Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

Rebecca Lane really was fucking crazy.

My jaw was gritted tight when I hit the redial button.

This time she cancelled before the second ring and my fury got the better of me.

My fingers were deft on the keypad, making light work of the text.

You are both brave and stupid to cancel my call, Miss Lane. We need to talk. Make time or I’ll make it for you.

I made sure the message was delivered successfully before I opted to call it a night and turn my phone right off, fuck the applications and messages and every other fucking thing. I shoved the deadened handset back in my pocket. If the girl had any sense whatsoever, she’d have messages waiting for me when I brought it to life in the morning.

I met Eric in the hallway on my way back inside, holding up a hand to counter his enthusiasm when I saw him waving his own phone. Damn these useless applications.

“No,” I said. “Not even close. Fake. Slutty. Pointless.”

His brows knitted. “No, not that one. Fresh bid,” he said. “Mr Strangulation Fetish wants you to fuck her ass on private webcam in twenty minutes while she screams his name on repeat.”

My enthusiasm didn’t even blip from a flatline. Sleep was beckoning with considerably more appeal than spearing Annabel Fisher’s tight little asshole for a small-dicked Polish tech baron.

“How much does he want it?” I asked, and Eric smiled.

“Twenty-five. Thirty-five if you choke her while she’s screaming. Forty-five if you choke her til she blacks out.”

“Fucking hell,” I hissed, well aware of my own ingratitude at a decent offer for getting balls deep in pretty asshole.

Eric’s head tipped, smile still bright. “Don’t tell me you’re done with that little beauty. I’d fuck her ass for free.”

I saw it then, loud and clear. I guess it was the blush which bloomed bright on his cheekbones. The dart of his eyes to the floor when I checked him over.

He liked her. Liked potty-mouthed little Annabel Fisher. Liked her shouting, screaming protesting little voice. Her sweet curves. Her dirty hole winking tight as soon as a decent few fingers threatened.

“You want her,” I said and he shrugged.

“Well yeah, she’s a pretty girl. Anyone would want her.”

It was my turn to smile. “Not enough to get all schoolboy shifty about it.”

His eyes twinkled when they met mine. “I’m not shifty, just give me a shot. I’m up for it. We’re from the same fucking stock, Bran. I can keep my dick up long enough to make a good impression. Try me out.”

I shouldn’t consider it, not for a moment. Not my younger brother with his big needy bollocks. Not for a second.

But I did.

I considered it enough that he spotted my weakness and straightened his back, eyes hard and hungry.

“I can do it,” he insisted. “Believe me, I can. Just give me a shot. Maybe she’ll even enjoy it.”

I knew I was crazy right there and then. I knew I was a fool for considering putting someone else in charge of shit. As my mother always said, if you want something done properly, you’d better make sure you do it your fucking self.

There’s no way I should have let Eric fuck Annabel Fisher’s filthy little ass on webcam for twenty-five grand of filthy money. Not now, not ever.

Luckily my senses came back into focus before my complacency got the better of me.

“No,” I said. “He’ll have to wait. She isn’t ready.”

“I can make her ready. Honestly, Bran, just give me a chance.”

I laughed out loud and gave him a slap on his arm. “Nice try, Eric. Maybe one day.”

His face dropped in an instant.

“I can fucking do it, Bran.”

“Maybe,” I replied. “But it won’t be tonight. She’s not ready, and neither are you. Send him a next week response and put it to bed.”

“This is bullshit,” he spat in a tone that betrayed his levels of interest in the petulant little bitch upstairs. “It’s good money for a good service. And I can do it.”

“It’s good money for a good service she’s not ready to take yet.”

His eyes seared mine, but mine burned harder. I straightened to my full height, the few inches difference between us booming loud and clear.

I was bigger. Stronger. In brawn as well as brains.

“You’re a control freak piece of shit, Bran,” he said finally. “When that little Paige bitch fails to impress the masses and leaves your bet up shit creek without a fucking paddle, I’ll remind you that I’m fifty-fifty and can get in on the action with whoever I fucking want.”

“She won’t fail,” I told him. “And when she brings in more money than we’ve ever fucking seen in this establishment, I’ll remind you to get the fuck into your subordinate position and keep your fucking mouth shut.”

My shoulder jarred his on the way past, my anger flaring on top of itself as I tracked upstairs and past Annabel’s room on the way to my own.