Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

He was right.

The stupid jackass was fucking right for once in his life.

“He did this to you?” I asked, and pressed the towel a little tighter.

His groan conveyed everything, but words spluttered out alongside.

“He said this was a token gesture for taking the wrong side of the battle lines. Said he’d be back in touch when I’d had the chance to learn my lesson.” He gripped my wrist as I made to rise to my feet, holding on tight. “He said to tell you to stay fucking clear of him if you value your spleen intact. Said Paige Emmerson’s sixty days were the last thing you should be worried about if you had a scrap of sense in that fucked up head of yours.”

But I didn’t have a scrap of sense in that fucked up head of mine.

Not anymore.

I pulled free of Eric and landed a fresh squeeze on his shoulder before getting to my feet. Then I lit up a cigarette, pacing out to the front porch with my jaw clenched tight.

My fingers were sharp on the phone keypad. I pressed his contact number without even a pause for thought.

He answered on the third ring.

“Well, well,” he said, in Henry Drake’s typical cuntish tone. “I was wondering if you’d be foolish enough to call.”

“Let’s talk,” I snapped. “Let’s talk Paige Emmerson. I’ll give you whatever you fucking want for her, just bring her right the fuck back here right now.”

His laugh was bitter. Twisted.

“Brandon, Brandon, Brandon,” he sneered, and I hated him with every fucking scrap of my being. “There’s nothing I want bar happy clients, just as you claim to. I’ll be taking over the sixty days from here on in.”

“Bullshit!” I hissed. “That’s fucking bullshit, Drake, and you know it! You fucking know it! Just fucking tell me what you want to get this conversation started!”

But the prick was already gone.END OF PART TWO