Property of Drex (Book 1)(8)

Though he’s beautifully disguised, he’s a monster just like the rest of them. I’ve never seen anyone die right in front of my eyes, especially not so brutally, but they all seemed to either enjoy it, or they acted bored. This creep watched me the whole time, probably enjoying how sick it all made me.

I need therapy now.

Alcohol would be a good substitute, since I doubt this group has a therapist on hand.

I’m not sure if I’m still in shock, or maybe staying in denial, or if it’s just survival mode, but I’ve pushed the entire scene from my head, refusing to fully let the reality sink in.

He drops the file on the table in the bedroom, and the loud clap it produces forces me to startle just a bit. I recover quickly as he crosses his arms over his chest while he studies me.

“What does Benny want to learn about us?” he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

Huh?

“What?” I ask in a hoarse rasp, inwardly cringing at how terrified I sound.

I hope he doesn’t confuse terror for guilt. I’m not sure what he’s probing for right now, but I certainly don’t want him thinking I’m working for Benny.

“Come on, Eve,” he says with a lazy drawl, letting my name roll off his tongue. “It’s not every day a girl from the suburbs crashes into a clubhouse and offers herself up to be used and traded. In fact, it’s probably the first time I’ve personally heard of it. So what does Benny have on you, and what does he want? Either he’s blackmailing you over some dark, dirty secret. Or you’re here because you’re one of those girls who is going through a curious, rebellious phase. Believe me, darlin’, this isn’t the place for a phase.”

Regardless of my answer, it’s too late now. Benny would kill me if the Death Dealers didn’t kill me first. I’ve signed myself over to be at their disposal—consequences be damned.

I suppose I’ll be damned, too.

And I hate being called darling.

Deciding not to mention that, mostly because I don’t want to piss him off, I answer honestly. “I needed mone—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, waving his hand for emphasis. “Money isn’t why you’re doing this. If you want money this way, you prostitute yourself out to classy businessmen. With a face like yours, you’d be with the high class hookers, making more than enough money. Here, you won’t be getting to use that money too often. For as long as you can think, this is your new home.”

A tear begs to fall, but I deny it the right. “Prostituting myself out wouldn’t have gotten the money as soon as I needed it. My mom was about to lose the house, and my brothers start school this year. She was on the verge of losing everything.”

For a fleeting moment, his expression softens, but almost as quickly, the hard, emotionless glower is back.

“So you’re saying you did this for your family. That’s your story?” He pauses, and I nod, deciding to rest my tremulous voice. “Well, as sweet as that sounds, I reserve the right to be suspicious. Guys like us don’t make trades for peace.”

He walks around me, and my breath catches in my throat, becoming painfully lodged when he touches me just at my collarbone. Though his touch is gentle and not inappropriate, it’s a reminder that soon his father will be touching me in places that aren’t so innocent.

His finger trails over my chest, slowly heading south, going between my breasts, and stopping right at the top of my jeans, hovering over the button.

“You should strip. These clothes aren’t going to cut it. And I also need to search you. Everywhere.”

Everywhere. That word echoes through my mind, crashing back at me as though it’s a warning.

He removes his hand and steps away, watching and waiting, and I swallow hard. The painful knot in my throat only grows as I reach for the hem of my shirt. Taking a deep breath, I pull it off quickly.

His eyes are on me, watching with open interest as I move to my jeans. As much as I’d like to draw this out and delay the inevitable, I also don’t want to keep dreading the first time. The sooner I’m naked, the sooner the suspense ends. I’ve prepared myself for what I hope is the worst.

“You know what’s going to happen to you, right?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as I push the jeans down my legs. He takes a deep breath as I step out of them. In nothing but my pink, cotton underwear, I try to find the courage to meet his gaze, keeping my expression as impassive as possible under the grim circumstances.

“I know.”

His lips twitch with amusement, and I reach for the clasp of my bra, trembling harder as it comes undone.

“And this is consensual?” he asks, acting as though he gives a damn.