Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

His eyes pierced me, digging deep for truth. “You mean it? You’re really going to run this show as it should be run? She’s not completely gobbled you up?”

My scoff sounded vacant. “I think it’s you who’s lost your mind, brother, if you think I’m capable of being gobbled up by anything.”

He came to a standstill outside the office doorway. “You’re going to accept the bids and get them scheduled?”

I didn’t nod. “Please, like you need to ask me that question.” I slapped him again on his shoulder. “You’ve been talking to Drake too much. The guy is paranoid to shit about his cash injection, always has been. Maybe he’s been going too hard on the underworld poker stakes.”

“He says you’re fucked. He says you need taking down from the leader post.”

I forced a stupid smirk. “Yeah, like he’ll stand true to that opinion when I start the scheduling process.”

I despised the shudder creeping up my spine, but Eric seemed oblivious, shrugging as he took my hollow words onboard. “As long as you’re sure, Bran. I know I wanted in on the stakes, but you’re still my fucking brother. This is still your bag.” He punched my arm like a kid in the playground. “Don’t wanna see you disappear. Went through that shit enough for one lifetime already with Dad, didn’t we?”

I didn’t respond, having no desire whatsoever to revisit the passing of our father.

He was right. We went through that shit more than enough for one lifetime already.

Just a few days prior I’d have stated that it was Henry Drake who’d graced me at my weakest by dragging me out of the aftermath, regardless of what an utter prick I’d come to think of him as in the past few years.

The fact I now had even a sliver of doubt that Drake had graced me at all was another glaring testament to my oncoming insanity.

“I’ll head out with the guys,” Eric said. “Bring you back some lunch from the pier to big you up for your show this evening.”

I knew he was after a lunchtime beer with his friends on the payroll. For once I didn’t care.

“Make it a good one,” I told him. “It’s going to be quite a show this evening, believe me.”

He liked this comment. His whole face lit up at the thought.

Relief, I guess.

Relief and the dick in his pants.

“Oh, I believe it’ll be a good one,” he said, and this time his slap on my shoulder was full of bloated camaraderie. “Can’t wait for Drake to fucking see it. We’ll have bids coming out of our assholes by this time tomorrow if you give it another good one tonight.”

I watched him leave with a smile plastered on my face, back straight and shoulders firm as some of the guys from the back room joined him for their seaside jaunt.

I only wished I believed my shit as much as he seemed to.

I waited for the rumble of the car outside before I unlocked my mobile handset.

Lance picked up on the third ring, keen to bleat on about how he was still making inroads to Rebecca Lane’s disappearance when I cut him off with a new instruction.

“Jake Wharton,” I told him with no niceties. “Get me his mobile phone number.”Chapter Twenty-FivePaigeEvery mark he’d put on my skin was testament to the monster I was falling in love with.

I surveyed myself in the coolness of the bathroom mirror. I stretched and turned, keen to view every aspect of his signature on my body.

I should be horrified, scared shitless for the days ahead of me, but I felt a weird wash of pride at being his dirty possession.

The devil on my shoulder must have been fully in command in this haunted place, the angel long since bailed.

I ran my hands over my breasts, teasing the tenderness. I was sore yet sensitive. My nipples strained for more contact.

I wondered what lay ahead that evening. If my beautiful master would ease up on my bruises and focus on a different kind of entertainment for the viewers. If maybe he’d make me retch and vomit, or stretch and humiliate me until I cried hard tears for those watching.

I wondered if I’d feel his mouth on mine again. If he’d be as hungry for the kiss as I’d felt in him the night before. If he’d lift me just as tenderly and hold me in the warmth of his arms to recover.

I wondered if I’d be able to walk away from such beautiful contact when my sixty days here were done, without so much as looking back at the man who’d claimed my soul as his.

I forced myself to push the thoughts aside. My world here was about doing what I was told. Taking each day as it came. Surviving through whatever it took to provide my sister with the lifeline she needed.