A Wifey for the Bad Boy(2)

"I can't," she shook her head. "I don't have the money, not l-like that."

"Oh no," the man waved her off. "Of course not. An office assistant to a  small startup magazine? We would've never believed him if he'd said  that you did. No, what your brother planned to settle his debt with was  you  –  just you."       

   





When Samantha just stared at him, eyes furrowed and mouth a small line, the man sighed and elaborated, "Your body, I mean."

Realization struck Samantha and she breathed, "Human trafficking?"

"Please," the man scowled, shaking his head, and for a moment relief  swelled in Samantha's chest. "Prostitution," he offered instead, and she  gasped.

"Y-you can't!" she jumped up, knocking her chair over. The man simply  watched her calmly, moving only to rest his chin in his hands. "This  isn't-I'm a person! With rights!" she proclaimed.

"Oh, yes," he nodded sympathetically. "I completely understand. Just as  long as you understand that it is completely within my right to respond  to your brother's betrayal."

"But-"

The man stood up, his chair scraping the floor, and Samantha took three  steps back. She was clutching her purse to her chest like a shield,  trembling as she waited for him to spring his trap.

"But," he seemed to relent, and his shoulders sagged as he grabbed  something off of his desk. In the next moment he'd clicked the flame of a  lighter and lit the thing in his mouth  –  a cigarette, one that smelled  richer than the cheap brands that his subordinates had been smoking  outside.

"But," he said again. "You are not the same as your brother. You're an  innocent," he said by way of a nod. "And not at all what I had been  expecting to walk through that door." Taking a long drag of his  cigarette, he blew out a ring and rubbed his chin. "Your brother is  young, and fit. I'm sure that we can find a market to sell him into just  as easily." Shrugging to himself, he started walking towards the door.  "I'll tell the men to bring him in." As he moved into the light,  Samantha realized that he was wearing a suit, not leather and jeans like  his men. He seemed normal  –  like he could be reasoned with.

"W-wait!" Samantha reached for him, but immediately brought her hand  back to her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was touch the man  who'd just announced that he could have her sold off, or worse. Still,  her movement seemed to have given him pause. "You can't. James, I know  he isn't-"

"He's scum," the man said, breathing smoke out of the corner of his  mouth. His blue eyes were on her, his height allowing him to tower over  her. Samantha gulped.

This man was dangerous.

"Please," she said quietly. "I'm sorry that he's wronged you, but he's my little brother."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're loyal to him, even after hearing how he'd planned to sell you out?"

"Please," she tried again, closing her eyes to block out his harsh stare.

"Well," he said, and she could hear him shifting his feet. "That's all  well and good, but unless you're suggesting another way that James could  repay his debt … "

Samantha opened her eyes and looked up at the man. He was still staring,  and she realized, belatedly, that his black hair was swept up in an  elegant bun. She wondered if he ever took it out, when he was with his  men. It seemed like he'd fit right in with them if he were grungier;  someone who could go for a night ride on one of those motorcycles, or  get dirty fixing a hubcap.

Maybe order a ‘call girl' for a night in.

"I see," he sighed. "Well, if you can't offer anything-"

"Me!" she shouted, too scared to notice the way that the man almost tripped over himself at her exclamation.

"I thought that we had already agreed that I wouldn't be forcing you  into a life of misery today?" he said tiredly, straightening his tie.

"I-I mean," she said, keeping her eyes downcast. "We could, you know. Do something. Together. Tonight."

He seemed to grin, and cocked his head as he asked, "My dear, are you  implying that I buy you for twelve thousand?" When Samantha just kept  her eyes on the floor, he chuckled. "And for only a few hours. My, my  –   even the most experienced whores don't make that much, and I believe  that we've already established that you aren't one of those."

"I know that I'm not the most attractive," she said quietly. Unlike her  brother, Samantha had never gotten involved in after school sports like  soccer or tennis, opting instead to spend her free hours inside with a  book and her computer. She'd never been fit, or thin, for that matter,  but she was well aware that her rounded stomach and thick thighs  could've been avoided.

"On the contrary," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped  from the touch, but his hot fingers just curled tighter. "Your body is  very appealing. However, it's clear that you are not at all experienced  in what you're proposing. Am I right?"       

   





"I'm not a virgin-"

"But you're not a whore."

Samantha was too embarrassed by the subject matter to admit it out loud, so she simply turned her head away and nodded.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said kindly. "But I'm sure you can  see why I won't simply squander away twelve thousand on one  unexperienced girl, for one evening."

Samantha closed her eyes in a frown. Any minute now, she was sure that  the man would walk out the door and order for her brother to be  kidnapped or worse, never to be seen again. And there was nothing that  she could do about it.

"Of course," the man said suddenly, and she snapped her head up to look  at him. "I could buy you for more than one night." At the look on her  face, he smirked and reached out a hand. Samantha steeled herself for  his fierce grip, but he just cupped her cheek, the callouses on his hand  rough against her skin. "Or, perhaps not a night at all; maybe a day.  Tell me, Miss Smith, how do you feel about marriage?"

Samantha's eyes had never grown so wide. "Marriage?" she repeated.

"Oh, right, your brother said that your parents were married," he said,  pulling back his hand as he snapped his fingers. "A wedding, then."

As he started walking back towards the door, Samantha felt that she  must've missed something. "Sorry," she called, her legs too weak to walk  after him. "Wedding?"

"Yes," he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the door before he grabbed the handle. "Yours and mine."





Chapter 2

Samantha was too numb to protest as the man led her back towards the  elevator. She stood there beside him, his hand on her lower back, and  blinked as the piano played through the speakers. She tried to figure  out what'd happened back there, and, more importantly, what was  happening now, but her mind was muddled.

She didn't even know his name.

"Abel Wood," he chuckled, and she jumped at his voice. Had she asked  that out loud? "Your brother called you ‘Sam,'" he continued. "I take it  that's short for something?"

"S-Samantha," she nodded. Her hair felt weird against her own neck  –   tangled, and restrained. She wondered if she was sweating again.

"Oh, like the actress," he said, nodding to himself. Samantha just  looked up at him through her eyelashes, unsure if he was joking or not.

The elevator dinged as it reached the main floor, and the old man  straightened up as he caught sight of his boss. What was his name again?  Earl, Samantha reminded herself.

"Boss!" Earl looked between them.

"Earl," Abel greeted him warmly. "Meet my new fiancé," he said casually,  wrapping his arm fully around Samantha's side to pull her up against  him. "Spread the word, would you? I don't want this one hurt."

"Y-yes, sir!" Earl nodded eagerly, apparently honored to have gotten a  job from the boss himself. Samantha glanced up at him again. Abel looked  thirty, maybe mid-thirties, thought that was pushing it. She herself  was only twenty-seven, and still working as an assistant. What had he  done to inspire such loyalty from a man twice his age?

"C'mon," Abel whispered, turning her down the hall away from Earl and,  more importantly, towards the exit. Unfortunately, it seemed that Abel  wasn't going to pull any punches, and he kept a firm grip on her as he  walked them outside.

Samantha couldn't help but glance to her car, an escape that was so close yet so far away.

Except, the bug wasn't there.

"Where's my car?" she accused, pushing at Abel's arm as she looked up and down the street.

"Oh, that little green contraption you pulled up in? One of my men drove  it to my house already. But don't worry, darling," he said, guiding her  towards a black four door parked on the corner. "Our ride is right over  here."