by Elaina Jadin
“Or stay for thirty days—grant us your complete obedience for a month,” I tell her, “and his debt will remain in place. He won’t receive another dime from us, but he’ll still owe us a hundred grand because you’ll walk away with the extra fifty thousand yourself, and we’ll put it on his tab.”
Jemma stares at me, her face going slack, and she blinks. “For a month? You want to own me for a month?”
I curl my hands around the edge of the desk where I’m resting my ass, my stance firm but relaxed. I don’t pull any punches with my reply.
“If you agree to the arrangement, yes. That’s exactly what I want.” I stop short of mentioning that I always get what I want, sooner or later. I’m a man of great patience when I need to be, but nothing escapes my grasp forever.
“You want me to… sell myself to you.” It’s not a question so much as an angry scoff of disbelief. “Are you fucking serious?”
She’s full of irritation and spite. No one’s talked to me like that in years and I tighten my grip on the thick wood between my hands. I want to bend her over the desk right here and whip her for that transgression. But I’m not like Kade... I have iron control—even if she’s testing it already.
I stand and make my way behind the desk. “Why don’t you have a seat.” It’s a command, not a suggestion, and I motion for her to sit in one of the leather armchairs in front of the desk.
Settling into my own chair, I reach into the bottom right drawer and pull out the file that was delivered to me this morning. It contains the background report from my police contact, as well as a thorough credit report, and a detailed dossier from my best investigator. It was a rush job, but he’s a whiz at getting his hands on all the lovely little facts that are kept out of public records.
I toss the folder on the desk and flip through it, as though I’m refreshing my memory, but the truth is I’ve already memorized every word by heart. I make a habit of knowing the intimate details about everyone who crosses my path, and Jemma is no exception.
She eyes me warily as I rustle through the papers, but curiosity finally gets the best of her and she slowly makes her way to the chair, taking a noncommittal perch on the edge of the cushion.
“The way I see it, Jemma O’Connor, is that you’re in a shit position.” I don’t hold back. “You live in your aunt’s crappy old apartment with an asshole—a loser with no prospects for the future. In fact, he’s on a downhill track, if you ask me. And once things stop coming up roses, I’m going to bet it won’t be long before he starts taking his frustrations out on you. So, you can add that to your makeup routine each night—hiding the bruises before you go on stage.”
Her eyes narrow at me, but I see the uneasy swallow she makes and the way her fingers curl together on her lap. My words aren’t meant to be unkind, but I call it as I see it. Sometimes the truth is painful. I’ve found in the long run, though, it’s a lot less painful than stumbling around blindly.
“You have no parents or friends to rely on,” I continue. “You dance at a dive bar because Bryan won’t let you work anywhere that could give you the money to leave him.”
She lets out a little snort of confirmation at that, then her expression goes slack, and there’s sadness in her eyes. Her gaze falls to her hands and some of that fire she had earlier fades. I flip the folder closed and rise from my seat. She doesn’t lift her head, but she still watches me cautiously from under her eyelashes as I move.
I settle my ass against the front of the desk once more, two feet from her. Normally, I enjoy tearing down my opponent. Watching them squirm and suffer in my presence, basking in their descent into despair as they come to grips with the harsh truths I thrust at them.
This, though… it’s different. I don’t think of Jemma as my adversary, and I don’t like seeing the weight of reality settling on her shoulders. But I need to know she understands the limited options that lay before her, and that she has a full grasp on what I’m offering.
Because when she makes her choice, I want her to do so with complete clarity.
“Your criminal record is clean, so you might get a job as a salesgirl somewhere,” I tell her. “But to keep that kind of job you need the right clothes and reliable transportation, neither of which you have. And you barely passed high school and don’t have any college credits, so you’ll be hard pressed to find a decent employer that will hire you over all the other applicants. The bottom line is that, without some miracle, you’ve gone as far as you’re going to go in life. It’s not that you aren’t deserving of more, or capable of more. But life’s fucked that way, isn’t it Jemma?”
Her tears are back, and one slowly rolls down her cheek, even if I can see her warring between anger and despair. She knows I’m right. I lean toward her, unable to resist her sorrow. She stiffens as I slowly wipe the tear away with my thumb, reveling in the softness of her cheek, and when I withdraw my hand, I can’t resist licking the salty liquid from my finger.
She stares at me as though I’m a puzzle she can’t quite figure out, but says nothing, so I finish my assessment. “You need a lucky break. A chance to take control of your own life and rise above the circumstances you’ve been handed. And you’re never going to see the kind of money I’m offering again.”
I bend close to her, close enough that our mouths are inches apart, our eyes level with each other. My words are spoken with a gentleness I rarely show. “Why let Bryan have all that money when you’re the one who earns it?”
There’s a shift in her gaze and I know she’s switched from letting her emotions rule her to thinking logically. Perfect. Her eyes flick down to my lips and damn I want to taste her, but I won’t. Not until I have her agreement.
“You said… us.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, her breath ghosts over me like an innocent taunt. “Who, exactly, would I belong to for the month?”
“Myself and two others. Their names are Kade and Bishop,” I answer just as softly. “No one else will be allowed to touch you. You’ll be provided for entirely. But if you choose to stay, we expect complete obedience. There will be no denying us.”
She nods as she draws in a deep breath. I can tell she’s thinking about the money and about the chance to be free of Bryan. But I need her to know this isn’t an act of charity. That I’m not the hero in her story. I want her going in with her eyes open.
“Jemma,” I say, leaning down to her once more.
Her eyes fix on me and there’s the slightest quiver in her bottom lip as I stare at her, my gaze intense and firm. I speak slow and with dire seriousness in my tone. “I don’t want you to think this is a generous kindness I’m doing for you. It’s purely a business transaction. I’m not here to rescue you from an unfortunate situation. I want to be very clear about that. I am not your savior. I’m a ruthless asshole who wants total control of you for the next thirty days, to be used as I see fit.”
Her eyes widen a little, and her chest freezes a bit, but the scent of her excitement grows stronger, making the ample bulge in my pants stiffen as the scent fills my nose. Goddamn, she’s making me crazy. I long to part those delicate thighs and slip my hands under her dress, to see if she’s as wet as I imagine.
I expected her to react with fear at my blunt language, but I can tell she’s equal parts terrified, morbidly curious, and turned on. My words give her pause, but they’re also striking a chord inside her—a dark, tempting caress of those jagged edges she’s hiding.
Her gaze falls away from mine as she considers it, her lips pursed in thought. A long silence stretches between us, but I wait patiently. She’s almost within my grasp, and a wolf knows when to charge forward with an attack and when to quietly circle his prey.
She lifts her chin and straightens her spine, a look of resolve in her expression. “If I want to leave, I can, right? If I decide I don’t want the money, I can just walk away?”
I nod calmly. “Yes, of course. You’ll be free to go anytime you wish. But if you choose to remain here—if you want the f
ifty thousand at the end of this arrangement—then you’ll be my property, nothing more, and I have no qualms about bending you to my will. Do you understand?”
A shadow crosses her face at that, as though she suspects it’ll be a very tough month to endure. But I can see a fierce determination spark to life inside her as she weighs her options, and I know she’s going to give me the answer I’ve waited for.
“Okay,” she whispers, her eyes clear with certainty. “I accept. On two conditions.”
I press my lips together firmly as a warning, because this isn’t a negotiation, but the look on her face as she stares at me says she’s adamant, so I incline my head to indicate I’m willing to entertain her for the moment.
She composes herself, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as though she’s ready to get down to business. “First, please tell me your name.”
My ability to read people is a fine-honed skill, but Jemma’s already managed to surprise me. I raise an eyebrow. “That’s one of your conditions? To know my name?”
“Yes.” She nods, perfectly sincere. “It seems you know everything about me. I’d at least like to know what to call you.”
Well, hell, I would have happily told her if she’d asked, it’s no secret. I almost apologize for not having introduced myself earlier, but then again, I don’t care much for playing by the rules of social etiquette. “Draven. Draven Kildare.”
“Draven…” she says my name softly, as though she’s measuring to see if it fits me. I love the way it rolls off her tongue like a melody, and it makes me eager to hear her say it with desperate, pleading moans on every breath.
“Your other condition?”
“I’ll agree to the full thirty days if Bryan only thinks it’s for the seven days,” she proposes. “Let him think I’m going along with his wishes. I want him sweating bullets when a week passes and I’m still here.”
I huff out a laugh of surprise and delight, already enamored with her devious mind. If she wants to twist the screws on Bryan, I’m more than happy to oblige. I trail a finger down her cheek, loving the softness of her warm skin, and the way her mouth parts at my touch. God, I’m going to enjoy breaking her apart.
Leaning closer, I grip her chin and turn her face up and to the side so I can brush my lips against the hollow at the base of her throat. She’s mine now, and I can’t resist a taste.
Slowly, I kiss and lick my way up her neck, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, her shoulders trembling with both fear and excitement. When I bite the soft flesh of her earlobe she shudders against me, and it’s fucking delicious.
“Agreed,” I whisper into her ear, my voice low and husky. Her pulse beats hard under my fingers, and my shaft throbs in response. I bare my teeth against the tender skin of her neck, savoring the taste of her on my tongue, salty and sweet, before I release her.
Our arrangement confirmed, I turn my attention to the next order of business—dealing with the lying asshole who brought her here. I cross the room and throw open the door.
Alex, the eager young pup looking to prove himself is at his designated post in the hallway, as directed. He sits at attention, in full shifted form, awaiting orders.
“Find Bryan and bring him to me,” I growl. “Drag his ass back here with two broken legs if you have to.”
8
Jemma
I’ve known this man for all of twenty minutes, and yet I’ve agreed to give myself to him and two others for thirty days. I expected to feel shame in my decision, but if it’s there, it’s buried deep, blotted out by anger at Bryan.
I sell myself on stage every night at Lucky Devils. And in the backrooms, grinding and dancing for men who I try to forget about the moment I leave their sight. Men I’d never touch if they weren’t paying me to, twenty dollars at a time.
But now, with this offer, I have a chance to earn real money. Life-changing money. Money that I won’t be sharing with Bryan. No more hiding a few dollars away here and there—it’ll be all mine. Instead of years of scraping together pennies, I’m now one month away from freedom. Four short weeks and I’ll have enough to start a new life.
This man… he’s nothing like Bryan, or my customers at the club. He’s handsome in a way that steals my breath, as though the blade of a knife is pressed to my throat each time I look at him.
Beautiful, but deadly. A firm, chiseled jaw with a shadow of scruff accentuating it, and dark, intense eyes that seem to penetrate right through me. Even the faint scar in front of his ear that runs down to his neck reads like a warning that he is not to be fucked with.
He scares the hell out of me and yet, I already crave his touch. There’s a darkness in his eyes and a savage power in his hands that sets me on fire with need, even as it makes my heart clench with terror.
I knew he was dangerous the moment our eyes met and now that I’m in his presence, I’m only more certain that he’s wicked in ways that should send me running. That he’ll devour me whole if I stay here.
It’s still a far more enticing option than crawling back to Bryan.
The bastard thought he could indenture me to this man—a chilling confirmation that I’m nothing to the one person who claims to love me. To him I’m just another asset, a commodity to squeeze the lifeblood out of until he’s finally stripped me of any value. Well, fuck that. I’ve put up with a lot from him over the years, and at one point I actually loved him, as much as I was capable of in my shattered state, anyway. But that time has long since passed.
Now he’s been summoned and he’s no doubt hoping I’ve agreed to the plan he wished to condemn me to. Servitude at the hands of strangers in order to pay off his debt and line his pockets with cash. I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure he never sees a dime of it.
Draven pours an inch of a dark amber whiskey into two crystal tumblers and silently offers one to me. I take it, desperate for the liquid courage.
“Where will I live?” A dozen more questions follow that one, lined up in my mind and ready to leap out of my mouth. But I limit myself to just one because Draven does not strike me as someone who appreciates a barrage of questions.
He looks like a man who prefers to say as little as possible, keeps his cards close to the vest, and maintains complete discipline over everything and everyone—which means I never, ever want to see him lose that self control or be the reason he snaps. Kind, gentle men don’t need the kind of restraint he has.
“Here,” he answers simply before lifting his glass to his lips. He takes a sip and closes his eyes for a second, relishing the enjoyment as he swallows it down.
That prompts me to try my own and I’m surprised at how good it tastes.
Whenever Bryan bought liquor, it always tasted harsh and smelled awful. Same with the limited selection of alcohol at the club. Some of the dancers would cozy up to Scarlett at the bar and guzzle down a few drinks before their shift, but I couldn’t stomach any of it without enough juice and mixers to mask the astringent taste.
But this stuff, this is smooth. The flavors of smoky oak, a warm spice, and a subtle earthiness lingers on my tongue and curls against my stomach with a soothing heat.
I take another drink, more confident this time, and Draven’s lips slant in approval, his eyes fixed on me.
That smile floods me with impossible satisfaction, delighted that I’ve done something to provoke that reaction in him. His expression is dangerous, not because it’s threatening, but the very opposite.
I’ve pleased him and it’s addicting. My acceptance and enjoyment of the drink he’s given me is a small thing, but I already know that I’d probably do anything to make him keep looking at me like this. Something deep inside me longs to please this man.
For years, I’ve avoided fights with Bryan by doing as he says and going along with his whims. Not once has it been because I craved his approval. But Draven’s hint of satisfaction makes me happy, even a little proud that I’ve done something right, and I sit a little straighter in my seat.
/> The questions whirling through my mind press against my lips again, but before I can say anything else, the door opens, and Bryan is shoved inside. He stumbles for a moment, but quickly regains his composure. The soft hum of pleasure in me is swiftly doused by the arrogant smile and false swagger he adopts as he makes his way into the room.
He has the gall to wink at me as he takes a seat in the same chair he’d pushed me into earlier.
Draven sets his glass tumbler down with a soft clink on the desk and shifts his gaze to the asshole on my right. “It seems you didn’t keep to the terms of our agreement, Bryan.”
His fake bravado falters under Draven’s cold stare and he shifts nervously. “What do you mean? She’s here, isn’t she?”
“Without her consent,” Draven says, a low rumble of a growl in his tone. “I was very clear about my requirements for this deal.”
This makes Bryan look at me, and the mixture of desperation and annoyance in his expression sours my stomach. He leans back against his chair, trying to feign a casual pose, one palm turned up dismissively. “Come on, babe, it’s no big deal, right? It’s just a little temporary trade.”
A little trade my ass.
Anger boils inside me, making my hands tremble, so I wrap them tighter around my glass. I refuse to give him any response, even as a flood of furious words cluster in my throat until they’re choking me.
I force my expression to remain slack, nothing more than a blank canvas as I stare at him, the realization dawning on me that it was always going to come to this. After a while, working on the stage wouldn’t be enough for him. One way or another, he’d eventually try to make me his whore, to get me to spread my legs to pay the bills.
He can’t decide if he should be angry or worried over my indifferent silence. Good. I let him fret while I take my time sipping on the whiskey to both soothe my fury and gather my courage.
Draven’s eyes drag over me, clearly satisfied with my restraint, and the gleam of devilish delight in his gaze makes an icy hot tingle run up my spine before he returns his attention to Bryan. “The deal has changed.”