Hi, I'm new here. And i hope my story is recognized and loved by my viewers

Grab a chair hold your bread and akara while i type.

This book is a work of
fiction, any names, places,
and situations portrayed
within are products of the
author’s imagination.

Chapter 1

Oh great, a used condom.
Oh, wow, super, a bloodstain.
What is this even, yogurt?
Who does this to a pillow? Was it very necessary, whoever you are, to completely cover the walls with shit?
What is this…oh please… don’t even…no…yup, it’s piss.
Jesus Christ, is it that hard to put your used needles in the
damn trash can?
Oh…a dollar tip, how nice, considering they left an entire week’s worth of rotting fast food and half-empty beers all over the floor.
How did they manage to get cum on the ceiling?! That’s
actually impressive, I can’t even be mad…
All in a day’s work for me. I pushed my cart from room to
room, arms sore from scrubbing at mysterious stains, clothes splotched with bleach, mind numb to what wonders might await me behind the next door.
People are animals, I tell ya. No one knows that as much as a cleaning lady at a hotel. And, no, before you start dreaming up my identity for me, I’m not an “illegal alien”.
I am half-Latina, but I’m a full blooded American citizen, born and raised, and I speak perfect English, thank you very much.
What is it about staying at a hotel that can turn even a
mild-mannered person into an untamed beast with no problem pissing all over the floor or dumping an ashtray
onto their sheets before checking out? Is it because it’s not their home, so they don’t care what happens to it? Is it because they don’t realize someone like me has to come and clean it up? Or – and perhaps this is the scariest possibility – is it possible that they’re actually like that at home, too, and
you just never see it? Not everyone who came through the doors of the Gateway were like that, of course, but way too many were. We had our fair share of families, businesspeople, truckers. But for every guest
who left the room in a decent state, there were two
prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers, alcoholics, or other
such devils who took it upon themselves to make my job as
hard as humanely possible.

And I never held anything against those people for what
they did. If you’re a lady and you need money and you don’t mind letting someone give you the old in-out to get some, go on with your bad self. Got a drinking problem and can’t drive home? By all means, keep everyone safe and stay at the hotel. Need to “figure stuff out” through a drug-fueled weekend? Not my place to judge. But, goddam, a little decorum would be nice to see once in a while.
“Gabriella, Rosa is taking her
break now, can you make
sure 215 is ready? Early check-in,
” my walkie-talkie crackled on my hip.
“Already checked it, boss, all
good,
” I said, pushing down the ‘talk’ button and hoping
that my manager would actually hear me for once instead of badgering me about why I “didn’t respond”.
The woman was a sweetheart, but she was deaf as hell and
the flask of vodka she sipped on all day didn’t help her
comprehension skills.
As I heaved my cart down the hall, legs already aching from
all the bending over and crouching down my job demanded, I tried not to think about what would happen at the end of my shift. To be honest, as much as I hated playing nursemaid to the lost souls of the world, tidying up after them, wondering whether that puddle was vomit or melted ice cream,
there wasn’t a whole lot to look forward to once I was
done for the day, either.
It was late June, when it’s really only just beginning to
warm up in the high Rockies. Maybe it’s a good night for a
barbeque, I thought idly, until I opened up the door to the
next room and my list and remembered that it was
raining lightly. No use stopping at the store on my
way home for hamburgers
and potato chips. Maybe I’ll make oats, I
thought. Oats is good for
a rainy day. Jeremy loves my
Oats. Oats was a safe bet. Anything that I already knew
Jeremy loved was a safe bet. Anything I wasn’t sure about
was a gamble. And if I made anything that he’d told me
once, even if he’d said it years ago in a conversation
that I had no reason to remember, I was treading on
ice so thin it might as well be
paper.
Yeah, oats, I thought,
thankful that this room, at least, wasn’t as bad as some
of the others I’d seen that day. As I pulled up the
covers, balling them up with the sheets, ready to throw
them in the hamper, I made a quick mental inventory of the
room. I was looking for chargers, cell phones, socks,
shoes, a ski goggle, anything that a rushed guest might
have left behind on their way out the door.
You’d be surprised what people leave behind in hotel
rooms. Usually it’s just crap, but sometimes you find
interesting things: photographs, mysterious pills,
strange powders in baggies, gold jewelry. Some of the
girls I worked with, I knew, were prone to taking such
finds home with them instead
of bringing them to the front desk, like we were supposed
to. I didn’t hold it against them, but I always brought
anything I found straight to the clerks to hold onto or
dispose of as they saw fit.

It wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught, for me. And
besides, I didn’t do drugs, and I didn’t need jewelry. Jeremy,
though he had many flaws, was an excellent provider. Or,
I should say, the police force he worked for was an
excellent provider. We didn’t want for money. The fact I
had this job at all was due to one of his whims.
After we’d married, three years before the shit hit the
fan, he didn’t like the idea of me “sitting around at home” all day. Unfortunately, he also didn’t like the idea of me
getting a job that would be “too mentally taxing” or take
up “too much time”. Really, he just wanted me to get a job
where I’d come home too dog-tired to do anything but
put up with his shit, and working for housekeeping at
the hotel was the perfect mix of physical labor and mind￾numbing repetition.

“But what did I get a degree
for, if I can’t do anything with it?” I’d said, still so
naïve.
“Well, I don’t know what you
got a degree for, I sure as hell didn’t tell you to get it. I mean, what can you even do with a degree in philosophy?
You’d have to go to grad school if you want to make
anything of yourself, and we can’t afford that right now.
Besides, if you went back to school, you’d have your nose
in a book all the time again, no time for me. I waited two
years to have you all to myself, I don’t want to wait
another four,
” he’d replied,
appealing to that sappy part of me that loved him beyond
reason.
“I guess you’re right,
” I’d resigned, not wanting to havethe same argument again for the third time that week.
After our honeymoon, that had been our first major
issue. The first of many, I’d like to add.
So I’d started looking for a job. With almost no work
experience, it was tough. I could flip burgers, but that
seemed beneath me, and with a degree I was way
overqualified, anyway. I wanted to take a position as a
secretary at a law firm, but Jeremy had thought that
would be too stressful for me, with crazy hours and
demanding lawyers to cater to. He was the only man I
should be catering to, in his opinion.
So, I’d taken the gig as housekeeper at the Gateway.
I’m pretty sure I was only hired because I looked like I
could speak Spanish. Which I can’t, by the way. Well, I can,
but only curse words. Plus, my name, Gabriella, is only
one “l” away from the traditional Hispanic spelling
of the same name, blurring the line even further. Being
half Puerto Rican and half Italian, I’m what they call
“ethnically ambiguous”, which is a nice way of saying
“no one knows what the hell you are right from looking at
you.”
With large, almond-shaped,

It wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught, for me. And
besides, I didn’t do drugs, and I didn’t need jewelry. Jeremy,
though he had many flaws, was an excellent provider. Or,
I should say, the police force he worked for was an
excellent provider. We didn’t want for money. The fact I
had this job at all was due to one of his whims.
After we’d married, three years before the shit hit the
fan, he didn’t like the idea of me “sitting around at home” all day. Unfortunately, he also didn’t like the idea of me
getting a job that would be “too mentally taxing” or take
up “too much time”. Really, he just wanted me to get a job
where I’d come home too dog-tired to do anything but
put up with his shit, and working for housekeeping at
the hotel was the perfect mix of physical labor and mind￾numbing repetition.

“But what did I get a degree
for, if I can’t do anything with it?” I’d said, still so
naïve.
“Well, I don’t know what you
got a degree for, I sure as hell didn’t tell you to get it. I mean, what can you even do with a degree in philosophy?
You’d have to go to grad school if you want to make
anything of yourself, and we can’t afford that right now.
Besides, if you went back to school, you’d have your nose
in a book all the time again, no time for me. I waited two
years to have you all to myself, I don’t want to wait
another four,
” he’d replied,
appealing to that sappy part of me that loved him beyond
reason.
“I guess you’re right,
” I’d resigned, not wanting to havethe same argument again for the third time that week.
After our honeymoon, that had been our first major
issue. The first of many, I’d like to add.
So I’d started looking for a job. With almost no work
experience, it was tough. I could flip burgers, but that
seemed beneath me, and with a degree I was way
overqualified, anyway. I wanted to take a position as a
secretary at a law firm, but Jeremy had thought that
would be too stressful for me, with crazy hours and
demanding lawyers to cater to. He was the only man I
should be catering to, in his opinion.
So, I’d taken the gig as housekeeper at the Gateway.
I’m pretty sure I was only hired because I looked like I
could speak Spanish. Which I can’t, by the way. Well, I can,
but only curse words. Plus, my name, Gabriella, is only
one “l” away from the traditional Hispanic spelling
of the same name, blurring the line even further. Being
half Puerto Rican and half Italian, I’m what they call
“ethnically ambiguous”, which is a nice way of saying
“no one knows what the hell you are right from looking at
you.”
With large, almond-shaped, dark chocolate eyes, a deep
tan complexion, and crazy, kinky, black hair that does
whatever it wants at all times, I’ve been mistaken for a Jew,
a Mexican, a Filipino, and even, on one occasion, a
Hawaiian. My body, though, is pure Latina. I blessedly
missed out on the dark body hair and stick-thin frame of
my Italian mother, and got my paternal grandmother’s
luscious hips, large, C-cup breasts, and wide, womanly
thighs. Not that I always appreciated that, mind you. In fact, when I was with Jeremy all those years, I hated it. He was as
Irish as they get, pale as the moon and thin as a rail. He
always made me feel like I was fat.
He’d buy clothes for me, intentionally buying sizes too
large, because he knew that it made me think I belonged in
the “plus” size section. He’d make little backhanded
compliments about my roly￾poly tummy, which never seemed to shrink no matter how much I tried to diet or
exercise.

I’ll need a touch-up soon, I thought, brow furrowed, hand
gently touching the tender spot above my left eyebrow
where my concealer was just starting to look splotchy. You
could just barely, if you looked hard enough, make
out the dark purple markings underneath my make-up. I
flinched under my own touch, the spot still tender although
it’d been three days.

Chapter 2

Reign barely looked up from the girl whose legs were
draped across his lap as Endowalked into the back office.
“’Sup,
” Reign said, his hands busy playing with the girl’s
tight curls, bouncing them up and down. She was giggling
like a lunatic. It wasn’t exactly a sexy sound, more
annoying than anything else, but Reign was tired, and she
was there, and she wasn’t a challenge. He wished she had something to say besides “like”, “cool” and “hot”
, though. He knew that in reality she probably
had a hell of a lot more to say than those few words, but she
probably thought he wanted her to be a bimbo. Whatever It wasn’t worth the effort to explain to her that,
sometimes, men like a woman with a little substance
to her – in mind and body. The girl looked cute as shit in
booty shorts and a crop top, but she also looked cold, and
young, and thin. The word squeaky came to mind.
“So, you know that dealer,the one who thought we were
giving him the run-around on that dope deal?”
“You mean, the one we aregiving the run-around?”
Reign asked with a chuckle, drawing his eyes away from
the lollipop on his lap long enough to look at Endo
expectantly “He’s out front, rantin’ and
ravin’ ” Endo said. “Honey’s doing her best to placate the
guy, but he’s hollerin’ for blood.”
“Look, that ain’t my deal, it’s Knicker’s. Get him on it, Endo,
” Reign said, annoyed.
He’d just gotten back from a huge illegal immigrant job,
hustling migrant workers and pregnant women over the
border to Utah. He wanted to enjoy this perky brunette for
an hour, drink himself into incoherence, and sleep for a
day and a half. Lord, Reign loved to sleep, and he hadn’t
had much of it the past three days.
“Knicker ain’t here,
” Endo
said. “You’re top dog right
now.”
“Well, Bleep, have we even
changed money with the guy?
Ain’t it all just been talk?”
“Yeah, think so. As far as I know, we ain’t even got
specifics down.” “Bleep it. Tell him he can
calm down and come back when Knicker’s here, or the
deal’s off altogether and he can try and sell ten pounds of
dope in a small town in a state with a population of 2 million. He needs us more than we need him,
” Reign said. “I’m serious. Tell him no one here cares about this deal. It’s Knicker just trying to show off to the boss. He
can come back and talk to Knicker, or he can Bleep off
and never show his face around here again.”Alright, boss,
” Endo said,
disappearing through the doorhe’d come in through.
“Go lock the door, honey,”
Reign said to the giggly, squirming chick. She
bounced off the sofa, exactly like a bunny from her hopping little gait to her twitchy little nose. Returning
to the sofa, she seemed to be trying to walk seductively. It
seemed forced. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Reign
reached out as she got closer, grabbing her by the belt, pulling her giggling form in between his knees.He looked up at her as she blushed, taking the top of her
barely-there shorts in his teeth and snarling comically.
She laughed again, the sound getting a little bit sexier now
that Reign was actually getting turned on.
He released her shorts bringing a hand up to them,
unbuttoning them and letting them slide down her long,
smooth legs to the floor. She was wearing a sheer thong,
and Reign leaned forward, nosing his way between her
shaven folds, breathing deeply. She giggled again,
pushing his head away. He, in turn, pushed her hands away,then proceeded to pull her thong down to join her shorts on the floor.
“Bleep, baby,
” he said, unable to remember her name. He
leaned forward again,wanting to pry those pretty pink lips apart and lick her until she squealed for real.
But she stopped him once more.
“No, that’s gross!” she said,
backing away.
“Gross? C’mon, let me taste
you, girl,
” he said, pulling her back, hands cupping her ass,
pulling her slit towards him once more. His tongue darted
out in anticipation. The only thing Reign loved more than
sleeping was feeling girls come under his tongue. In
fact, if he could eat girls out in his sleep, he’d be the
happiest man on planet earth. He’d only wake up to eat,
piss, and make money “No, really, that’s weird,
Reign, I don’t like it,” the twiggy girl said, her tone
turning serious. Reign let his hands fall to his sides, ire
spiking. He didn’t like being turned down, but he wasn’t
about to rape the poor thing. “You don’t know what you’re missing, doll, ” he said,
hoping to entice her. “Mmmm, neither do you,
baby,
” she said, suddenly dropping to her knees and
crawling forward, somewhat awkwardly, until she was
between his legs, one hand on each of his thighs. Reign
sighed inwardly, but he forced a smile. What kinda
man would I be if I turned down a nice BJ from a nice
girl? He thought, still disappointed but willing to
take what he could. He kind of just wanted it to be over so
he could crash. The little brunette teased him
slightly, or at least tried to, wiggling her scant-but-perky
chest under his nose while slowly unzipping his pants,
releasing his huge cock. She gasped, 100% genuine, when
she saw it, and seemed to rethink her plan of attack.
Reign encouraged her with a slight stroke on the back of
the head, nudging her forward. She flicked her tongue across the purple, puffy head before pulling
back with another grin and smile.