“We should get to see the merch first.”
Some distant part of my brain told me to stand up for myself, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that. I wasn’t sure if I even remembered how.
I was drowning. My voice gone, my breath gone, sinking into hands and smoke…
Gray grabbed my wrist, pulling me from them, still with his joint in one hand. I twirled until I fell to his lap.
I immediately froze.
I’m on Grayson Crowne’s lap.
He reached for his cards, arms wrapped around me, keeping me pinned. The action jostled me, pressed me deeper into him. I sucked in nothing; I had no air left to swallow.
“Do they let you rip open the plastic and eat the steak before you buy it?” Gray maneuvered to hold his cards in one hand, his joint with the other. “Sit down, fuckheads.”
Everyone slowly did as he said, and I could see the calculations in their heads. I wasn’t a person, I was a thing, like a car or a house. How much was I worth betting?
Turns out, I was worth a company, a rare car, a house, and an island. I might’ve felt special if I wasn’t so terrified.
The game started. I should’ve been focused on who was winning, who was going to get a night with me, but I couldn’t stop focusing on the tiniest of things. The warmth suffusing off Grayson’s chest, seeping into my back. His breath heating my neck. How each time he called, he leaned forward and wrapped me tight in his biceps, and his lips grazed my neck. Their softness was a shock to my skin, hair rising to meet them.
He hadn’t ceased caging me, even after everyone had calmed down and stopped looking at me like meat. Gray was tall, built like a swimmer. His knuckles were calloused, and his arms were thick. I felt oddly—wrongly—safe.
I shifted, an ache growing between my thighs.
I rolled my hips, trying to extinguish the ache, and it only made the throbbing worse. I shifted again, then again, trying to fix it.
“Chill,” Grayson said, making me jump, lips at my ear as he played a hand.
“You’re gambling me and telling me to chill…” I couldn’t contain my incredulous laugh.
Suddenly there was a blunt against my lips. “Shut the fuck up, Snitch.” He picked up his cards, holding the blunt against my lips. Waiting for me. I shifted on his thigh, trying to get back to a comfortable position.
Grayson gripped my thigh, keeping me still. “You’re making me lose my focus. When I lose focus, I lose. Do you want that, Snitch?”
When I did nothing, his stony gaze connected with mine, a question in them. To extinguish that and whatever was happening to me, I inhaled.
It wasn’t my first time smoking. Not by a long shot. But as the smoke filled my lungs, my eyes locked with Charlotte’s.
Everything short-circuited. Smoke seared my throat. Tears blurred the room.
I couldn’t cough hard enough.
Lottie didn’t look happy. Her friends? Even less happy.
“This is a bad idea,” I coughed.
Gray put the blunt back in his mouth, and my stomach did another pancake, thinking about how it had just been in mine. It stuck out of the corner of his lips.
“Nervous?” He arched a brow, a playful curve to his pink lips.
I blinked out of the hazy delirium I lost myself in whenever Gray shone his light on me.
“Charlotte looks upset,” I said.
He froze with the hand he was about to play.
Then kept going.
“You should tell her the truth,” I continued. “If you want her back. Tell her the truth.”
“You really like stirring the fucking pot.”
“It’s called honesty.”
He laughed. “Right. You’re the biggest liar here.”
“The more you lie the more you push her away,” I said. “She thinks you don’t like her.”
Maybe it was the weed lowering my inhibitions.
“I want your pussy, Snitch. Not your psychoanalysis.” With one hand still holding the cards, his other came between my thighs.
Deep. Breath.
He’s fucking with me. I know he’s fucking with me. He wants a reaction. I struggled not to give it to him. I’d always been too sensitive, and even with the material of my skirt as a shield, it wasn’t enough. It was too thin, and I wished I’d worn something thicker.
Grayson Crowne’s birthright was to own and possess, and it bled into the weight of his hand, the casual way he held me.
“I’ve been thinking about how to punish you for that stunt you pulled.” He lifted his leg, spreading my thighs around his knee.
I swallowed a breath. “This isn’t my punishment?”
“Maybe I want you to beg me while I gamble your body. I haven’t decided.” He exhaled hot smoke, blurring the poker table, the glittery room.
My belly did a wicked twist at his words, feeding at the heat that was burning me to ash in his lap.
Don’t. React.
That’s what he wants. All of this is a game. He wants me to fall apart in his lap so he can laugh when I do. I stayed stock-still, saying the words over and over in my head.
“I’ll never beg you.” My words were jagged and rocky, and I swear Grayson smiled against my neck.
“I’ve been thinking we should put your virginity to the test.” His lips vibrated against my skin. “It’s always the quiet, modest ones that are the freakiest.”
I know he was just saying it to get to me, and what sucked, is it did. Somehow, my virginity was still the most special thing about me, even though I’d lost it years ago. The reason these guys were willing to bet houses and cars and companies.
“I remember the way you begged. How you whispered more.”
He was growing hard beneath my ass, but when he spoke, his words were laced with no emotion.
I tried to focus on the cards flying across the table. On his long fingers dealing the cards. But I couldn’t fight the deep, needful ache inside me. It was consuming me, and he was going to humiliate me.
I had to fight back.
“So says the loudmouth playboy virgin with a hard-on,” I whispered, words too breathy for my liking.
He tensed.
Then picked up his cards.
When he spoke, his voice was rougher. Meaner. “I don’t believe for a minute you haven’t had a cock inside this pussy.” He gripped me harder, and my lips parted on a hollow breath. I couldn’t lift my head to determine if anyone could see what was happening. I stared at the table, vision blurring, as humiliation coursed through my veins.
I almost caved. Just to sate the need growing untamed inside me. Instead I tried to subtly shift against his thigh, I wasn’t sure if to relieve the throbbing or encourage it.
He laughed, dealing the next hand. “Does the idea of being sold get you wet? If you ruin my jeans I’m going to be pissed, Snitch.”
I fought everything in my body to grip his thigh and give in. Instead I pressed back against his erection.
“If you come on my back, I’ll send you the dry-cleaning bill,” I whispered back.
Gray froze, then slammed his knee between my thighs in a harsh, violent thrust. I gasped, gripping his thigh. It was still a game to him…but I was falling apart.
I didn’t realize the rule I needed to make until it was already broken: don’t come with Grayson Crowne. I was too hot, my thoughts disappearing into the throbbing ache between my thighs, tingles sprouting with my goose bumps.
My head fell against his shoulder. Gray played, reaping in piles of coins like I wasn’t there. His lips fanned my cheek as he leaned forward, hot and drugging.
“If she really loves you, she won’t care you’re a virgin,” I whispered, maybe a truth in the moment, or one last-ditch effort to hide before disappearing into him.
His tense was so subtle I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t literally melting into his body.
“Are you coming right now?” he hissed.
Maybe he didn’t mean to really get me off;
maybe I’d taken the game too far.
He’d grown rock hard. Iron. What would sex with Grayson Crowne be like? The thought popped into my head. Intense. Too intense. You don’t put on a mask as thick as Grayson’s unless you have something really untamable to hide.
“Fuck, you are.” His palm tightened possessively between my thighs. There was a surprised edge, a strangle in his voice I might have believed meant something if not for the words that immediately came from his lips next.
“Want to know something cute, guys?” Gray said. “This servant has a thing for me. She’s been saving her V-card for me. Which one of you wants to take it instead? I’m raising the pot. All in.”
What!?
The words shocked me out of the sweet, hazy place I’d been. I scrambled to pull the chips back from the center.
“What are you doing? You have a two and a three.”
Grayson pulled me back against his chest by the palm still between my thighs. All the oxygen in the room disappeared.
His breath feathered my neck. “Scared, Snitch?”
It took all I had not to shake. It came down to this hand. It was either him, or go home with some creep named Khalid.
“Are you wondering if they saw you come?” Grayson’s fingers played over the thin cotton barrier, dangerously light, like he was holding some part of himself back. “Stay fucking still or I’ll answer that question for everyone.”
This was what my uncle meant when he said dignity in the face of indignity. Would I really go home with Khalid?
Would I let myself go home with him?
Khalid was about to lay down his card when a gold coin landed on the table.
Everything stopped.
Unlike the other coins, this one had markings. It was beautiful, almost looking like lace. I don’t know what the markings meant, but the coin made Gray freeze.
“What the hell are you doing?” Gray looked up at whoever threw the coin. “Why would you use that on her?”
“You have to honor it.”
My heart stopped. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. I knew by the low, smooth timbre of the voice. I hadn’t heard it in years, but I could never forget the boy who took my virginity.
West du Lac.
Instead of letting me go, Gray tightened the cage, palm spreading to fan across my entire abdomen, pulling me tighter against his chest. Briefly, stupidly, I wondered if he could feel the butterflies bounce in my stomach.
West arched a brow. “Are you challenging? Over a servant?”
The room went quiet.
West du Lac was tall—taller than Gray even—with broad shoulders and a square jaw. With fluffy brown hair and warm brown eyes, he was like everyone else here dressed in casually expensive clothes, however there was one key difference: his eyes were kind.
I’d fallen for them once.
“Is that any stranger than you using a fucking coin on one?” Gray asked.
West shrugged. “In the mood for something Gray Crowne wants.”
Grayson laughed, but he was tenser than steel beneath me.
Lottie’s brown eyes sparkled in the dark. I didn’t know what any of this meant, why they had coins, and why everyone was watching so tensely; and the last person I wanted to go with was West du Lac, but I knew the look in Lottie’s eyes.
I turned to my shoulder so I could whisper. “Lottie is watching. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Gray cursed so low only I heard—and then shoved me off so I fell to my hands and knees.
I knew then that Gray could feel my butterflies, because he seemed determined to rip their wings off anytime they fluttered.
I stared at my shadow in the shiny floor. I could feel everyone looking at me, their laughs sinking into my back, when West knelt in front of me and gave me his hand.
Everything in me wanted to shove his hand away and spit in his face.
Lottie had moved to sit next to Gray, and his hand was over the chair, his other pushing a loose braid behind her ear.
I blinked at my shadow in the floor, lids suddenly on fire. Why did my chest ache?
“Angel?” West extended his hand farther.
“Don’t call me that,” I muttered.
But I took West’s hand, because it was either that or stay on the floor.
Outside of the shack a few swans lingered on the beach. It was chilly, night air smelling more of cold sand and trees than salt. I shivered, and West handed me his jacket.
I stared at it.
He shook it at me. “Just take it.”
“No.”
We stared at one another.
What did he want from me? The past thirty minutes had been like this, both of us on the verge of saying something.
I’d cried for weeks when West ghosted me, because he didn’t just ghost me, he ghosted me. He went from being my only real friend to nothing, acted like I didn’t exist the next morning.
Then, one Christmas party, I overheard some socialites talking about how West couldn’t stop bragging about how he got some maid to give up her V-card to him. I stopped crying, but I didn’t stop hurting, and I could never really heal.
“So,” West finally said, “you’re letting Grayson Crowne bet your virginity?” He lifted his brows like he wanted me to acknowledge why that was wrong.
I pinched my lips together.
So that was the game we were playing.
“Why not, Mr. du Lac?” I blinked, feigning innocence. “It’s not like someone’s going to come out and say they’ve already had sex with me. That would be just too degrading.”
His stare hardened.
I realized a long time ago the problem with us. Westley du Lac and I were two people who never should’ve crossed paths, should never have spoken to one another, and, somehow, we fell in love. Or at least, I had.
He sighed, then came to my side, draping the jacket over my shoulders. “Angel, that’s not—”
Before West could finish, I was yanked from him, the jacket torn off my body, tossed to the dirt.
Grayson.
“West.”
“Gray.”
A staring match. A swan hissed.
“Some of your water polo frat buddies were looking for you,” Gray said. “Something about running out of roofies? Not sure. It’s hard to hear over all the high-fiving.”
West glared. “I don’t play water polo, and I’m not in a frat.”
Gray frowned. “Huh…I don’t know why I thought you did. Maybe it’s that ‘I just got fucked in the ass by Uncle Sam and loved it’ smile you have.”
Another tense second, then West said, “Let her go. I paid. Are you really going to challenge?”
“I let you walk away with her. Didn’t say I was going to let you keep her.” His grip on my arm tightened. “I’m sorry if you didn’t get the memo, but she’s mine.”
My gut flipped like earlier, but worse. It dripped lower. It stayed. It throbbed. I liked him saying she’s mine. I was trying to rip out the weeds growing inside me, but each time he spoke, it was like they were encased in steel.
He held out his palm, revealing three gold coins. “You’ve held on for so long, du Lac. Gave it up for what?”
Another moment.
West looked over his shoulder, catching my eyes. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Gray grabbed my arm, thrusting me against his back so I slammed against his muscles with a thud. I couldn’t see West anymore, couldn’t see anything but Gray’s black dress shirt.
His grip on me tightened. “She’s fine, Captain America.”
Fabric filled my nose and mouth; his smell invaded my nostrils.
He let me go and I sucked in lungfuls of air.
“Why the fuck did West du Lac want you?” Grayson rounded on me.
“I don’t know,” I lied. “I have no idea why he cares so much.” That part wasn’t really a lie.
He scoffed. “Don’t lie to me. You plotting or something? Telling him your sad little story?”
> “Are you mad at me?” I asked, pointing at my chest, filled with indignation for bursting. “I’d love to hear the twisted Crowne logic that lets you think you can be mad at me.”
I couldn’t be subservient. I couldn’t. I was so sick of rich boys who thought they could use me however they wanted.
Grayson made a face. “Twisted Crowne—”
“You gambled me!” The words came out a yell before I could temper myself. “You made me…in front of everyone…I don’t care what you do to me anymore. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m done.”
Maybe to someone like Gray what just happened was normal, but I wasn’t used to being fucking gambled.
Gray took less than a second to reach me with great, angry strides, swallowing the dark beach between us.
“It wasn’t a gamble,” he growled. “I was never going to lose, Snitch. I don’t lose. I don’t share. Your body is mine, and when you inevitably fail at this stupid plan, you’ll know that without a doubt.”
Eleven
GRAY
* * *
Hours later, Story is asleep on my floor and I can’t sleep. Which wouldn’t be news, except for the reason why I can’t sleep. There’s a need. A possession. Growing inside me like a weed. I didn’t like them touching her. I don’t like anyone even looking at her. The more time I spend, the more I realize one kiss isn’t enough, and if we do it again, it won’t ever be enough.
Which means it can never happen again.
I’d nearly ripped West’s head off just for taking her. He used a family coin on her. What the fuck? You only got one family coin.
There was something about this girl that was creeping into my veins.
It was easy to mistake her as Lottie at first, but now the differences were so fucking stark. If Lottie was a diamond, Snitch was the metal you cast it in.
Outside the swans still hissed with the waves, but tomorrow only a few would linger. The clock was ticking, and still all I can think about is the girl sleeping below my bed.
The way she wears her nun clothes, or how her eyes get big when she’s angry. Fuck…when she’s angry.
Twisted Crowne logic.
I like it when she’s honest. I like it when she’s brutal. I like it when she talks back.
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