The Prey: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (Oakmount Elite Book 3)

She doesn’t notice that I exit the bathroom with the wet cloth still clutched tight in my hand and the knife in my other since I wasn’t about to leave that in her possession. I saw what she did to my clothes, and while I’m far more agile and capable of protecting myself, I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to break her hand when I force her to drop the knife.

I close the bathroom door behind me and pray she takes the hint and stays inside. If she interrupts me now, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself. Not with the feel of her slick, soapy skin under my palms still so fresh in my mind.

There aren’t many places for privacy in a shared suite so I have to be creative. I wait until I hear the sink turn on before I duck into the closet and close myself inside. It’s a small walk-in, and the perfect space for a moment of peace. I brace my back against the door to face the row of plush white robes hanging on the rack.

Why am I so weak for her? How could I become so consumed by her that I let her bring me this close to the edge, where I either live in or risk losing complete control.

It takes two seconds to unzip my pants and pull my aching cock out. I almost whimper from the sheer relief of the friction on my skin when I fist it, dragging my hand up and down in a long, lingering stroke. It’s not enough, though. The low-burning ember of desire sticks in my gut, but I’m missing that bang, the igniter.

I rotate the knife in my palm one-handed and press my thumb to the base of the crossguard. It slides along my skin as easily as it did Ely’s, and my entire body hums with approval as I watch the blood well in thick droplets. I use it to slick up my own skin and then release a sigh.

This is what I need. No, that’s not true. What I need is Ely on her knees, my cock down her throat while she cries big fat tears for me, but that’s not going to happen.

It can’t. It won’t.

I settle for my own hand instead, and while I stroke myself, I try not to think of her smooth skin or the way her soft, small tits would fit so perfectly in my hands.

In my mouth. I could suck the whole of those little handfuls between my teeth until she mewls for me. Fuck. I wonder what she tastes like and if she’d scream as she falls apart or whimper, begging me to stop. The image sends me straight over the edge, as does the sharp bite of pain in my palm, and sticky spurts of cum splash against the washcloth.

So much for not thinking about her.

I mop up the blood as well and toss the mess on the floor, clean the knife, and bend down to slip it into the minimal sheath around my ankle. I need to consider getting laid more, especially if I’m going to force myself to be in her presence.

When I open the closet door, I find her hovering just outside the bathroom, her face a flurry of apprehension. However, as I drink in the sight of her, I wonder if I made a mistake. The dress hugs her body tightly, giving her slight, muscular form more curves. I’ve noticed her running on the property early in the morning or late in the evening…that must be where she gets her spare, defined shape that’s nonetheless feminine as fuck. My mouth goes dry at the shadowy hint of cleavage bared by the dip of the dress.

Shit. I want people to notice her, but I don’t want to have to fight anyone off either.

She raises her eyes slowly to mine, and if she knows what I’d been doing in the closet she doesn’t indicate it.

I pull a tie off the bed, loop it up, and then shrug on my jacket. Once I fix my cuffs, I point at the shoes on the bench at the end of the bed. “Put those on.”

She rushes to the bench and quickly slips on the tall, strappy heels. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk well in these.”

I pretend to ignore how sexy her legs look and then shake away the thoughts of her bare skin again. “Don’t worry about it. If all goes well, you’ll be sitting or kneeling most of the night.”

A line creases the center of her forehead, and she gulps loud enough for me to hear but thankfully, she might be learning after all, because she doesn’t argue or question me.

It only takes a few minutes to get down to the car, which is waiting for us since I already had the time set for pickup. I help Elyse into the car and then take the seat next to her. She’s quiet, almost too quiet, on the drive, but thankfully traffic is light. Even so, I keep checking my watch. I wanted to be there over a half an hour ago to find the perfect spot to approach Mr. Mondrake Sidorov. Everything needs to be perfect. This might be the only chance I get to fix this, to rewind things enough so I can still break away from this life, from this world.

If the past few months have taught me anything, it’s that I have the mind for it—the temperament, I guess—but I don’t want it. Tanya ruined my desire to take my rightful position within the company. I don’t care about the power or the money, the driving forces of most of this world. I don’t give a shit about anything or anyone except Bel and my freedom.

Nothing else…I glance over at Elyse, who stares out the window into the city, her red-painted mouth slack as she takes in London for the first time. I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now. I suppose if I was halfway human, I’d feel guilty for dragging her all the way here for a flesh market instead of actual sightseeing. Good thing I’m not.

But we packed enough for a week, just in case. Maybe I can take her to a few touristy places. The Tower of London. Buckingham Palace. Big Ben. One of those red phone booth things.

We pull up to an old warehouse, derelict and seedy-looking, but the streets outside boast millions of dollars in vehicles, all being parked and seen to by the sprinting valet drivers who linger near the huge industrial double doors. The car rolls to a stop, and I exhale slowly, preparing to slip into that dark place in my mind.

The door to the vehicle opens, and we’re greeted by a smiling valet. I step out of the car and offer my hand to Ely, who takes it automatically. Once she’s on her feet, I interlock our arms; it’s more of a cover than concern, as I don’t want her to topple off her heels before we even get in the door.

Men like the ones who frequent Pound of Flesh don’t like their property damaged.

At the door, a willowy, blond young man extends a tablet, and I pull out my phone and hold up the QR code I was sent as an invitation. He scans the code, the doors open automatically, and I lead Elyse inside.

“What is this place?” she asks curiously, leaning close so I can hear her over the sudden barrage of thumping house music.

The internals of the warehouse are set up in tiers, progressively sinking down like the levels of hell. We walk up to a steel railing and stare down into the pit. Stairs lead down to each level, with couches, tables, and bars lining each level. Everything is black and gold with red accents. Gaudy as fuck, but I guess these assholes want to feel fancy with the decor that will be used for exactly two nights a year.

It takes me a minute to find the spot my informant had identified—the tier and couch area where the man I’m hunting for will be. I find us a seat on a nearby sofa and unbutton my suit jacket. Ely perches on the edge of the red velvet couch next to me.

“Hey. You didn’t answer me. What is this place?”

I scan the crowd that lingers nearby, and I can feel Ely’s gaze slip off me. There’s a mixture of couples, groups of people, and some single individuals dancing. Everyone seems to be having fun. A woman crosses in front of us, a leash in her hand, the collar attached to another blond woman who is on her hands and knees crawling beside her.

I wave at the room and down to the roiling dance floor below. “This, Little Prey, is where those with the most depraved fantasies come to play, and one special day a year, they hold the world’s biggest flesh auction.”

“A flesh auction? What is that?” She blinks at me, her sooty black lashes brushing her cheeks as she digests what I’ve just said.

I shake my head and nod toward the bar, where someone is handing off a brick of cash. “It’s exactly what it sounds like, Ely.”

It takes a second for my words to sink in, but when they do, her shock morphs into pure horror. “Oh God. Please, tell me you didn’t bring me here because you want to sell me?”

I can barely hear her above the music, and a sigh shudders out of me. I resist the urge to tell her to stop being so dramatic and instead roll my eyes, “If I wanted to sell you, I could have done that from the comfort of my home. I didn’t come all this way to sell you, but keep in mind if push comes to shove, then I’ll easily put you up on the block.”

I watch her little throat work and notice the fresh tears swimming in her eyes.

“Please, Sebastian. I-I’ll do better. I’ll work more hours and pay you back faster. You don’t have to do this. I’ll stop being so annoying and asking so many questions. Whatever you want me to do. I’ll do it.”

I shake my head. “It’s not your decision. Just don’t tempt me, and you’ll be okay.”

A couple walks over to us and takes a seat on the couch beside Ely. She flinches and scoots closer to me, her thigh pressing tight against mine. I grit my teeth and ignore the heat of her body, the proximity of her bare flesh to me. Having her this close, the temptation to do dark, despicable things to her nearly undoes me.

I swallow my desire and scan the crowd, looking for Sidorov. When I don’t see him, I flick my chin at the bar a few yards away. “Why don’t you go and get us a couple of drinks? Perhaps some alcohol will loosen you up.”

She blinks, opens her mouth, but then reconsiders whatever it was she wanted to say. Smart. Standing stiffly, she tugs at the hem of her dress, trying to make more fabric appear. When she realizes there isn’t any point she starts toward the bar, her legs wobbling like a newborn fawn’s taking their first steps.

Staring at her backside, I notice the way her shoulders are hunched in, like she’s trying to make herself seem smaller, unnoticed. Unfortunately there’s no point. There’s not a single hot-blooded man on this tier who could ignore her silky dark hair and the way it brushes her lower back, or those huge doe eyes of hers filled with tears and fear. She’s the perfect combination—afraid of her own shadow, but submissive enough to do anything to please you.

I continue watching her until a commotion near the stairs draws my attention. A big man with wide shoulders, nearly the identical size of my friend Aries, cuts through the crowd. No, that’s wrong. More like they throw themselves out of his way. I watch from my seat as he sinks into a leather chair. A server rushes over to him to take his order.

Great. Everything is finally coming together. Now I just need Ely. I turn my attention back to the bar, and that’s when everything goes to shit. I spot a man approaching her from the other side of the bar. I clench my hands into tight fists to stop myself from going to her right away. Let her swim with the sharks for a bit. I grit my teeth and watch as he stops right in front of her. Without speaking a word he reaches for her, his fingers splaying over the bare skin on her exposed back shown off by the cutout in the dress.

Blinding rage pulses in my veins, and the only reason I don’t react immediately is because of the way she reacts to his touch, as if it’s poison, and she’s trying to escape.

Tilting my head, I hesitate, watching.

This is a new development. An unexpected one.

This shark acts as though he might know my Ely. As though he has some claim to her.

Ely’s mine, though. My eyes narrow as I watch the shark circle, and everything in me clamors to gut him. I wait, though. He’ll find out soon enough.