Page 141 of A Million To Fall

My stomach lurches.

“There’s only one judge in Washington County who handles custody cases,” she says, sweet as poison. “Judge Goodman. You may not know him, but you sure do know his daughter, Rachel. Intimately.” She giggles at her own fucked-up joke. “He’s very conservative. Very old-school. But he thinks the sun shines out of his daughter’s ass.” Another laugh escapes her lips. “He loves her, so I’m sure he’d forgive her for a little slip-up. But you? Some twenty-year-old kid fucking the wives of Stillwater’s elites while the hardworking husbands are away? I don’t think so. I don’t think he’d find it in your siblings’ best interest to live with you.”

The room tilts as realization hits me: I sold my soul to the devil, and she’s here to collect her dues.

I have no way out. I’m trapped in this bullshit agreement I made when I was at my most vulnerable. When I had nothing and needed everything.

She takes another step toward me, and this time I don’t escape her reach. I don’t flinch when her hand cups my cheek, when her eyes flit between mine.

I’m frozen.

“You probably think I’m evil, Boss,” she purrs. “But I promise, I’m not. I’m just… horny. And you? You’re fucking hot and really damn good.”

She grazes her index finger down my chest. “And you know what? You’re lucky. You really are. No other job will pay you as well as I do.”

She really thinks she’s doing me a favor. Her last words make something in me snap.

“Okay, fine,” I say, jaw clenched. If I can’t get out, I need to survive it. “But I’m not fucking you on a flat rate anymore.”

Her brows rise.

“No more ‘at your beck and call for a thousand bucks a week.’ If you’re going to keep doing this to me, I want six hundred. Per woman. Per fuck. In my hands.”

She stares, stunned.

I keep going. “No more middle-of-the-night calls, no more ambushes, no more pop-up orgies. I want forty-eight hours advance notice. No exceptions.” I pause, take a breath. “And I’m not doing anyone I’m not comfortable with. I get to say no. Condoms are non-negotiable,” I add because this last time, she conveniently tried to forget about protection.

Fuck that.

She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to smile. It pisses me off how unaffected she is by my demands, how powerless I feel even while setting some much-needed boundaries.

“You’re negotiating with me now?” she asks.

I nod once. I wouldn’t call this a negotiation—more like a hail Mary—but whatever.

She hums appreciatively. “I like this side of you, baby. Dominant.”

I don’t respond to that statement. “Take it or leave it,” I snap.

She smirks but extends her hand. “You have a deal, Boston.”

Reluctantly, I shake it.

I’m still not free. I’m still selling my body to women who see me as a plaything.

But at least I managed to wedge my fingers into the cracks of the walls closing around me. And right now, that’s all I need. A little space. A little control.

I’ll figure out the rest later.

First: get Bronx and Cassie back.

Then?

Burn the whole fucking arrangement to the ground.

forty-two

Boston