Page 7 of Dark Surrender

And steal organs to sell to the highest bidder.

I hate men like that.

Those who use us for their own gain, treating us like nothing more than a thing to be dealt with.

My father wasn’t much different, was he?

But he taught me one thing right. Never trust a man. Any of them. They all deserve to die.

There’s someone special next on my list.

Lucky for me, he won’t go down without a fight.

Slow deaths are all the sweeter. To be savored. To be earned. Sure, Dee revels in the physical act of draining life away, the carving of flesh… but I love the progression of getting us there. The scouting. The hunting. Not the act itself. It’s over far too quickly—a blip of time. But the anticipation is addictive.

Oh…he’ll never know what hit ‘em.

The arrogant ones never do.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dark

With my arms loaded with too many fancy shopping bags, I drop them unceremoniously in the back of Penelope’s trunk. Her chauffeur, an old, grizzled man with gray hair and eyes to match, glares at the side of my face as I leave them for him to organize. I slide into the backseat with my wife, whose dopamine rush from spending far too much money fills the air along with her floral perfume.

Penelope squeezes my thigh, and those talons she calls nails make themselves known through my trousers. “Those dresses are amazing.” She sighs wistfully and rests her head on my shoulder.

To placate her, I hum and pat her knee.

What else is there to say?

Congrats? You spent more than necessary on dresses you’ll wear only once. For what? A family vacation that is nothing more than a business meeting, disguised as something more. Harold doesn’t do vacations or downtime. In the decade-plus I’ve known this man, he’s always working. Her need to buy an entirely new wardrobe for this is more than a little overkill.

“Who’s coming on the trip?” I ask Pen to make polite conversation as her driver slides behind the wheel and navigates us through New York City traffic. He eyes me every now and again in the rearview mirror. The man has never liked me. Not that I give a fuck.

“Oh. Hmm.” Deep in thought, Pen taps her pink, recently filled lips. “I think a few of Daddy’s associates and their dates. Are you bringing Poppy?” she asks, referring to my new assistant who has proven more helpful than I first expected. She’s polite. Competent. A solid hire, given the past women.

“Should I?” I check, not caring either way.

“Yes.”

“Is this for my benefit or yours?”

Pen clasps her hands in her lap. “Both?” The word comes out sweet and far too quiet. Looking at me through a glaze of expensive makeup and inch-long eyelashes, she bats those ridiculous things and puts on a bullshit show of innocence.

“Penelope,” I growl in warning. She knows I hate the dumb-blonde routine she pulls when working with pretty much any man who wants to bend her over a table. Which is any red-blooded, straight fucker with a dick and a pulse.

“Darling…” she placates with a sigh. “You know you’re much more relaxed when you’ve had an orgasm or two.”

Ah. Yes. The real reason.

“And let me guess, you want her there to service me?”

As if I can’t use my hand or go without sex for an entire weekend.

That’s goddamn ridiculous.

Sure, I have a high libido, or I did. Hell, maybe it’s still in there somewhere. But I am not a fucking teenager. I don’t walk around with a constant boner. That ship sailed twenty-plus years ago.