101 Nights Box Set: Volume One

by SE Reign

  “Mr. Jenkins is here with the pre-nup,” he calls briskly. “Get dressed. One and … five.”

  I roll my eyes. When certain he can’t see me, I snatch my phone and go to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I want to text my mother but also to check in with my best friend, Alisha.

  The text waiting for me, however, is from neither.

  The strange text messages started three days ago. At first, I thought they were mistakenly sent. This is a new cell phone, one EJ got me after he threw mine away, claiming that only three people had my new number: him, Jamil, and the head of his security, George. I quickly added to that count by telling my mother and my best friend, Alisha.

  It’s not any of those contacts who have been texting me. Each time, the number is different, but I know it’s the same person, just by the way the messages are phrased.

  I read the new text.

  Your life will never be the same. A man like EJ won’t let you go, no matter what he tells you.

  The latest message scares me, I think because I’ve begun to realize just how much EJ is in control of his world. Of me.

  I’ve spent the days of this past week alone, waiting for EJ to come back from whatever he does. He’s gone from around five in the morning until seven or eight at night. In the week I’ve been here, we’ve had dinner together once and nothing I’d call remotely close to a normal conversation.

  Another text from the stranger pops up.

  I can help you. Just answer one text.

  I don’t know what they want, if I can trust them. At first, I thought it was EJ, testing me.

  The more I’m around him, though, the less likely that seems. He’s many things, some of which I think are dark, but he’s been upfront with me. I don’t see him doing this. Troubled, brooding, controlling and insatiable in bed, but not demented.

  There’s a fine line between dominant control freak and demented, Natty.

  I don’t know what to think about the messages. I do feel unsettled in my new existence, which consists of the suite. I’m afraid of the world outside, because it’s not mine.

  After another hesitation, I type a response to the anonymous texter.

  Who is this???

  I feel dirty answering. It’s bad enough that I have to lie to my mother and Alisha about the deal I made with Elijah. I don’t know if I can lie to someone like him. He seems like he can read my mind sometimes.

  The response from the texter is fast.

  “Someone who knows personally what you’re dealing with,” I read aloud.

  I had thought the texter was male, based on the directness of the communications. There’s no emotion in them, either, which I would expect from an angry ex-girlfriend. This latest message makes me think otherwise. From what I know of Elijah, he tends to hang out with tons of women.

  There’s an attachment to the message, and I open it.

  A video that looks like a homemade porno plays.

  “Oh, my.” I watch for a moment, hand over my mouth.

  It’s EJ all right, with three women and another man. The orgy is grainy but his features clear, along with the sex toys I know and some I don’t.

  The things he’s doing with those women … that they’re doing to him …

  I close the video, feeling a little queasy. There’s another emotion I don’t want to feel bubbling up, too.

  I know what we have is an arrangement with sex, and that a man with his level of experience has been around the block a few times. But I don’t like seeing him with another woman.

  At least it’s dated a month before I entered his life. I am jealous, which means I’ve started to feel something for him despite my attempts to stay numb and isolate my feelings. This terrifies me more than anything else, the idea that I’m going to end up getting hurt.

  My face flushes with anger. “I’m not going to let you have all of me, Elijah,” I whisper. “My body – I know. But not me!”

  I’m furious at him, even knowing it’s me I’m truly angry at. Somehow, my walls have faltered enough that he’s able to creep beneath them.

  My phone vibrates, distracting me, and I check it. Alisha, my best friend in the world, the girl I grew up on the streets with, has texted.

  I found something!!!!! She’s written.

  She has a … special skill set, one I’m not yet convinced I won’t need soon, especially if the press doesn’t leave me alone and I need to leave town. She’s the reason I was able to get into EJ’s apartment in the first place.

  Intrigued, I move to the back of the bathroom and dial her number.

  “Well, what?” I demand. I glance towards the door, hoping I’m far enough away for my voice not to carry. I turn on the shower, just in case.

  “I’m not sure yet.” Alisha sounds excited. “Whoever set this up did an extremely thorough job. Like, I’d almost say he’s better than me.”

  “No way,” I object with a faint smile. “Tell me whatever it is anyway.”

  “Well … I’d say your man has a lot of secrets,” she starts. “Bank accounts that seem to go nowhere and be owned by no one in countries with names I had to google because I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Random bank accounts?”

  “That’s what someone wants me to think.” She pauses. “But I’ve connected a few of them. At first, I thought it was some sort of elaborate money laundering scheme but now …”

  “What?” I ask, growing excited. I risk another anxious look towards the door, suspecting Elijah would kill me if he found out what I asked Alisha to do - dig up information I could use against him as security. Blackmail. Back up, in case he doesn’t follow through with his promise or worse – somehow hurts those I’m trying to help.

  Digging up dirt on him is a very EJ-thing to do. I’m kind of proud of myself. All the criminal cases I researched while working for Mr. Jenkins’ firm came in handy in guiding Alisha on where to look. The fact she found something is exciting – and scary.

  There’s a part of me that really doesn’t want to know how dark Elijah’s secrets can get.

  “Ugh. I don’t know. What I can tell: he’s hiding something big. I’ve got to find a way to dig around it all without tipping him off. If he figures out and it leads back to you …”

  “I’m in deep shit.” I tap the marble countertops with my fingers. “I couldn’t even guess what he’d be hiding.”

  “It’ll be what you asked me for – something you can use,” Alisha says. “Though you never told me why?”

  “I can’t, Alisha. I’m just trying to be prepared.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need help.” By the concern in Alisha’s voice, she suspects something.

  “You’re awesome.” My phone beeps, and I look down to see another text come in. “I gotta go, Alisha. Talk later.”

  “Bye!”

  I hang up, and I see my mother has texted again, this time to say my father is resting and doing well in the hospital.

  My heart feels like it’s fallen to my feet. I reread the message, distressed by the idea of my father being back in the hospital. I type a response assuring her I’ll come as soon as I can tomorrow.

  But should I? Elijah says the press will follow me everywhere I go. I don’t want them harassing my family. I don’t want Elijah going with me, either, but it sounds like that’s the only way I’m allowed to visit.

  “I really hate you right now, EJ!” I say under my breath, fury within me again.

  My goal is to empty my 401K and give the money to my mother to put towards the surgery my father needs. EJ would never lend me money to help my family, and I’m not sure I could even bring the topic up. Elijah is complicated and very … cold. I’m afraid to let that man near the parts of my life that matter or to let him know there’s something that matters to me enough that I’d do almost anything he asked.

  Again.

  Am I a terrible person? Is it simply pride that prevents me for asking him for financial help?

  With a jolt, I real
ize I’ve been hiding out in the bathroom for ten minutes. I hop in the shower to rinse off quickly then leave, going to my assigned walk-in closet, which is the size of my old apartment. It’s filled with my clothes.

  Rather, with clothes he’s chosen for me. Nothing here is mine in reality, sort of like this new life I’ve been plunged into.

  Each shelf is numbered, one through fifty. He doesn’t dictate what colors I wear, but he does choose the style. I pick out my fave pair of designer jeans from shelf one. The brand isn’t something I’ve ever heard of before, which means it probably cost as much as I make in a month. I then go to shelf five and choose a cashmere, three quarter sleeve sweater.

  The clothes fit insanely well. The blue shirt makes my eyes stand out and the jeans make my ass look hot.

  I giggle as I stare at it in the mirror.

  “I agree,” Elijah says from the entrance of my closet. He’s smiling, his gaze on my ass. “Do you have any real hobbies?”

  Real? There are days when I feel like I’m missing part of the conversation. What the hell is a real hobby? In the week I’ve been here, he’s never asked such a personal question. He’s been content to fuck me without making it too personal. What makes him curious about me today?

  “Yes?” I answer quizzically. “Do you consider playing board games a real hobby?”

  “Board games,” he repeats. “Like … what? Monopoly?”

  “Yeah, sure. Any of them. Except chess.”

  He’s definitely not impressed. “You can’t play any of those alone.”

  “Not usually,” I agree, puzzled.

  He appears to be taking in this information very seriously. What on earth about me playing board games warrants this much thought?

  “Do you have any hobbies?” I venture.

  “Not really your concern.” His answer is so instinctive that I’m certain he uses it regularly.

  “Okay, but pretend like we’re two people stranded on a deserted island for three months together and we’re trying to get to know one another,” I say, irked that he won’t even tell me that much after taking over my life. “One says, hey do you have any hobbies, and the other says, yes. I …” I trail off and wait.

  “One, if we were stranded on an island, I probably wouldn’t talk to you, because it wouldn’t be my fault we were there, which means I’d be pissed that you stranded us somehow. Two, I might have to eat you eventually and would rather not make that a difficult choice. Either I survive or I don’t. Three-”

  I laugh, as much because his response is funny as it is baffling. “Just pretend, EJ. Stop analyzing everything I say.”

  He falls quiet, his stunning features stoic. I don’t think he understands the concept of sharing or pretending. What kind of upbringing did he have, if he doesn’t know anything about either? How can those two childlike traits have been completely stripped out of him?

  “Normal people call this kind of interaction small talk or getting to know one another,” I add.

  “Not interested,” he says.

  God, this man is a total jackass!

  “Ready?” he asks.

  I offer a nod, my irritation fading into nervousness at the thought of seeing anyone else. I’m not comfortable with my newfound fame, not at all interested in being a princess. Or a billionaire.

  He tosses me a small jewelry box. I catch it curiously and open it.

  “Holy shit!”

  The square, yellow diamond engagement ring is huge. Bigger than my thumbnail. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  “Put it on and let’s go,” he directs me.

  “I can’t wear this,” I object. “Look at it! It’s like … omigod! If I damage it, I’ll be paying you back for the rest of my life!”

  He’s amused. “You won’t damage it! Put it on.”

  “What? You’re not going to kneel and propose in a civilized manner like normal people?”

  “No.”

  Whatever. I carefully remove the ring and slide it on my finger. The band is thick, lined with diamonds.

  “Wow,” I murmur, shifting it in the light to see the different facets. “This is incredible.”

  “Big dick, big ring. What’s not to want?”

  I throw the box at him. He catches it with a smile, one of the few genuine ones I’ve seen. His sense of humor is just … bizarre, as rough as he is in bed. He may not understand what it means to talk to people, but he does have a sense of humor somewhere, even if it’s a horrible one.

  When I turn to put on my booties, I’m smiling. I actually think he’s funny sometimes. Does that make me as weird as he is?

  No. Keep that wall up, Natty.

  With a deep breath, I straighten and face him. “Elijah, how far are we really going to take this?” I ask. “I mean, a pre-nup is … it’s our first week. Where will we be in three months?”

  He appears pensive for a moment then shrugs. “As far as we need to.”

  “But marriage … I mean, neither of us wants that!”

  “I want whatever gets me the Crown. You are mine, Natalie. Every part of you, and everything that touches you does so because I allow it. If I tell you to get your ass to the altar, you will.”

  I shake my head. I know the words he’s not saying … he wants the Crown, even if it means hurting me. Destroying my life beyond repair.

  So I know the answer now. He definitely scares me more out of bed than in it.

  “You should be willing to do whatever it takes to save your family’s home,” he adds, stepping into the closet with me.

  He’s wearing a white sweater, one that makes his dark honey skin seem even darker. The contrast is sexy and powerful. I don’t know anyone else who looks this fucking good in white. He gazes down at me, the way he does at everything else in his world.

  We just fucked, and I’m already turned on by how he looks at me.

  “I am,” I reply softly. “It’s just not real yet that …”

  “… you might really be sacrificing yourself for what you want.”

  I nod.

  “Get used to it.” He’s serious, his dark gaze hard. “It’s the only way.”

  “I know.” I look at the ring on my finger again. For some reason, seeing it there makes me think he knows something I don’t. That this charade won’t end in three months – but when it suits him best to end it.

  The ring is a physical sign of his claim over me. One that’s both beautiful – and terrifying.

  “For the record, you’ll sign whatever Mr. Jenkins puts in front of you. No questions asked,” Elijah adds. There’s a warning note in his voice, one I haven’t heard since he came to my apartment after the incident with the press. He used it then when I told him I wanted out.

  “I understand,” I murmur. And I do.

  He’s right. I’m playing with the big dogs. What I hope for – how I feel – no longer matter. What matters: getting what I want. Saving the homes of my family and friends and everyone else on Tenley block.

  I meet his gaze and take a deep breath. I can do this. I can sell my body and freedom to save them all. But I’m not like him. I can’t do it without remorse or pain. I don’t know how he does, and I pray I’m never able to view the world with his detachedness.

  Even knowing what he is, I can’t help the need to be closer. To smell him, to touch him. To feel his arms around me and to hear his husky commands.

  He holds out a hand.

  I’m entering his world and trying to leave my conscience behind me in mine. I’m not sure it’ll work. If I let myself be consumed by him, I might be able to survive, if nothing else.

  Taking his hand, I lean into him, my body burning for him again.

  “Can I kiss you?” I ask, wetting my lips.

  “You may.”

  Raising up on my tiptoes, I plant a light one on his mouth. His response is intense like him. His mouth opens, and his tongue slides between my lips, deepening the kiss until I’m leaning fully against him, my knees rubbery. His arms wrap arou
nd me, his body pressed to mine.

  When he pulls away, I’m breathless and yearning. The corner of his lips turn up in a half smile.

  “I do love fucking you,” he purrs. “Come on. We’ll have time later.” He withdraws and takes my hand, leading me out of the closet.

  We cross through the bedroom and into the hallway. I quickly straighten my hair and clothing with one hand, feeling scattered and more than a little worried about what this meeting will entail.

  I don’t trust Elijah at all with this stuff, but I’m starting to feel like I don’t have much of a choice. That if he’s going to fuck me over, it’ll be too bad for me to come back from and in ways that are more creative than what he comes up with in the bedroom.

  We enter the small conference room just past the kitchen – which smells like coffee – and I hang back, letting him do the introductions. I didn’t expect there to be so many people for this simple meeting.

  Or to see the stack of paper I have no doubt is the pre-nup that awaits me with an expensive pen resting beside it.

  What the fuck does all that say? I’m starting to sweat at the idea that this was something drawn up by Elijah.

  “Good to see you again, Natalie,” Mr. Jenkins says and offers his hand. “You remember my partners, Abraham Lewis and my son, Robert Jenkins, Junior.”

  “I do,” I say, forcing a smile.

  The two others in the room are Elijah’s assistants, siblings I’ve seen around but never heard speak. They’re like wallflowers, their stoic expressions and polite smiles making me wonder if I’ll end up like them.

  I shake hands with the other two partners, and we all sit. Elijah is across from me, and I know why. He’s where he can exert the most control over me. I know how much he values controlling his world, and I don’t doubt he’s prepared for just about anything.

  One of his feet finds mine under the table. I don’t know why the physical connection helps to calm me, but it does.

  “Mr. Micah tells me you’ve waived your right to outside counsel,” Mr. Jenkins starts.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Beautiful ring,” his son says with a smile. “You’re one lucky lady.”

  I glance down at it. It really is pretty. I can’t believe how huge it is.