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

Apologizing sucks dick, and not just any dick, but dick that’s been wrapped in razor wire. To apologize is to take accountability for your actions and admit you were wrong. If you ask me, I have no issue doing either, mainly because I’m usually never wrong.

Except in this instance.

I’ve fought against myself, agonizing over how I would approach Elyse and wondering exactly what she heard. If I apologize, it will mean that what I said was a lie, which might make things worse, but if I don’t apologize, then Bel may never talk to me again.

Okay, that’s a lie; she’ll probably talk to me at some point, but knowing she’s disappointed in me eats away at my resolve.

It makes me feel slimy and bad.

But being an asshole to Elyse isn’t the only place I went wrong. I missed the entire thing with Yanov. When she moved into the house, a house I still can’t really think of as mine, I checked her out.

Both on paper and in person, she’s everything that she portrays herself to be.

Kind. Studious. Never been in any type of trouble.

Everything lines up. The only issue I now have is where Yanov fits into the puzzle.

There’s nothing about him in her paperwork; nor did her father mention him. It’s like he appeared out of thin air, which makes me uneasy and feel like I’m missing something.

So while apologies might be outside my capacity, at least for now, maybe I can feel better if I find another way to fix things. To keep her safe and out of that sick fuck’s hands. I snag my phone off the bed and switch the drink into my other hand to scroll through my contacts. Information is king in the world that I live in. If you know things about someone, you can use it against them. When I reach Grady’s number, my PI, I hit the call button. It’s late, but for how much I pay him, he should be available to take my calls at any time, day or night.

The phone rings for a while, and when he doesn’t answer, I call again.

“What? For fuck’s sake, what?” the deep Irish voice barks through the line.

“You talk to all your clients that way, Grady?”

There’s a pause. “I didn’t check the name, but considering the time, I’m not fecking apologizin’.”

I don’t give a shit, so I press on. “I need all the information you can get me about a man named Yanov. Works for Sidorov, the flesh merchant.”

Another long pause. “You got anything else? Something to go off that isn’t a couple of names that sound like damn characters from Game of Thrones?”

I roll my eyes. He’s always such an asshole when I wake him up. “Yanov is a cop here in town, and he’s friends with…likely working under an officer named Silver…at the police department.”

“That’s better. I can work with that. How fast do you need the information?”

“As soon as you can get it. I’ve got this guy eyeing something that belongs to me, and I’m not about to let him blindside me when he tries to take it.”

There’s some shuffling on his end, and I wait.

“I’ll call you when I get something that will help him see things your way.”

“Do. The usual rate, of course.”

He curses softly, too soft for me to make out the words. “Fine. Usual rate.”

He cuts the call without a goodbye, and I toss my phone back on the rumpled covers. I tell myself this is so I stay prepared, but really, I know it’s all for her. I miscalculated. I didn’t anticipate her worming her way under my skin, and I didn’t expect to be attracted to her goodness like a bee to a bloom.

Now I’m the one left guilt-ridden, feeling like an asshole for doing everything I can to keep distance between us. For shutting down other people’s thoughts on “us” when there is no “us,” and not because there couldn’t be, but because there can’t be. I know my words hurt her. I fucking know that, and I know I need to apologize, but I can’t help but think how apologizing will have the opposite effect on things.

On top of that, I’ve been meaning to have a conversation with her about what I overheard the guards discussing. I know now that she’s no longer sleeping in her room, but instead in a closet inside one of the spare rooms.

No matter how much I try to convince myself that it’s none of my concern, the less I believe it, and the more annoyed I become at the prospect of her sleeping on the floor in a closet when she has a perfectly good bed downstairs. Does it have something to do with Yanov? I haven’t forgotten his threat, and in the midst of everything else happening this week, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s the other reason I’m strung so tight.

Irritation zips across my skin. It’s easier during the day to keep my mind busy, to focus on other things and forget that she exists. Once night comes and the restraint holding my patience and tolerance for bullshit is thread-thin…it snaps.

Fragments of her goodness, of that sunshine personality, seep through the cracks in my mind and do their best to poison everything—if goodness can be a toxin, that is.

I check my watch. It’s late, and the house is quiet. Too quiet. I take a sip of whiskey and allow another minute to pass. I keep my gaze trained on the liquor in the glass, if only to give myself something to focus on, something to keep my ass in the armchair and away from Elyse. I’ll lose my fucking mind if I find her in that closet down the hall, so the best thing to do is keep my ass in the chair and do nothing.

After the events at Pound of Flesh and the aftermath, including the new closet development, she continues to keep her distance. I know I should be grateful since it’s for the best, but in the evenings, when I’m at my weakest, she has a habit of entering my mind. I look forward to our sparring matches and seeing the fear and desire pool in her baby-blue eyes. Fuck, it makes my cock hard just thinking about it.

I switch gears and force myself to think of something else. The plan with Sidorov didn’t go well, but I know one person who wants this life and the power I hold. I just don’t know if I have the stomach to turn it over to her. Not after what she’s done.

Memories assault me, and I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing the thoughts into the past where they belong so they don’t take over in my drunken state. Bare flesh sliding on bare flesh flashes in my mind nonetheless, and I flinch. No. I can’t go back there. I can’t be reminded of how weak and powerless I was.

She no longer controls me. No longer owns me.

I force measured breaths into my lungs. Some will say I need to see a therapist; others will question how I can stand to be within ten feet of her after all she’s done to me, but none of them will understand the basic desire to simply forget. To want simplicity. I don’t need to heal from my trauma. I don’t even require justice, really. I just want to forget it ever happened. A humorless laugh escapes me. That’s where Elyse got lucky by losing her memories from that night.

The memories twist and contour in my mind, but it’s not Tanya lingering at the fringes who makes my stomach curl—it’s Elyse. Memories of her slam into me—the way her pouty lips looked wrapped around my cock and how she clenched her thighs together like she wanted to be there on her knees just as much as I wanted her there.

It’s an illusion.

I blink away the memory, then stand and cross the room to the bar. I refill my drink, the liquid settling perilously close to the top.

Why can’t I stop thinking about her? About that night?

It was nothing but a blow job, one of many I’ve had in my life, but somehow it was the best fucking one I’ve ever had. Maybe I need to get laid? Yeah, that’s probably what it is. I’ve forgotten what decent sex is like.

My phone chimes from on top of the rumpled bedding. I’m a little groggy as I cross the room and check the notification that’s popped up on the screen.

Shit. It’s security. The need for sleep is driven away with the spike of adrenaline that’s been injected into my veins. I gently slide my glass onto the bedside table, then snatch the device off the sheets, open it, and check the text. It’s from my head of security, Rambo.

Rambo: We’ve got movement out at the old groundskeeper’s cottage.

I clench the phone tight in my hand. My first thought is Yanov. Is it possible he’s been hiding out there? I didn’t have it searched since I know Elyse likes to sneak her little charity projects out there. That and the thought of being notified every single time she’s out there would drive me insane, but now I’m worried I’ve made another mistake. That there’s been a security breach, or worse, that I missed something important.

I type out a quick response and hit send.

Me: On my way.

I tuck my phone into my gray sweatpants and adjust my black T-shirt. Before I leave the room, I throw on a hoodie and slip my feet into a pair of sneakers. It’s easier to go down and check it out myself. I doubt it’s anything serious and definitely not worth sending the entire team out to investigate, but on the off chance that it is something serious…

…it’s better to be safe than sorry.

I pause in the doorway and look back at the bedside table where I keep a handgun loaded and ready for whenever I might need it. I think about grabbing it, but instead, I walk back to the bed and snake my hand under the pillow.

My fingers clutch onto the knife hidden there in its leather sheath. It takes me a second to buckle it around my ankle, but there’s no describing the sudden rush of relief I feel at bringing it with me. I doubt I’ll need it, but if I do, at least it’s there. My security men carry guns on them, but I prefer a more hands-on approach. Hence the knife being my weapon of choice. It’s ironic when you think about it. Head of a multibillion-dollar arms-dealing franchise, and I choose to carry around a knife.

It doesn’t take me long to find myself at the patio doors that lead off the ballroom. I slip outside and move down the slightly sloped lawn toward the cabin. The air holds a chill, reminding me fall will be here soon. In the distance, I spot the cottage. It’s run-down and hasn’t been maintained in many years, as the mansion hasn’t had a groundskeeper who stays on-site in over a decade. Not that it matters. The inside still holds furniture, and I know Ely keeps it as clean as she can for her little animals.

Not that they give a shit.

At the bottom of the hill, I spot two of my men. They stand about ten feet away from the cottage, their flashlights pointed at the ground.

I stop when I reach them. “What’s going on?”

The one guard, fuck I can’t remember his name, or maybe I never knew it, though he looks vaguely familiar, answers. “We were doing our roving patrol, as Rambo asked us to do. That’s when we spotted a light on through the window. We haven’t been inside yet.”

I nod and scan the cabin. It’s small, two rooms if I remember correctly. Nothing much more than a bedroom and open living area with a kitchenette. The building is livable, but the roof leaks, and it smells like wood and dirt. Or at least it did when I was a kid.

“I’ll check it out. You guys stay behind me.”

They share an apprehensive look. “Sir…”

I wave them off. “Don’t bother. Just stay behind me unless I say something.”

They step into place behind me as I stride toward the cottage door. I check the knob, giving it a little twist, and surprisingly, it’s locked. Whoever’s hiding inside was smart enough to lock the door. It only takes a minute for me to grab the spare key I keep hidden under the frog figurine on the porch. Plucking the key from its hiding spot, I unlock the door and then twist the knob, pushing the door open gently.

Faint candlelight glows from the far side of the room by the empty fireplace. I freeze when I see a familiar face, her angelic features reflecting back at me in the dim light, her tiny body sprawled out on a sleeping bag.

What the hell is she doing out here?

The tension in my body eases, and I let out a sigh. Twisting around, I wave security on, letting them know there is no threat.

“Continue your patrol. It’s not a threat. Just one of my other employees.”

They don’t argue with me, taking my word for what it is, and turn to walk back toward the mansion, while I slip back inside the cottage. The place still smells of dirt and nature. I can’t help but wrinkle my nose.

Why would she subject herself to this? Is her room not good enough? The thought turns the blood in my veins to lava. If I find out she’s sleeping out here with these animals, I will punish her even if it shatters my self-control.

My attention catches on a small cat that sits on the mantel of the fireplace across the room, its orange fur barely visible in the low candlelight.

I can’t stand animals. They’re messy and demanding of attention, two things I have no patience for. I catch the low rumble of a growl as I inch closer to Elyse, and then I spot the culprit, a black dog poking its face out of a small blanket near her knee.

“Watch it, Mutt,” I whisper as I crouch beside her. “Bite me, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

My gaze moves from the dog to Elyse, and for one fleeting second, I do nothing but stare. She is beautiful but in the simplest of ways, without any fillers or makeup. I allow myself to memorize each inch of her delicate face, her pouty lips, and button nose. A whimper escapes her lips, and worry lines crease her forehead.

Dammit. I try to remind myself that she’s none of my concern, but I’m sure we both can see how well that’s going. My thoughts shift, and I’m back to thinking of my original question.

Why the hell is she out here?

Maybe she fell asleep while taking care of the animals, although that’s pretty unlikely. She’s been out here numerous times and never fallen asleep. Is there something else going on? I consider the alternative. Is she hiding out here to avoid me? With Yanov sniffing around, this is the last place she should be. I can’t protect her if I have no idea where she is. No one would even be able to hear her scream for help if he decided to show up and take her.

The mere thought sets fire to my blood.

Mine. She is mine. My property.

I nudge her shoulder. “Wake up, Elyse.”

Nothing.

I shove a little harder this time, and that does the trick. She wakes with a squeak, then scrambles backward into a sitting position, rubbing at her eyes. “Sebastian?”

“Expecting someone else?”

“What?” She blinks slowly, then scans the room, relaxing when her surroundings come into focus. “What are you doing out here?”

I shove at the bag with my hand. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking the questions. Now why don’t you tell me what the hell you’re doing sleeping out here?”

My protective instinct when it comes to this girl is mental. She’s not my fucking problem, but for some reason, I can’t sit back and let her be.

Sleep still clings to her eyes, and her dark hair is matted and sticking up on the side where she was lying on it. “I wasn’t sleeping out here. I fell asleep while taking care of Bow.”

The little black mutt lifts his head and blinks his big brown eyes at her when she says his name. Even the homeless, emaciated dog is smitten with her.

I shake my head and remind myself why I came out here in the first place.

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not asking you to believe me.”

My patience for her bullshit is stretched thin as it is. I didn’t expect her to come to me and tell me why she’s been sleeping in the closet, but finding her hiding out here asleep leaves me even more on edge. She claims it’s because of the mutt, but I know better. She’s going to tell me what’s going on before we leave this cottage.

I suck a slow, steady breath in through my nose and try to calm myself. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a shit liar?”

She looks confused, but I know it’s a front. “No. But I don’t really care what other people say about me.”

I’m reminded of the words I spoke to Bel. The words that she overheard. Do I apologize now? I’m so caught up in my own mind. Fuck me. Elyse has a terrible habit of winding me all up and making me lose my fucking mind.

“What’s been going on with you lately?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I pin her with a glare.

She sits up a little straighter, flecks of doubt and suspicion appearing in her eyes. “I don’t.”

I smirk and reach for her, the need to touch her in some capacity overcoming me. It’s a terrible idea because I know the moment I touch her, the more I’ll crave her, but I can’t be denied. Gripping her chin between my fingers, I force her to look at me. Really look at me. “I’ll give you one opportunity to tell me the truth, Ely. One chance. That’s all you’re getting, and remember it’s one more chance than I typically give to others.”