Sell My Soul

by Jade West

  “Eric knows fuck all,” I told him. “He’s still wet behind the ears, bumbling along like he knows his ass from his elbow.”

  “He seemed to know plenty about Rebecca Lane,” Drake said, and I could have kicked my idiot brother in his idiot gut for his idiot tongue.

  I took a decent drag and rained back the rage in my voice. “Rebecca Lane is in hand. Nothing to worry about.”

  “And I’m supposed to take that as gospel, am I?”

  I let out a sneer with my exhale. “Take it however you want. I’m the one with my hands on the reins around this place.”

  “So you keep telling me. Unfortunately it appears some opinions don’t warrant your confidence.”

  I hated the guy. Hated his voice. Hated his associates. Hated everything about the asshole and his part in my younger years.

  “I think it’s about time we talked about a purchase price for your remaining shares,” I said. “Then no other opinions will count for shit around here bar mine. You can stop your cock and bull interfering.”

  His laugh was begging for a fist in his face. “What on earth makes you think I want to part with my remaining shares? On the contrary, Brandon, I’m thinking of stepping back into the fray in a much more hands on capacity.”

  My laugh back at him was dripping with spite. “And what on earth makes you think I’ll be open to having you back in the fray around here? You’re worth shit in this enterprise, Drake. Most of our clients don’t even know your fucking name these days. You’re nothing. A has-been. Why don’t you head back out onto the golf course with your elderly chums and let me get on with business?”

  His silence spoke a thousand words.

  I’d got to him.

  “You forget yourself,” he said finally, and maybe be was right.

  Maybe I had forgotten myself.

  Maybe I’d forgotten how much his cash injection had pulled my from my knees and sent me stepping out with purpose.

  Maybe I’d forgotten how deep his network of billionaire cunts ran into the cogs behind our shady setup.

  Or maybe I quite simply didn’t fucking care for his power game shit anymore.

  Drake spoke again before I did. I fought the urge to cancel the call and leave him hanging.

  “You know who I am,” he said. “You know how far my influence stretches. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me, Brandon, or I promise it’ll be the last mistake you make this lifetime.” He paused. “I hear from your brother that you have a childish gamble running for equal management power. Another gesture filled with foolish overblown confidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  I cursed myself for even considering such a stupid fucking bet in the first place.

  “He won’t win,” I laughed regardless. “And when I do, you’ll be quids in, just like I will. Enjoy your golf and wait for your payday. You’re fucking welcome.”

  “He says the girl you’re willing to stake your professional respect on is a certain Miss Paige Emmerson. Psychology student at local university. I’m looking forward to seeing what’s compelling enough about this girl to send you out of your goddamn mind.”

  The thought of Drake seeing anything of Paige Emmerson was strangely disturbing. I’d happily tear his eyeballs from their sockets if it meant he didn’t catch sight of her.

  I breathed through the insanity in my spike of rage. “What’s compelling about Paige Emmerson is the cash windfall that will come on the back of her,” I told him.

  I didn’t realise how thoroughly I was lying until I’d spoken the words out loud.

  “As I said, I look forward to seeing her for myself,” he rebutted. “I’ll be sure to pay a visit when her sixty days begin. You can demonstrate the full extent of her cash value in the flesh.”

  The prick hadn’t been on site with me for well over three years straight. The prospect of him rolling up when I was in the midst of Paige’s systematic destruction was enough to set my jaw ticking.

  “Don’t come here,” I hissed. “You aren’t fucking welcome.”

  If he was surprised by my outburst he didn’t show it.

  “One more questionable judgement call on your part, Brandon Grant, and I’ll be down there in force to rebalance the shares. Don’t overestimate how loyal your client base will be to you because you know how to fuck a girl up on webcam. Those relationships are forged with a damned sight more than cock.”

  “Have you finished yet?” I sneered. “I’m bored and I’ve a fucked up investment upstairs still to rectify.”

  “You’ve got plenty to rectify,” he sneered back.

  It vexed me to know he may not be entirely unfounded in the truth of that statement, but I’d rather eat my own shit than acknowledge that to the cunt.

  “Don’t ever call Eric again,” I said. “I fucking mean it. You want to know anything, you come through me.”

  “And don’t you ever let a sixty-day girl gossip about my business associates without flagging a concern. I fucking mean it.”

  I flicked the dregs of my cigarette onto the lawn below. “Rebecca Lane is in hand,” I said again. “No concern of yours.”

  His laugh was one I’d never heard from him.

  It was dark. Knowing.

  Malicious as all fucking sin.

  “Rebecca Lane is most certainly in hand, just not yours.” he said with a weird little chuckle, then disconnected the call.

  My jaw tightened and clamped, rage coasting my spine as I stared dumb at the encryption screen on my handset. I jabbed the option for redial so hard my knuckle cracked.

  It rang through to the mysterious unavailable tone, Drake gone from reach.

  Most certainly in hand, just not yours.

  What the living fuck did the prick mean by that little gem of a statement?

  I should have brushed it off. Forgotten about it and turned my attention back to Annabel Fisher and my joke of a brother upstairs.

  But I couldn’t.

  It was his tone, dangerous in the most calculated of risks.

  It was the bristle of malice in his laughter.

  It was him. Just fucking him.

  Every piece of shit cryptic handshake he rattled off to associates. Every smirk. Every sly glance across a crowded room at some other sack of bile with a finger in his corrupt little pot of politicians.

  I called Lance downstairs before I went up, beckoning him out onto the porch and away from sly ears.

  With Henry Drake’s eyes on my business, I didn’t trust a single fucking soul in this place.

  Lance was the best call of the bunch. I planned to limit my risks to his allegiance only.

  “I want to know what’s going on with Rebecca Lane every second from this point onwards,” I told him. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  He pitted his eyebrows, giving me a weird case of side eye. “I thought I was keeping tabs on the Emmerson girls? I’d be out there now if your brother hadn’t summoned me back for the broadcast.”

  I tipped my head at the sunrise and weighed up my options.

  “A day,” I told him. “I want you to keep tabs on Miss Lane for one day only, just to ascertain who else is following her, if anyone.”

  “Following her? Who?”

  “No idea,” I said, “just a hunch.”

  Even as he retreated with a salute my head was reeling.

  Paige Emmerson alone for one full day should be fine. I shouldn’t be giving her a second thought for another full month at least.

  That’s what I told myself.

  I should be concerned with bringing Annabel Fisher back into line. Putting her crazed outbursts behind her in favour of a decent bout of suffering at my fingertips.

  And I was concerned with Annabel Fisher.

  My trek back upstairs to the carnage at sunrise was nothing short of dedication.

  So what if I put in a request for Paige Emmerson’s updated phone records on my way?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Paige

  We were up all night
.

  The morning light found us huddled on my bed, two sisters whispering, sharing. Hoping.

  We were young teenagers again, both of us broken and striving for quiet against listening ears through the bedroom wall.

  We were us. Two lost souls in a mean world, praying for a lifeline. Only this time the lifeline was at my fingertips.

  “You can’t really do it,” Phoebe whispered. “Not for me.”

  But I could.

  I could and I would.

  I took her fingers in mine and stared at her nails, chewed to shit.

  “You’re my sister,” I said. “I can do everything for you.”

  She took a breath.

  “If you get me out of this, I swear I’ll change. I swear I’ll put it behind me. The drugs, Dean, everything.”

  “You’ll really leave him?” I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

  “He’s no boyfriend really,” she said. “When they came for us earlier he ran.” Her face crumpled. “He actually ran, Paige. He left me there to face them alone.”

  I fought back another round of angry tears.

  I’d heard about his bail on her already, several times over through the night.

  It didn’t make any difference. The thought of the asshole leaving her in the backstreets to be beaten senseless for the debts he’d run up in her name was enough to burn my soul all over again.

  Dean Woolston, asshole boyfriend of the century, might leave her in her darkest hour, but I wouldn’t. Not now, not ever.

  “I need to go to college,” I told her and eased myself to the edge of the mattress.

  I was hurting all over, flinching at every movement, but that didn’t matter.

  For once in my life it was pain I was grateful for. Pain he’d given me. Just as he’d give me the lifeline that came out of it.

  “Go?” she asked, and her eyes flashed with fear.

  I nodded. “I have to go. He said he’s watching. That people are watching.”

  She sighed. “I should go too.”

  My hand squeezed hers tight enough to crush. “No,” I said. “You aren’t going anywhere. You’ll stay here, safe until tonight, and after that it won’t matter. I’ll take them the money and get us more time. It’s not me that owes them anything.”

  Her hand squeezed mine right back. “You can’t,” she told me. “They won’t care who owes what, you won’t be safe.”

  But they would care.

  I’d make sure they cared.

  I’d make sure they knew that I’d be coming back in a few short months with enough to clear her name and whatever else they needed to leave her the hell alone, whatever crazy rates of interest they were conjuring up.

  “Charge your phone and get in touch with them,” I said to her. “Tell them I’ll meet them. Set up a time.”

  “I shouldn’t,” she said with a shake of her head. “Hell, Paige, I really shouldn’t.”

  “We’ll talk later,” I said, and kissed her head. “Arrange the meet up then get some sleep. You need it.”

  “So do you,” she whispered, but I pulled away.

  I was quick in the shower, bracing myself against the tiles as the water cascaded over my welts. I wiped away the steam to see the marks in the mirror as best I could.

  They were still dark. Pink in places but purple in others. A crazy canvas of bruises that paired up seamlessly with my haunted eyes.

  I was careful when I pulled my fresh clothes on. Leggings under a long-sleeved tunic dress, covering every tainted part of me.

  Phoebe was already asleep when I eased my bedroom door closed behind me and made my exit. I made sure to leave a scrawled note for her on my bedside table.

  Arrange the meet up. We’re in this together. Always. I love you.

  I was early to campus. Early enough that I holed myself up in the library before lectures, staring into space as the memories of my night came tumbling through the tiredness.

  It was during the first morning break that my phone bleeped in my pocket. I hoped it was Phoebe with the meet up details, but it wasn’t.

  Carolyn, my contact list said. I called up the message as I made my way to my next class.

  Rebecca’s gone. Please meet me at lunch. Normal place.

  My heart pounded as concerns about my phone privacy sprang back up rife, but there was more to the fear than that.

  I couldn’t place it. Not really.

  Rebecca being gone could be anything. Mean anything.

  All night drinking, despite the sisters leaving together. A one-night stand to distract her from her infatuation. An Impromptu holiday to get over him.

  That’s what I told myself on loop until I saw Carolyn’s face at our usual donut table.

  “What happened?” I asked as I dropped into my seat.

  She shook her head, eyes darting around us before she answered. I felt the shiver, scoping out our surroundings myself for any misplaced onlookers.

  Our eyes met across the table as we both came up blank. Carolyn didn’t waste any more time getting down to it.

  “I left her place late,” she told me. “The conversation wasn’t pretty, not after she went batshit over that fucking asshole.”

  I nodded, urging her on.

  “I tried to get her to call the police. To bring him to some kind of justice. To stop him. Stop them. Stop all of this fucking bullshit.”

  Fear for my own lifeline zipped up my spine. “But she said no?”

  “She said I was out of my fucking mind. That these aren’t people who get put inside, they’re people who wipe out the snitches without trace, never to be heard of again. She said these people are serious, dangerous, loaded; not just with money but with contacts. That I’d be crazy to even think of bringing the cops into it.”

  “Think that’s true about the snitches?” I asked, pretty sure that I did.

  She bit her lip. Managed a nod.

  I waited for her to speak again. She leaned in close before she did.

  “I went back to Rebecca’s place early this morning. I let myself in to say sorry. To say that I got it. To say we were sisters and I was on her side, no matter what.”

  My heart jumped to my throat, empathy screaming.

  “And she wasn’t there?” I prompted.

  She wiped away the tears before they fell. “I’m so scared, Paige. So fucking scared. Maybe she’s run off, but I think…”

  “You think what?” I pushed. “You think they’ve taken her? That he’s taken her?”

  She didn’t bother wiping away the next tears, just turned her face away from the people at the next table. “Her handbag was there, Paige, tossed down under the kitchen table. She’d never leave without her bag, not in a million years. It’s her favourite thing in the universe. Designer.”

  “Maybe she thought better of taking it wherever she was headed?” I countered, clutching at straws. “Maybe she left in a hurry? Maybe she’ll be back before you know it, brandishing a whole armful of new handbags, hey?”

  I reached my hand over to hers and squeezed it.

  My attempts at playing down her worry didn’t do shit. Her eyes were every bit as terrified as they met with mine and held on tight.

  “What do I do?” she asked. “Wait? Call the police? Try to get hold of that sick freak myself and find out what the hell’s going on?”

  “For now you wait,” I said in a flash. “Even the police wouldn’t do shit for a few days. Maybe she’ll turn back up just fine.”

  “He’ll be in touch with you,” she commented, and I got it. I got it in a heartbeat.

  “I don’t know how to reach him…” I told her. “I don’t even know his name…”

  She dropped her head. “I’m a wreck,” she said. “Jesus Christ, Paige, I hope you’re thinking better of this shit. How did she even get caught up in this? How could she?”

  Another bout of empathy slammed in hard.

  “She’ll be ok,” I said, as much for me as for her. “You’re sisters. You’ll make it th
rough together. Just hang in tight.”

  “Twenty-four hours.” She sighed and struggled for composure. “I’ll give it twenty-four hours before I go to the police.”

  I nodded. “If I hear anything from him, I’ll ask the question, I promise.”

  She picked up her bag. “Thanks, Paige. I’m gonna drop by her place again now, see if I can see anything.”

  “Want me to come?”

  She shook her head. “Go to lessons, I might need notes.”

  I faked a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  I wanted to tell her about my night. About taking his belt until I lost my mind. About my own sister and her own crazy shit. About everything.

  But I didn’t. Not today.

  “I’m right here,” I said, and pulled her into a hug. “Whatever you need, I’m right here. She’ll be fine, I know it.”

  I prayed on my soul I was telling the truth.

  “Make sure your notes are good for me,” she said, and pulled away.

  “Keep me updated,” I said, and let her go.

  Watching her leave was a challenge that made the ripples of gossip around me fade into oblivion, but I had bigger challenges still to come.

  I checked the three grand in cash was still in place at the bottom of my college bag before I got to my feet, hating how I’d had to take it with me to safeguard it from my sister.

  She had a habit. Just a habit. A horrible habit that could be broken.

  I’d bail her out of the scene just fine. Pay off her debts without problem. Check her into a decent rehab and set us up in a whole new life.

  All I needed was sixty days.

  All I needed was him.

  I was about to leave the table when my phone buzzed.

  I hoped it was Carolyn saying she’d heard from Rebecca, panic over, but it wasn’t.

  It was from Phoebe.

  Tonight at ten. Warren Road. Alley at the back of the garages. I said you’ll have money with you.

  I picked up my bag and made my way to my next lecture.