Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

“I’ll bet you a beer or two,” he offered finally, and my laugh was evil.

“And the fucking rest,” I said, and slapped the pretty picture of my sweet little slut back down on his desk. “I bet my entire sixty-day payday that she’ll make more money than we’ve ever seen from one girl.”

His eyes widened. “You want to bet the whole lot?”

“The whole fucking lot. My percentage against yours.”

He tipped his head. “Let me get this straight. You’ll give me your whole payout if she makes less than the Lane girl?”

“I’ll give you my whole payout if she makes less than any girl we’ve ever offered.”

I watched his brain ticking, working out the risks as his fingers strummed her printed picture.

His confusion made me all the more venomous.

His inability to see the potential in such a blissful little diamond was enough to condemn his fate as my second in command for all time. I’d been seeing it for months, his ever boldening pushes for some semblance of responsibility, even when it wasn’t deserved.

I knew he was a long way from capable, but he didn’t. The prick didn’t have any concept of his own stupidity. Not now, and not ever before.

It should never come in any way close to him running this show, not in a million fucking years. He’d never even come close to reaching a level footing on my watch.

But still, I’ve always been a gambler. It’s a streak of hedonism that I enjoy greatly.

“I’ll give you more than my payout,” I expanded. “If she doesn’t come up trumps as the biggest earner on the block, I’ll give you equal governing power from then on in. Your word will be as good as mine.” I paused. “On the flip side, if she does come up trumps as the ultimate pay day, then you’ll shut your mouth forever more and do what you’re fucking told without question.”

His strumming fingers stilled. Brain ticking all over again.

“I think you’re finally off the mark on this one, bro,” he said, strangely smug. “There’s no way in hell that girl will outdo the others. She doesn’t look anything like good enough.”

The prick should never have taken the deal. My confidence in my wager should’ve been ample enough fuel to send him running.

It was another nail in the coffin of his intellect when he offered his hand in acceptance.

My handshake was firm. My fingers crushed his and held fast.

The meeting of our eyes spoke louder than the handshake, his younger sibling ambition pitting itself hard against my authority. The burgeoning fire in him was begging to be hosed down cold with his tattered pride.

I’d do it gladly.

There would only be one winner in this, just as there was only one winner in anything that counted for shit in life.

I was smirking long before the handshake was over.

That one winner was always me.Chapter ThirteenPaigeI woke with a start, checking under my pillows with frantic fingers in the dark.

Dirty notes rustled under my fingertips. So many I felt sick.

Sick at what I’d earned. Sick at what I’d done.

But more than that, sick at what I wanted to come.

My heart was pounding, hair sticky with sweat even in the chill of the room.

The pain was still right there between my legs. The ache booming loud with every little move I made.

But it had been worth it. So worth it.

The money was worth everything I had to give. The nightmares could go running; I’d had enough of them for a lifetime already.

I’d counted every sorry used bank note before I attempted sleep. Two thousand pounds. Two whole seedy dirty thousand pounds.

I’d never seen that kind of cash, nor anything close to it. Crumpled twenties on the coffee table when I was a kid were like lottery wins in our house. With a father who drank most of his wages before heading home every Friday, a few loose coins to buy scrappy groceries from the corner shop was the cash win of the century.

If this money was enough to blow my senses – and it was – then two hundred and fifty thousand pounds was beyond comprehension.

I’d never have believed in the possibility of truly earning that kind of money, not for a heartbeat. Not without Carolyn Lane confirming her sister really had come out the other side with everything they promised her.

I only hoped the interim cash would be enough to get the scum off Phoebe’s back in time. She needed it soon. Real soon.

I sent her a text message before I showered for college that morning, making sure to keep it as vague as I could in case her dickhead boyfriend saw it first.

I can help. I’ll call you later. Stay safe. x

I checked for a reply as I stepped out from my dorm room, but there was none waiting. I forced the worry aside and made myself follow my usual routine.