Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

Right then, with the moon overhead and some little slut’s tatty woollen cardigan draped over my forearm, I didn’t give a shit for any of it.

The promise of sixty days with little doe eyes was already about more than the massive cash value she’d generate. My interest in hurting her was already about more than the bids pinging loud behind the scenes.

Hurt me more.

I could still hear the echo of her sordid little whisper. It kept a smirk on my face all the way.

The lights were on downstairs when the imposing grandeur of the manor came into view. I walked through the main entrance doors and past the main security detail without so much as a greeting, draping my little slut’s cardigan over my chair in the office before even glancing over at my brother’s station.

I expected a whole host of questions from him as to my impromptu disappearance, but his own wiry smirk was transparent enough to bypass them all.

“She was worth the time then?” he asked, and the two security guys to his rear gave a chuckle.

“She fucking who?” I quizzed, and Eric’s smirk faltered in a beat.

I didn’t let him out of my glare as he shuffled through paperwork on his desk top. His words were weak when they came. Pathetic. Backtracking at its finest.

“I um, I saw the application,” he muttered. “I was checking admin stuff and saw it listed. I printed it out to take a look at her.”

He held out the crumpled printout and the two guys behind him laughed afresh.

They’d been talking about her. Laughing about her. Laughing about the enthusiasm implied in my prompt meet-up.

More fool them for their stupidity.

“Leave,” I told them with a sweep of my hand.

They knew better than to argue, rising to their feet and bailing into the kitchen without a word of protest.

Eric’s eyes were full of horror by the time the door closed behind them.

“What?” he asked. “I thought I was supposed to be learning… I thought checking out the applicants would be a good thing…”

I was on him in a beat. His cheeks were much heavier than hers when I crushed them hard in my fingers. I wondered if he could smell her on me. If his mouth was watering like mine at the scent of her tight little cunt.

“You think my business endeavours are cheap gossip fodder?” I hissed. “Think you can treat our next potential cash windfall as laughing material with our dumb fuck security team?”

“No,” he said. “I just–”

“Just fucked up,” I finished.

“They weren’t laughing at you, just her–”

I don’t know why the statement gritted my jaw all the harder. I don’t know why the thought of them laughing at the sweet little slut from my beach antics was enough to stir the rage down deep.

“You ever laugh at one of our girls again and I swear to hell it’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do here,” I told him. “You’ll be back home to shit hole suburbia, on the bones of your ass working a nine to five for the rest of your sorry fucking days.”

“Take it easy,” he protested. “It was just a bit of fun.”

“There’s no fun to be had in serious fucking business.”

The idiot had no sense to quit while he was ahead. He looked like the cocky little jerk he was when he opened his mouth again.

“And there’s no serious fucking business in a girl who looks like she’s never even seen a dick in her life,” he mumbled.

Fool.

He was a stupid fucking fool.

The backhander hit hard enough that he whined like a toddler.

“Idiot,” I seethed. “Have you learned nothing about my judgement?”

He clutched his face like the scared little boy I’d defended in our school playground.

“We like girls who can take it, no?” he ventured. “That’s what you told me. You said girls who can take it are our cash cows for the win.”

“We like girls who’ll get the bidders bidding.” I held up the crumpled printout. “This little purchase will have the bidders fucking begging, not just bidding.”

He didn’t get it, that was clear. Not with his idiot eyebrows raised up high as he struggled to comprehend.

He didn’t get anything about the girl with the sad little soul, but he would.

I was a visionary in this seedy business world. Always had been. But even my slow take-up brother would catch on soon enough. They all would.

“You really think she’ll sell?” he asked.

“I think she’ll outsell every piece of pussy we’ve ever put up for bidding. I think she’ll outsell the Lane girl three to one.”

“No fucking way–” he laughed, then checked himself.

It was my turn to smirk. “How much do you want to fucking bet on it?”

He didn’t want to fucking bet on it. His stance shifted before my eyes, weight shifting from hip to hip as he struggled to fathom a way out of the wager.