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He’s the only person who knows where they are. Henderson supposedly has a system in place to have it all released if anything happens to him. I doubt that. But the meaning’s clear. To take him out and protect myself in the future, I need that information, or else it dies with him. So it has to be when he’s there. In his fucking lair.
But this is a good start.
Another man comes up to us, eyes greedy and fixed on Pollyanna.
I turn to her, run my fingers through her hair, and slide my hand over the top of her head. Then I very deliberately graze the front of her dress and start to play with her sweet tits as he watches.
“Vale, I didn’t know you came here.”
I can’t remember his name. Some low-level politician who’s really just a rich fuck living off Mommy’s millions. He wants what I have, and if he even makes a move to touch her, I’ll break every bone in his body and feed him the ugliest poison I can find so he dies an agonizing death.
“Sometimes, when I have something new.”
“What’s her name?”
Pollyanna barely controls her flinch. I use my free hand to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and then turn herso her back’s plastered against me. My eyes on him, I grasp her tits, kneading them hard.
It’s a pissing contest and he doesn’t even have his dick out yet.
“I call her Pollyanna or pet,” I say as I squeeze her nipple. “Isn’t that right,pet?” I glare at the guy. “Just wait until you see me fuck her.”
THIRTEEN
ivy
Gritting my teeth,I smile up at him as demurely and adoringly as I can. God, once upon a long fucking time ago, I’d have loved this…him calling me his, him touching me. I’d have—no matter how demeaning—looked at him with love.
“Yes, Master,” I say.
Butthisis fucking twisted as hell. Mercer didn’t look at me from the moment we got out of the car until the man who just kicked a woman on her hands and knees tried to touch me.
It’s like I’m in some kind of living nightmare except…I’m turned on.
Not by what that man did, but by how Mercer treats me. I hate him for it, but dammit, it gets me so freaking hot.
His hand on my breast is pure torture. He twists my nipple, pulling, and stroking until I’m weak behind the knees, my head slowly spinning. His touch makes me float. My heart hammers, my clit throbs, and my God, I really despise myself for feeling this way.
And him, too.
He asked me about my sexual past. My boyfriend Tim wasn’t my first, and I didn’t really like sex withhim. Our relationship fizzled out because I was too busy with school, Elise, the funerals, everything.
It’s all Mercer’s fault. If he hadn’t sold Jaxson those damn drugs…things would be different.
Everything would be different.
I always tuck the other memory away, the toxic one. The one I can never forget, the reason why I don’t like sex, why it pains me to think about my past. And Mercer Vale just pulled it from me. Not that I gave him much. He took the crumbs I gave him and then we left with me in some half-church, half-bondage dress with matching stilettos.
Me, who is also pathetically grateful this monster of a drug dealer is with me to stop gross men from touching me.
Even though I’d never be here if it weren’t for him.
Honestly, no matter how much I crave his touch, I cling to the fact that Elise’s happiness is the real reason why I’m here. I can’t risk that. Can’t risk her chance to really live again.
Every time I’ve spoken to her this week, the happiness and excitement bursts free in her voice.
So I listen. And I stay put. Not because a screwed-up part of me wants to be with him. Not because I need to taste him completely. And not because I want him to spank me again or find out what else he has in his erotic bag of tricks.
He’s gorgeous, so I throw that on my wobbly pile of excuses. Anyone would be willing to do anything to bask in his beauty, to have him touch her. Anyone.
