Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

My jaw ticked as I clocked the arrangements that followed.

Tonight.

They were meeting tonight at the pier. Seven p.m. An exchange of insight between big-mouthed Rebecca and my future sex toy. My lip twitched at the thought of them whispering the backstory girl to girl. A whole fucking depth of slack-jawed blurting that had my rage pumping hard along with my dick.

How fucking intriguing.

There was no denying it. I was enticed by Paige’s reaction to the Lane girl’s recounted stories. I couldn’t hold back my excitement at the thought of the utter filth that Rebecca would grace her sweet little ears with.

I wanted to see it. Hear it. Even fucking taste the surprise on pretty girl’s open lips.

But even more than that I wanted to kill two birds with one very big fucking stone.

I checked my watch.

Perfect fucking timing.

Eric was walking through with a takeout burger when I shrugged on my jacket and smoothed the lapels.

“Annabel will be performing later than usual this evening,” I told him. “Send a notification for the early hours. It’s going to be a rough one, let the clients know it’s worth tuning in late for.”

He nodded as he tossed a handful of fries into his mouth.

I didn’t wait until he’d finished chewing.

I was out of the building before he could think to ask me where I was going.Chapter NineteenPaigeI’d tried my sister at least ten times through the afternoon, calling her on repeat between lectures and on the walk back to my dorm. I’d tried her again when I was picking out an evening outfit and again before dashing across the hallway for a second shower of the day. It went straight to voicemail every single time.

It wasn’t that unusual for her to ignore me for days on end. Drugs did that to her. But this was… different. Her owing so much money to dangerous people sent things into a whole new dimension. Every hour that went by without word gave me another hour of panic on top of panic. I was struggling to keep it in check, putting every ounce of my mental weight firmly onto the jack-in-the-box waiting to spring up and send me crazy. But again, that wasn’t unusual.

I’d been fighting to keep panic in check as far back as I could remember.

The evening was heading in at lightning speed around my towering stress levels. I raced through my getting ready efforts with an eye on the clock, making sure I was ready to go with plenty of time to spare. I was dressed up for the donut bar in a figure-hugging knee-length black dress with sensible enough heels on when I opted to try her number once more. This time, for once, it actually rang. I listened with bated breath as the tone bleeped long and slow, ready to unleash a torrent of words as soon as she picked up. But she didn’t.

Voicemail.

Fuck voicemail.

I dialled right back as opposed to leaving yet another message, determined to grab her attention.

But I couldn’t grab her attention. Not how it mattered. The second call in a row sent me straight back through to voicemail. Same old shitty result for my efforts.

Maybe she’d turned it off all over again. Maybe she was too off her tits to want to speak to me. Maybe her own jack-in-the-box had sprung up high and she was hidden under the covers in her bedroom without giving an iota of attention to her phone at all.

Or maybe she didn’t have her phone anymore. Maybe she was lost or stranded or holed up with broken legs in some loan shark’s basement somewhere.

I tossed my handset on the bed and forced myself to take a breath as I smoothed my hair one last time in the mirror, worried sick with my heart in my throat, threatening to spill yet another batch of sad sister tears down my freshly made-up face.

It was becoming more and more obvious I needed to head over there and track her down in person, to hell with the consequences. Hating that nasty part of the city and hating her piece of shit boyfriend meant nothing. I needed to see her. Needed to hug her tight and tell her I was there, that I’d fix things, that I just needed her to hold on and do what she could with two grand in cash until I could come good with the rest.

But I couldn’t go to her place.

Not tonight. Not yet.

There was someone else I needed to see before then. Someone else who was too valuable on the dark road ahead.

I had to hear what Rebecca Lane had to say, and grab hold of every useful snippet of insight she could give me on her sixty days of filth. I’d need it, of that I was sure. Proving myself worthy of that crazy sum of money would take all the useful insight I could get.