thought she was Hispanic and looked for any reason to fire her that she could get away with. If she knew Lydia was half-Black, she wouldn’t try to be half as sneaky about it and just outright fire her.

She swabbed Shea butter over her lips and huffed. She was down to the last of it, like her gel, her lotion, and most other necessities she couldn’t afford to replace right now.

It was impossible to hate her sperm donor more, she was sure, but in moments like this, she wondered if there was some undiscovered space for more fury.

A glance at the time, said she didn’t have time to think more about it.

She threw her bag inside, grabbed her apron, and locked the locker again, hustling to the time station. Grabbing the tablet, the keys, and a fresh cup of coffee with cream and sugar, she darted to her assigned golf cart full of cleaning supplies with a whole five minutes to spare and took off.

The first taste of the ultra-fancy coffee the Fortuna Resort kept for the staff jolted her awake. The cool, humid breeze of the early morning cooled her skin as she drove to the Knox Villa.

Knox had owned it since Lydia had started working for the Resort. It was the first and only villa she’d been assigned. She like to think it was because she was quick and efficient, but she figured out that hockey villas were reserved for staff whom they wanted to quit.

They were all several steps past superstitious and very particular, but with they paid to own a piece of the Resort, could anyone blame them?

She tapped her foot and rolled her shoulders as she reached the charging station beside the villa. The car parked in the driveway was as crooked as ever, but she really hoped he wasn’t there.

She’d been lucky to never run into him. She didn’t want that to change today. Her stupid had-to-be-pristine white maid shoes were hard from all the white paint she’d coated them with to make them last a little longer, and she was pretty sure her supervisor was going to call her out about it.

Knox would probably throw a fit at the sight of them, and losing this job wasn’t an option right now.

She’d just barely made enough to pay for all of her books and supplies for the semester and could start contributing meaningfully to Quillan’s legal fees. With a bit of luck, the next leg of her marketing campaign would increase her sales traffic, and she could get them to the retainer amount.

She pressed her hands together, shut her eyes, and offered up a prayer to whichever god might hear her.

Please keep my brother safe until I can get him out. I promise we’ll take it from there.

Lydia left the rest of her coffee in the cup holder, hopped out, plugged the cart in, checked in on the tablet, and dragged the caddy from the back toward the side door. The wheels caught and bumped on the separations between the giant stones that made up the walkway.

“¡Buenos Días, Lydia!”

She smiled and waved at Hector as he rode past on his riding mower in his wide-brimmed hat and sunny smile.

“Buenos Días, Héctor.”

“Brace yourself.” He shook his head and shuddered. “You know how they are with that big Cup. It’s a mess in there.”

“It always is. Thanks for the warning.”

Knox had played for the Centurions since he graduated high school and had an addiction to wild parties during the off-season. Until they started training, the mess would be several steps up from normal in every villa owned by a hockey player. It was probably going to be even worse since their star center had broken up with his high school sweetheart just before the championship game.

She pulled a mask over her face and keyed in the code. The smell of spilled liquor and the familiar green scent of weed wafted out when she cracked the door.

“Housekeeping!”