Own My Soul (Sixty Days 3)

Be careful.

His reply came back quickly.

Don’t worry. I got this.

But did he? Had I ever really known Eric handle anything without incident?

I lit up another cigarette as I paced back and forth. Eric was full of mishaps and misdemeanours. Boarding school had seen me step into so many quarrels and idiot moves he’d made over the years — the older brother smoothing things out for the incompetent younger one. Home life had seen me shaking my head continuously as I’d stepped in to keep the peace, hiding whatever mess of incidents from the view of our father.

Back when I cared.

Back when he was the kid brother I slung my arm around the shoulders of and wanted to protect at the cost of all else.

What typical timing for this urge for protection to start rearing its head again, at the point he was about to head into the biggest danger of his whole fucking life. For my benefit, as well as his.

What typical timing for a whole whirlwind of shit to arise on top of shit, nothing but a whole plethora of emotional chaos to wade my way out of.

I forced my attention to other practical matters. I’d known Drake’s property portfolio well over the years. There were a couple of potentials up by Preston. A good friend of his on the outskirts of the city itself that I’d known him to conduct plenty of business from, and a manor of his own further north still.

She’d be in one of those. Certainly.

I wondered if she was thinking of me, pretty little Paige. I wondered if she was craving my touch, my words, my punishment. I wondered if she was craving the swell of me inside that hungry, tight little pussy. If she was all set to beg for more whatever the cost.

If she really loved me half as much as she loved my cock.

And bank balance.

Amelia George certainly hadn’t.

I scrolled through the client messages as I headed back to my desk. So many question marks, but no counteractions, no strong arguments.

Was looking forward to her.

What the fuck??

When do we get the replacement?

WTF??

WTF??

WTF??

?????

I really did fucking hope pretty little Paige Emmerson was worth it. The scroll of my finger up and down the messages and cancelled bookings highlighted so much cash up in smoke. So much profit on the rocks to save her skin for my touch only. A few weeks ago I’d be declaring myself as fucked up in the head as Drake was damning me for.

I was staring into the distance beyond my monitor screen when a throat cleared in the doorway behind me.

One of the injured security team stepped on in with a few of the others to his rear.

Defeated. They looked as defeated as I should feel up against Henry Drake.

“You’re all dismissed,” I told them, before any of them had spoken aloud. “Take a few days of rest, fully paid, I’ll be contacting you for re-engagement when we have another venue lined up.”

They didn’t waste any time retreating, and I didn’t blame them.

The manor was a huge, empty space and I felt it as the daylight dulled and turned to darkness. The manor was a huge, empty space and so was I as I paced around inside it, shackled by time ticking ahead and no immediate action to be taken.

Until the next ping came through to my mobile. Someone wanting our clients’ attention. Someone with a whole load to say live on an upcoming video, just itching to be clicked on.

And it was her.Chapter ElevenPaigeI flicked through a packed out clothes rail, filled with a whole host of slutty and slinky clothes. None of them would suit me for crap in the outside world, but here in this space they would have to do. The video broadcast would have to be believable. That’s what he’d told me, Mr Sinister. That it would have to be believable.

And for it to be believable I needed to be as much like myself as I could possibly be. Clothed was one factor. I didn’t want to be a shivering naked girl professing her interest in serving the crowds and expecting that to be heard loud. I wanted to be me. A girl being normal. A girl telling as much the truth as I could bring myself to tell.

I looked back through the rail of clothes again, trying to focus on the outfit that would give me the most regular appearance. There weren’t many options. Not for well covered, and not for casual. Not for anything but being on a sixty-day episode.

I chose a slip. A satin slip. Dark blue, rich and slippery, with a flouncy lace neckline which would hopefully go some way towards blocking out my still-bruised tits. I tried it on in front of a full length mirror as Mr Sin looked on from the doorway. His sigh of breath was more than enough to remind me he was watching and waiting, but I didn’t use it as a prompter to rush as I turned to examine myself from every angle.