Bang (A Club Deep Story)(21)

Farrow catches my eye, grinning. Then he leans in and nuzzles my neck.  His lips skim across my skin, not quite a kiss, but enough that I  freeze, my breath caught in my throat. His stubble skims over my  sensitive skin, a touch so light and yet it sets off electricity in my  nerves. I feel like a live wire, ready to spark at any second.

"I never expected you to go along with this," he murmurs against my skin. Then he draws back from me, lets go of my wrist.

I sit up, rubbing my arm, and glare at him as he picks up his phone. A few taps, and he holds it up to show me another page.

My blood goes cold.

It's another auction. One still in progress, according to the scrolling header. I recognize this photo, too.

It's Cece.

Cecelia Badiary, reads the header, her full, formal name. I am 19 years  old. The youngest daughter of Calvin Badiary. I live in California,  where …

I close my eyes. I can't read the rest. I can imagine. I'm a sweet  innocent babygirl virgin. Buy me, so you can be the first man to fuck  me. My Daddy won't mind.

I cannot believe my father would stoop so low. And yet, here is the proof, right in front of my eyes.

"Your mother and Cecelia have no idea that she is being auctioned,"  Farrow explains, shutting off his phone and pocketing it. "Her auction  doesn't end for another month. But you don't need to worry. Cecelia  never needs to find out she's up for sale. She never needs to go through  what you are now."

I lift my chin, glaring at him. "How can you guarantee that?" I snap.

"Because," he answers, infuriatingly calm, "if you do everything that I  say; if you please me for this month, then I will buy out Cecelia's  auction. I'll release the money to your father, clear all his debts. I  won't touch your sister-no one will, and no one will ever need to know  about this." He taps his pocket. The phone, and that evil, fucked-up  website inside it. "Your sister can go on living her life, unaware of  the danger she so narrowly missed."

Farrow shrugs and leans back in the seat. "Or, you can fight me. Resist  me. Misbehave for the whole month. And then some other man, a man you  don't know, probably one of your father's older business associates,  someone with far less morals than me, will buy your baby sister. He'll  have his way with her-and I guarantee, he will not give her nearly as  much freedom to choose as I am giving you."

That ice-hot gaze of his bores into mine. But that infuriating smile stays put.

Because damn him. He already knows what I'm going to say, even before I  do. I scowl, clench my fists tight. But I say what I need to. What I  must, to protect her.

"One question," I say. "What do you get out of it?"

His smile widens. "Revenge."

Another shiver races along my spine. I remember the alley, the night I  wondered whether he was the good guy or the bad guy. Definitely the  latter.

"Fine. I'll go with you," I spit through clenched teeth.

Farrow only laughs. "I know."



I don't know where we are. At least a few hours from Dad's estate, so  probably still New York, though it's father upstate. Deep in the woods,  to judge by the view when Farrow finally opens the door and I step out  of the limo. Forest, as far as I can see in every direction. It's quiet  now, at night, and the moon skims over the trees, a sharp crescent,  glinting against a backdrop of a thousand stars. More than we usually  see, even in our relatively small town.         

     



 

It would be beautiful if I weren't so furious about being here.

I climb out of the limo and join Farrow on the walk toward the house.  It's massive, but not in an ostentatious way. It's like it was built for  this location-it's old-fashioned, wood-accented. With its vaulting  carapaces and elaborate windows it blends into its surroundings. It's  enchanting.

It also looks expensive. Ridiculously so. Especially when he leads me up  the steps and a butler opens the front door, bowing us into an  elaborate foyer with marble floors and a huge chandelier above which  catches the light and throws it across the several-stories-high ceiling  in bright rainbows of color.

"Mr. Lochlan," the butler says, bowing, and I feel another pang in my chest as I think of Gerard.

Did he know what my father was planning? He must have if he left the  house empty for this man. For Farrow Lochlan to come and claim me. Dad  must have ordered Gerard to leave. That's probably why he looked at me  that way when he said goodbye …  His eyes full of regret …

My chest clenches tight. I narrow my eyes at the butler as if this is his fault.

For his part, Farrow's butler refuses to meet my eyes. He studies the floor at my feet as he holds the door for us.

I stare him down, as angry with him for cooperating in this madness as I  am at Farrow for taking advantage of me. Of my father's weakness.

But most of all, I'm furious at my father for putting me in this position.

Farrow notices me studying the butler, the gilded hallway, the high  ceilings. "I'm in the business of protection," he comments as we cross  the floor, our footsteps echoing.

I can't help it. I scoff, rolling my eyes at the idea of Farrow  protecting anyone. "I can't imagine your protection pays this well," I  add, meaning that it's a bit rich for him to be paid to protect others  when he's taking advantage of me.

But his gaze only darkens, and his mouth twists with some inner rage.  "You'd be surprised what people will pay to be safe. Or be made to feel  safe, anyway."

Then he's walking away, down the hall, and I have no choice but to  follow. I trail him through house, past closed doors and through large  rooms-a library lined with books, a study with an elaborate drawing  table, an enormous dining room clearly made for entertaining, though I  wonder how much of that Farrow could possibly do, isolated in the woods  like this.

We pass a kitchen, and I spot another servant inside, a maid dusting  shelves and a cook at the stove. They both look up, smile and greet Mr.  Lochlan. Their gazes skim right past me as if I'm not even here. I feel  like a ghost walking at his side.

"Hello," I reply, after they both ignore me, hoping to draw at least some kind of attention.

The maid glances at me once, her eyes narrowed and cold. Then she goes  back to dusting, and Farrow leads onward, up a set of stairs.

We enter a room on the second floor, brightly lit by chandeliers and  ornate sconces set into the walls. It has no windows, but a lot of  circular, comfy-looking couches. It looks like the room you'd find in a  spa lounge. I wonder if he entertains people here, too. Maybe this is  the drawing room where they recline and sip cocktails made by a hired  bartender until the dining room downstairs is set and ready to receive  guests.

I'm still studying the room, trying to determine its exact purpose, when I hear the door click shut behind me.

I turn around to find Farrow leaning against the closed doors, watching me with hooded, unreadable eyes.

"Strip," he says.





2





Finally.

It's taken years of preparation and planning. Laying the groundwork. But  I've finally got that bastard Calvin Badiary right where I want him.

And now it's time to take my revenge. Time to ruin his precious  daughter. To use her and debase her in all the ways I've dreamt of, ever  since the night I met her in that alley and realized what an asset she  would be. How she could serve me to take my revenge.

All I have to do is remember why I'm here. Why I'm doing all of this. Why I need to use this girl.

"Strip," I tell her, my voice heavy with the command. I expect her to  try to resist. Maybe throw something at me again, the way she kept doing  in the limo. That, or I figure she will get scared now. She'll finally  realize the dire straits she's in and cry, beg for mercy.         

     



 

What I do not expect is for Pamona to lift her chin and meet my gaze. I  can tell she's quivering-she's not that good an actress. But she keeps  her mouth in a narrow, hard line, and meets my eyes, and refuses to back  down, even with all the fear that must be coursing through her.

Then she grabs the bottom of her dress and pulls it over her head in one smooth motion.

When she drops it on the floor beside her, still glaring at me, I can't  help it. I flash back to that night, years ago. To seeing her bare skin  in that alley, her flat stomach on display, her shoulders naked, her ass  tight and pert in those skintight jeans. She was perfect, she was sexy,  she was completely naïve and ignorant of what she was doing walking  down that street in the dead of night …  And I had her right where I  wanted her. I could have taken her then.

I wanted to.

But I made myself wait. I told myself I would do it better. Make sure  her father knew who took her and why. Now that she's here, standing in  front of me, naked except for her thin, lacy white bra and a pair of  flimsy cotton panties, glaring me down like she doesn't have a single  fear in the world, all I remember is how much I wanted her that night in  the alley. Not for the sake of humiliating her father, but for the sake  of having her. Running my hands over every inch of her smooth, perfect  skin.