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But then I thought about what might happen to Clay if I did, and I realized I was willing to accept the consequences to spare him.
“I’ll bring him soon, okay?”
There was a tense moment, and then Marcus spoke in a deceptively calm tone. “If you think that’s best.”
I probably would have a broken rib this time, but I thought back to Clay trying to help me patch myself up, his fingers gentle when they ran over the bruises on my skin.
“I do.”
“I’ll speak with you again soon, Jayce.”
When he hung up, something in my chest echoed in warning — he used my name in that nearly saccharine tone when he wanted me to know I’d stepped out of line… but I couldn’t regret my decision. As much as I knew it was going to bite me in the ass later, and as much as I knew saying no wasn’t a permanent solution forever, it was worth it.
Maybe it was Marcus’ fault. He’d taught me many lessons over the time I’d spent with him, but the one he’d drilled into me the most was simple. He’d taught it to me when he’d picked me off of the street — I’d had friends there, though not many. They’d been just as broken as me, just as desperate for a place to go. I’d asked him after a few weeks in his home if there was anything he could do for them. When he asked me why, I told him without thinking. They were my friends — we’d watched each other’s backs. I cared about them.
When he had them brought to the mansion, I thought he was going to help. Instead, he gave me a choice — kill them or sell them.
I never forgot the look on their faces when he put a gun in my hand and told me to pull the trigger, even though I knew I’d shown them mercy. Since that day, I’d taken the lesson to heart.
Caring about something was the easiest way to be manipulated.
Caring about something was the easiest way to expose a weak point.
Caring about something was the easiest way to get killed.
If I brought Clay to his house, Marcus Holden would know. He’d see that I wanted him, that he was mine, and he’d take that as a challenge against his most important lesson.
So maybe he was right — caring about Clay was going to get me hurt.
I’d take the pain of that over a repeat of his lessons any day.
Chapter 7
Clay
Icould feel his eyes on me, but he didn’t come outside. The few times I’d peeked up at him, he was looking down at his phone as though he hadn’t been looking at me at all.
My instincts were usually better than this — I didn’t use my body often, but when I did, there was always some kind of effect.
It was worse because I couldn’t mistake the soft tingle that crawled up my back when he looked at me with those blue eyes framed in heavy, dark lashes. I couldn’t deny that his broad body and the deep rumble of his voice settled somewhere at the base of my spine and tried to burrow into my chest.
There was nothing wrong with admitting I’d found someone I would enjoy sleeping with to get information.
There was everything wrong when I couldn’t seem to get him to make a move, even though he’d literally bought and paid for me.
He’d spent the money — as far as he was concerned, he had every right to do whatever he wanted… but apparently, what he wanted was to order lunch while I was out at the pool, and offer to let me use his shower to rinse the chlorine out of my hair.
It was even worse because he was looking at me like I was fragile, like something in me was about to break. He hadn’t been staring at me like that before I went outside, which led me to believe it was something about the phone conversation he’d had.
Which meant he had information I needed to extract, and he was making it damn near impossible for me to do my job.
“A shower sounds great.” I forced myself not to spit the words out, then walked past him without waiting for him to lead me to the room. He’d already shown it to me before politely placing me in a guest room.
I didn’t need another tour unless he was planning on joining me. I cast a look over my shoulder to find him staring. When I tilted my head in invitation, he turned and went to the kitchen.
What the fuck?
I wasn’t used to being turned down, even if I wasn’t asking in so many words that he’d had to say no. A tilt of my head was usually more than enough — fuck, was he even gay? Bi? Had I read the entire situation wrong, and he’d just done this out of some weird sense of goodness, or maybe as a power play against his father?
