That small spark morphs into an inferno and I internally purr in approval. No matter how frail and sweet this girl appears, there’s a deep-seated darkness churning inside of her born from years of pain and resentment. I give her a minute, letting her process things and not wanting to interrupt, just watching emotions flit across her face with rapt fascination.
“So, what?” she finally asks through gritted teeth. “You’re going to drag me back to your house to be your plaything until you grow bored enough to kill me? I’d rather you just cut to the chase and save us both the overdone cliche.” Her hand tenses on the door, preparing to slam it in my face and I grin. This wood is so dry rotted, it wouldn’t stand a chance between me and something I actually wanted.
“We don’t deal with the sex industry, even in our personal lives. Trust me, Elysium, anyone that winds up in my bedwantsto be there.” She lets her guard down a fraction and I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, cocking my head to the side. “But I’m considering taking him up on the offer.”
My foot catches the door before she can slam it shut, though I don’t force my way into her room, pretending for her benefit that I don’t see the pocket knife she slipped out of her jeans and has tucked inside the sleeve of her shirt. If it makes her feel more in control, more power to her. It will take a hell of a lot more than that to kill me; fuck, it wouldn’t even be the first time I was stabbed this week.
“Why?” she demands as I shove the door open enough to watch her back up towards her window, but I don’t enter her sparse bedroom.
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “Would you rather stay here?”
Fear flares to life on her face and I’m not totally convinced she won’t jump out of that window instead of being forced to go downstairs and face him. A new wave of loathing hits me, old memories dredged up that I have to stuff back down just as quickly.
“Why?” she demands again, harder this time.
I swipe a hand through my shaggy, dark hair, brushing it out of my eyes. “You’d still have to work off the money,” I warn instead of explaining. “But we aren’t about to whore you out for it. You’d be cleaning or some shit unless we find something else for you to do.”
She scrunches her face up in confusion, but Thomas’ groan encourages me to speed things along. “I’m offering you a way out of this hellhole, Elysium. It’s your choice to take it or not. Either I take the property and you’re out on your ass, can take your chances with that bastard downstairs, or you can come with me and earn your keep. But I can at least swear that no one will touch you unless you ask them to.”
I turn back for the stairs when her words stop me on the first step. “Why not just kill him? Then you can have the house and I’ll just leave?”
She’ll fit in just fine with that attitude.
“Sadly, boss wants him alive. Clock’s a ticking, angel, so what’s it going to be?”
Slowly, I start descending the stairs, giving her ample time to come up with a plan. Even if she doesn’t choose to take on his debt, not that I’d blame her, I hope she at least makes a break for it out the back door or something before I’m gone. Thomas has always been a pretentious asshole and toying with him will just have him lashing out at her that much worse. Sure, I could drag her out of here kicking and screaming if I actually wanted to, but I meant what I said; I like my ladies willing.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I mentally sigh in disappointment. Thomas is already outside, halfway between the porch and his truck, the trail of blood a dead giveaway. Tongue in cheek, I saunter down the stairs and enjoy the panicked look that contorts his face as he spots me.
“Oh, Thomas. Just one bad decision after another with you, isn’t it? A walking train wreck.”
He scrambles towards his truck, shouting as the rod still embedded in his thigh smacks against the door frame when he tries to climb in. His hair is too short to grab, so I wrap a hand around the back of his neck and slam his forehead against the top of the door frame instead. As he falls backward unconscious, a cloud of dirt is stirred up upon his collapse that has me sneezing.
There’s a slight shift in the air, the barest sound on the wind, and I snap my hand out on instinct. Her wrist is so tiny that it’s clear she’s missed far too many meals, but her stealth was impressive. I pluck the knife from Elysium’s hand before she can drive it into Thomas’ heart, reluctant to do so, but orders are orders. And though Julian didn’t expressly ask for him to be kept alive, he’ll bury me right next to this jackass if I let a potential threat against him go unmatched, knowing it might exist.
“Now, now. I told you we couldn’t kill him,” I chide, but there’s no real heat behind it. I flip the blade around to offer her the handle. “You can take some fingers or toes if you’d like, but messages only work if they’re forced to live with the warnings; fear’s a fun torture device in its own right.”
She hovers above him, wavering. There’s a big difference between striking while fueled by emotion, and calmly deciding to dismember and mutilate someone. It’s not for the faint of heart, so I’m not surprised when the fight goes out of her frail shoulders.
There’s a tattered backpack at the bottom of the porch stairs that she goes over to collect, wincing and putting a hand over her ribs. I sneer down at the unconscious man, crouching and flipping out my blade to carve into his forehead. Julian wants me to send a message? Fine. Now whenever he looks in the mirror, he’ll see his sins reflected back at him.
Greed.
I spit on the bloody letters and wipe my hands off on my jeans. “Ready to see your new home?” I gesture to my SUV, giving her one last chance to back out. Because once she steps foot in our house, she won’t be leaving again unless Julian allows it.
She glances from the massive stretch of open fields to her father’s body, finally settling on my face. With a slow nod, she climbs into the passenger seat, wincing. “But if you’re lying, our deal is null and void. I can deal with being a maid, but I won’t be pimped out to your friends.”
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I pull onto the open stretch of road. “Angel, they’re some twisted bastards, but you have my word. And what does a man have if not his word?”
She turns in her seat to face me. “His name, for starters.”
“Grave.”
Scoffing, a small smile threatens to twist the flat line that she’s trying so hard to keep her lips pressed into. “Your real name.”
“Can’t go giving away all of my secrets on the first date,” I tease with a wink. “After all, if that’s all I have, I can’t go tossing it around carelessly.”
“I’ve got one more stop to make before we head back,” Grave declares, pulling up in front of a house on the fringes of a city about an hour later.
