by Jade West
After all, I had Carolyn’s course notes to think about.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brandon
I went through our clients. Scoped out our case histories one by one, revisiting the connections. Earmarking every single link I knew back to Drake and his nefarious ties to fuck knows what, where and fucking who.
And there were plenty of them, even now.
I couldn’t ignore the fucking obvious. The sonofabitch was still all in, the veins of his influence running right through the bones of our operation.
My game plan needed careful consideration and a whole fucking lot of it. Getting him out of the equation would need time. Time, focus, and a fuck ton of cunning.
For the time being I had to keep my cool, and bring my shit back together.
Eric was reclined in his seat, monitor blaring out some crap about off-road racing while he pressed an ice pack to his swollen jaw. I didn’t feel even a smidgen of guilt as I stared over at him.
The morning moved quickly. Lunch came and went.
I didn’t have a care for any of it.
It was afternoon by the time I ventured upstairs to check on Annabel. She was awake when I stepped inside, flashing a glare over her shoulder as I approached the bed.
Her ass was still a mess. Stripes swollen and crusted with blood.
“He won’t be touching you again,” I told her as I took a seat on the mattress.
“I don’t want anyone touching me again,” she cried, and her tears came hard and fast, her body a wracking mess as she broke down without restraint.
Once again, I didn’t feel a smidgen of guilt. The girl would survive.
She’d leave on her merry way in a matter of weeks. Body healed and ready to resume regular life, even if her mind wasn’t quite up to par.
“You knew what you were signing up for,” I said. “The terms are still the terms and the pay day will still be the pay day. You’ll be looking back on this through a whole new lens when you’re flashing the cash all over the place, believe me.”
She shook her head. “It’s not worth it. No pay day in the world is worth it.”
She’d be rethinking that stance soon enough, I had no doubt of it.
“I’ll be aware of last night’s misfortune this evening,” I told her. “Your ass can sit on the subs bench for the next few days.”
Her eyes were filled with hate when they met with mine. “Such a nice guy,” she spat. “Thank you, sir.”
I turned a blind eye to her tone.
“I never claimed to be a nice guy. Quite the opposite, in fact.” My laugh fell on deaf ears.
“Just let me go,” she whispered. “Please, sir, let me go.”
“I’ll get your food sent up,” I said, and rose to my feet.
She didn’t beg. Didn’t scream. Didn’t attempt a dash to the door and a desperate bid for freedom.
I had to give Eric credit for something at least – her resolve had taken a decent beating along with her backside.
He was still pressing ice to his face when I arrived back in the office.
“She alright?” he asked, and I shot him a glare before I took my seat.
“She’ll survive. You pelted her ass cheeks, not her jugular.”
“I liked it,” he said, and his eyes flashed with something I hadn’t seen there before. “I felt like a fucking god up there.”
“Not so much like a fucking god with my shoe in your ribs,” I snapped.
“I want to do it again,” he continued. “I want to do it all, learn everything. When that Paige Emmerson bet comes good for me, I want in on every girl who comes through here.”
“When that Paige Emmerson bet comes good for me, you’ll shut your mouth and do what you’re fucking told,” I countered. “You know fuck all about what we do here, not when it comes to it.”
He shrugged and turned his attention back to his monitor.
Just as fucking well since the urge to give him another shoeing was rising up pretty damn fast.
I turned my attention to regular business, clicking my way through the proposal screen. The bids were rocking in fast for whining little Annabel Fisher. If she could only see the flavour of the offers for her poor battered body, she’d be sobbing a whole load harder.
I clicked to accept a bunch of them, firing back the scheduling form to the successful bidders.
And then I showered. Long and hard. Steam cleansing me of tiredness as I battled the urges to check out more of Miss Emmerson’s college schedule.
I shouldn’t do it. Shouldn’t want to do it. Shouldn’t want to do anything with the girl besides making a fortune on the back of her torment.
That didn’t stop me pinging my telephone network contact with an increased urgency payment for her revised phone records.
I sent a ping through to Lance shortly after, wanting an update on Rebecca Lane’s whereabouts, and his response came back in an instant.
Still outside her place. No sign of her. Her sister’s been and gone twice, and she looks like death. I’m doing some digging, think we may have come too late.
My gut did a weird fucking lurch. Weird enough that I called up our most encrypted of message portals.
My message to Drake was concise, rinsed of expletives three times over.
Where is the Lane girl? I told you I had it in hand.
The bastard’s reply came back in an instant.
The Lane girl is no concern of yours. The girl upstairs is the only thing you need to concern yourself with. Tonight’s broadcast better be good enough to make up for the mid-scene blackout last night. I’ll be watching.
My fingers were quick on the keyboard.
My broadcasts are always fucking good enough, jackass.
I resisted the urge to probe further into the Lane girl, keeping the cards of my interest close to my chest. My next message was to Lance.
Find her, I told him. Dig however deep needs digging.
On it, he replied, and I hoped so.
I didn’t send anyone else out looking, not for the Lane girl and not for sweet little Paige, either. I didn’t trust a single one of them, not where Drake was concerned. Feeding any further ammunition back to the cunt regarding my interest in tight little Emmerson pussy was the last thing I wanted.
Still, I checked for her updated phone records. Spying vicariously through her mobile network operator would have to cut it for the time being.
My inbox was empty.
My balls were not.
I’d jacked one off at the memory of her belted little slit by the time the evening drew in, cursing my own lack of restraint as I shot my load across the toilet cistern with a cigarette between my lips to mute the grunts.
There were two fresh items in my inbox when I returned to my office fully dressed for my evening appointment with Annabel Fisher’s soon to be brutalised tits.
The first was a follow up ping from that prick, Drake, like it was necessary.
No more fuck ups, it read. Tonight needs to be your best fucking game face. The stakes are high. Clients waiting. Ten p.m. fucking sharp.
My game face was on fucking point when I switched over to message two, the urge to beat the living shit out of something more than ripe in me. I was ready for it. Ready for Annabel Fisher’s pain. Ready to prove to that piece of shit, Drake, that I was the one who counted around here. The only one who counted around here.
I shouldn’t have opened Paige Emmerson’s updated phone records, not before my evening showing.
I shouldn’t have pinged back another bloated bastard tip at the push of a button and trawled the updated listings like a fool as Eric began the webcam setup in earnest.
And I most fucking definitely shouldn’t have bolted out of there like a man possessed at the sight of her sister’s fucking text message.
Chapter Thirty
Paige
I didn’t go back to my dorm after college. I couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk Phoebe trying to talk me into taking her along –
or talk me out of it.
I headed into the city on the train, hating the way the scenery changed from the calm of the beach front to the dregs of urban life. I was out of my comfort zone in this hellhole, associating it with nothing more than my poor sister’s trail of misery as I prepared to face down the scum who’d attacked her the night previous.
I was scared shitless. Hands trembling around a coffee mug as I killed the time in a late-night cafe.
It didn’t feel like I had all that much of it to kill at all before ten p.m. was looming.
I knew Warren Road. It was a few grotty street corners along from my sister’s grotty flat. I’d been there with her when she’d claimed to be out walking for fresh air, only to dip into some dingy garage and come out dabbing her nose in front of me.
I ignored her phone calls all the way to the meet up, determined to see this through on her behalf, no matter what, regardless what she had to say on it.
I did my best to keep my head held high as I stepped into the alley behind the garage block, eyes straining to adjust to the darkness as I ventured down with tiny steps.
They were waiting.
Three huge guys clad in bulky black overcoats, illuminated just enough by an overhanging street light to make them out.
It was only when I was part way in that I heard the footsteps of guy number four behind me.
I was trapped.
Caged.
Hemmed in in a tunnel of utter doom as I kept on moving.
I knew in that moment that this was a stupid plan coming to a catastrophic conclusion.
My flight or fight was at full force, but there was no way either outcome would do shit for me.
I clutched my bag like a shield as I approached the trio.
“I’m here for Phoebe,” I said, like it wasn’t obvious. “I want to talk about a payment plan.”
One of the three stepped forward. I guessed he was head honcho, the guy worth talking to.
I hated every little pigeon step towards him, but the bulk at my rear wasn’t any more appealing an option.
“Phoebe is done with fucking payment plans,” the head honcho grunted, and raised a cigarette to his mouth. “She’s had more than enough of them. It’s payment in full, or suffer the consequences. She’s outta fucking time.”
I met his eyes, looking for even a drop of humanity in there, anything at all to reason with.
There was nothing.
No compassion. No kindness. No soul.
I stared at his knuckles as he smoked his cigarette, wondering which of my sister’s bruises they were responsible for.
His lips were weird when I got close enough to see him properly. Scarred and distorted. His nose was splayed wide above, crooked as hell, no doubt from a few breakages.
He stank of weed and sweat when I stepped right up.
I’d have backed away if not for the hands that gripped my shoulders from behind and slammed my back against the wall.
“What you fucking doing here?” Weird Lips snarled at me. “Pretty girl like you thinking she can bail her fuck-up sister out of shit. What you fucking got for us?”
I lifted my bag, trying my best not to lose the final dregs of my cool. “Three grand in cash,” I told him. “You can have it. I’ll come back with the rest, I just need time.”
He snatched the bag from my fingers and tore into it, throwing my college books to the ground without a care until he found the stash of notes hidden deep.
He flicked through the bundles as I watched, his efforts illuminated by the other guy’s mobile phone light.
He looked truly hideous in the glow.
“Three grand ain’t even close to fucking cutting it,” he grunted, stashing it in his pocket regardless. He tossed my bag aside and stepped on up to me. “Know how much she owes us?”
“Twenty-five,” I said, “she told me.”
He shook his head. “It was twenty-five a few fucking months ago. It’s double that now.”
My eyes widened. “Double?!”
“Double,” he said.
I held his stare. “I can do it,” I told him. “I can give you double, I just need time.”
He laughed in my face. “We all have needs, baby. What you got for us besides three measly fucking grand?”
I was a fool.
A fool to meet them here, on their own turf.
A fool to step into that alleyway and think I stood a chance of walking out of there unscathed.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’ve got nothing for you besides three grand. I’m not my sister, this isn’t my debt. I’m just the person who’s paying it.”
I tried to push away from the wall, but an elbow on my chest from guy two put paid to my efforts.
Weird lips got into my face, and his breath was rancid. “Oh, you’ve got plenty,” he said. “And there’s plenty of us to be taking it. We can make it easy on you, or you can go down hard. Which is it gonna be, baby girl?”
I let out a groan as his filthy fingers dug their way between my thighs.
The other guys came closer, and I was fucked. I knew I was fucked.
I wondered if she’d taken this, my sister.
I wondered how many times she’d serviced all four of these evil pricks in this seedy fucking back alley while her douche of a boyfriend ran off on her.
Weird Lips answered my unspoken question with a disgusting grin. “Your sister takes it easy. She spreads her fucking legs like a slut and takes dick until she bleeds.”
I couldn’t stop myself, not even in the face of my own sorry demise.
“Interesting how you think she still owes you fifty grand then,” I said. “You must owe her money for taking your sorry dick.”
I wasn’t ready for his friend to slam my head against the wall so hard my legs went from under me.
They held me there. Arms gripping tight as that filthy hand worked at tugging down my leggings.
“Oh, she fucking owes it, and so do you,” he grunted as my world span. “Time for you to pay her fucking instalment, baby. Open wide.”
I didn’t open anything. Not for them.
I didn’t give into anything. Not their words. Not their threats. Not even the fist that slammed into my stomach and took the wind right out of me.
“Bring her with you next time,” Weird Lips groaned as he fumbled with his jeans. “You can work the job between you. Sisterly fucking love.”
I retched at the stench. Retched at the sight of his dick in his hand.
And then I cursed the stupidity of my good intentions. Cursed the belief that three grand meant shit to scum like this.
Nothing would ever be enough for scum like this.
I didn’t want them to see me cry as they tore into my underwear, but I couldn’t hold back.
I closed my eyes against the world and accepted my fate, praying I’d make it out of there in one piece when they were finally done with me.
And then, just like that, in some kind of miracle, they paused.
Heads turned to the approaching footsteps from the shadows. It was one person. Just one.
My heart dropped.
“Hey!” Weird Lips yelled. “Get the fuck outta here, dickhead, or you’ll taste the fucking dirt.”
I struggled for focus on the figure approaching, not even daring to hope they’d come to my aid.
How could they?
Why would they?
They were likely just another druggie on a quest for another wrap at the cost of everything.
But they weren’t.
Oh my God, they fucking weren’t.
“I’d suggest you put the girl down if you have a single brain cell between the four of you,” the voice said, and my world really did spin this time. “Or believe me, you’ll be tasting a lot worse than fucking dirt.”
Him.
Oh my God. It was him.
My legs didn’t hold me when Weird Lips dropped his grip. I fell to the floor like a broken doll, barely able to look up at them as they headed in his d
irection.
“Who the fuck are you?” I heard Weird Lips say. “What the fuck do you think you’re fucking doing?”
And that’s when my question was answered. The burning question I’d been obsessed with for days.
“I’m Brandon Grant,” my beautiful stranger told them. “And that girl over there is my fucking property.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Brandon
These loser dipshits were nothing. Shit stains on the dross of life’s crappy fucking underwear.
I lit up a cigarette as I approached them, not even breaking a sweat as they squared up to me.
“If you haven’t heard of me, you’ll have heard of my father,” I told them. “Harrison Loader Grant, of the Grant Drake partnership.”
One of them started. The others were gormless enough to stand dumb.
I sighed aloud as I realised the full extent of their worthlessness.
They were nobodies. Barely connected to anyone worth any fucking thing in this backwater shithole.
“Believe me,” I said. “If you haven’t heard of us, you’d better turn tail and run real fucking fast, because you will do soon enough. I’ll have your guts delivered to my mailbox while you’re still screaming.”
The head of them was a bloated little fuck up. His face told the story of a more than a few lost battles in the fists department.
“This girl is paying a debt to us,” he said. “You can get in the fucking queue if she owes you shit.”
“Oh, she owes me,” I sneered and shot her a look. “I guarantee she owes me considerably more than she owes you.”
They followed my gaze and stared back at her, and I used the moment to grab the ringleader by his throat, pulling him into my grip and wrenching his neck taut enough that he buckled under me.
The others rushed forward but only a couple of paces.
I knew then that I’d tear them all to pieces if it came to it.
“I can call my associates in a heartbeat,” I told the prick in my grasp as the others dithered gormless with fists bared like sad fucking lumps of shit. “I’ll have them down here while you’re still choking on your own fucking bollocks, ready to pitch in and finish your friends off while I enjoy my cigarette.”