Tales of Darkness & Sin - Pepper Winters Page 0,190

repeating that your life is in peril. Leave, Saff, for God’s sake.

Hating myself and the idiocy of my knickers, I hurled myself down the next flight of stairs. There were no drapes or upholstery to snag and hide my indecency—there was nothing left to do but run.

My toes gripped the concrete; I tried my hardest not to think of people watching my mostly naked butt.

The stairwell echoed with the mind-splintering alarm and people’s urgent voices. The walls hemmed us in, closing heavier and heavier with claustrophobia.

I wanted out. I wanted fresh air and safety. Lengthening my stride, I took two steps at a time—my bare feet nimble.

Beep Be—

The alarm cut off—strangled, leaving blistering silence in its wake.

I looked up to the ceiling, expecting to see flames attacking the warning system, but there was nothing—just a pure white ceiling.

Then I was blinded as bright fluorescents switched on, drenching the non-descript stairwell and perspiring guests with light.

The intercom clicked into life.

“There is no cause for alarm. We apologise for the inconvenience. We repeat, there is no cause for alarm.”

Static and crackle interrupted the speaker before continuing:

“Please, return to your rooms at your earliest convenience. There is no fire, just a faulty connection with our electrical system. We repeat, the local fire station has assured us it’s a false alarm. You are encouraged to return to your rooms. We apologise again for this inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience? A mad run at three fucking a.m.? That’s more than a damn inconvenience,” a man with a beer belly growled.

A woman with two snivelling children scowled. “Bloody fantastic. We have a flight in three hours. No way will I get them back to sleep.”

Grumbles and curses rose from the displaced and rudely awoken guests.

My own annoyance sat heavy on my chest, but in reality, I would’ve preferred the mad dash than burning alive in my bed—half-naked or not.

Shuffles and footsteps changed direction, trading jogging for an angry plod back up to their rooms.

Wives stalked past with bleary-eyed husbands, their curled upper lips shouting just what they thought of my attire, while their husbands did their best not to get caught gawking.

Keeping one arm around my chest and the other pointed between my legs, I swallowed my pride and turned around, following the herd upstairs. So what—children and fat men could see my G-stringed butt. In a few months, my breasts would be broadcast on every movie screen around the world. Fellow actors would touch me in places not many people had, producers would order me to make my ‘cum face’ more believable, and old high school friends would witness the full frontal that I’d agreed to do to land the role.

Embarrassment had no room in my world anymore—not if I wanted a successful career.

It’s just skin.

Cocking my chin, I dropped my arms, and climbed the rest of the stairs with shaky confidence.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MOMENT I charged through the heavy fire door and back onto my floor, I grabbed a glossy magazine—the only thing on the skinny side table—and fanned the pages against my chest while striding toward my door.

Sure, it was only skin, but I had to cultivate my confidence. Baby steps.

I couldn’t expect to be the sleek, poised actress I portrayed at my audition overnight. After all, I came from a small town a few hours from Sydney. I’d been on my own for six years, since my parents died in a horrible bush fire, and used the measly life insurance to pay for a course in drama.

Every day had been a struggle.

Every day I ached for company.

And every damn day I looked at the poster of Los Angeles and vowed that I would make it.

The day my parents died, I died, too. I cut myself off from friends—removed myself from the human race—and spent my time as a hermit. It wasn’t until I realised I’d been acting impeccably when asked the question ‘how are you’ that my coping mechanism had given me a way to freedom. I could create a world where I’d become different characters with different problems and heartaches—I would be safe from feeling the truth.

I would be a chameleon.

Reaching my door, in the regiment of other doors, I pressed down on the handle.

I frowned as it didn’t budge.

I pressed on the handle…

Shit!

Of course, it’s locked. And where was the key? In the stupid switch that permitted lights to turn on—inside the room.

“Great,” I groaned, pressing my forehead against the smooth veneer. Not only was it three a.m., but I now had to head to