“How much do they get?”
“I don’t know exactly. I paid just over a hundred thousand for blondie and the black girl.”
The blond’s stomach growled.
“Are you hungry?” Ben asked.
Jake grabbed his crotch. “I fed her this morning.”
The prospect of food made the blond look up.
“If they’ve been kneeling here for three hours, they’re probably hungry. Don’t you feed your slaves?”
“Sure. I just—it wasn’t lunchtime yet.”
Ben looked at his watch. “It’s past noon. Get them something to eat.”
Jake stared at him in disbelief. Ben could tell he wasn’t making any friends ordering Jake about, but he wasn’t interested in being the guy’s brah.
“You are the host,” Ben added.
With a discontented snort, Jake walked over to the expansive Tuscan-inspired kitchen, opened up the well-stocked refrigerator and pulled out a brand-new jar of pickles. Walking back, he set the jar on the coffee table near the women.
Ben crossed his arms. “Open it.”
“They’re not incompetent.” Jake nodded to the blond. “Help yourself to some pickles, slut.”
The blond reached for the jar and tried to twist the cap off. Jake had already stalked off to the bar, so Ben took the jar from the blond and twisted the cap off for her. She reached in eagerly for a pickle.
“Just Slut #1,” Jake called from the bar. “I’m not happy with the other one.”
Ben looked at the second woman, expecting her to hang her head in disappointment. Her stomach had rumbled, too. Instead, she seemed to expect Jake’s response. Her jaw tightened and her eyes flashed.
“How come?” Ben inquired.
“She wouldn’t eat her breakfast.” Jake smiled as if listening to some silent inside joke.
Ben looked at her cheek again. Though her skin was darker than what Ben was used to assessing, the discoloration in her cheek was definitely the beginning of a bruise. “So you hit her?”
“I didn’t hit her. What do you mean?”
“Her cheek.” Dipshit.
“What about her cheek?”
“It looks swollen.”
J
ake shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t notice anything. I’m gonna go see if Vince went to pick up some lunch.”
After Jake had left and while the blond was finishing off her third pickle, Ben turned to the older woman. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. She also looked intelligent. He had noticed her studying him, sizing him up. He sensed she was a little on edge but didn’t want to show it. Only when his gaze dropped to her naked body—he couldn’t help but look at those inviting curves—did she show any discomfort. When his gaze went back to her eyes, he read their message loud and clear.
Fuck you, they said.
“Just got a text from Derek that they’re almost here,” Jake announced upon returning.
“How much for her?” Ben asked. The words were out of his mouth before he could think on them.