Page 9 of Bought (BOUGHT TRILOGY #1)

CHAPTER NINE

Erin

It's freezing out here. The city lights are dim as I listen to the commanding voice echoing through my phone. A chill runs through me, but it’s not from the weather.

The fur lining of this coat is so thick that I don’t even need to hold it tighter around myself to stay warm.

I do it anyway, like a self-soothing hug, but I don’t feel better.

I’m terrified. I feel like I’ve walked into yet another storm that I can’t outrun. I clutch my phone, now on silent, in my sweaty palm.

Clearing the fear from my throat, I hiss, “I’m here now. Right now. Check my location if you want.”

“You were there before. Last night. And you brought us nothing.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” he says. “We already have a head start on our end of the deal."

Spiders crawl across the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve located Caleb for you.”

“That’s good…”

Isn’t it?

But something still doesn’t seem quite right. These men aren’t exactly known for their altruism, and I haven’t done anything for them yet.

I hold back my applause. “Is he still in England?”

“Not your concern. But know, we’re keeping tabs on him.”

My stomach feels like it's in my throat. I’m bracing for the gut punch that's definitely coming.

My reply is a whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Croft.” He pauses, and I wait for the punch to land.

Three…Two…One…

“And if you don’t deliver what we need, well, it’d be a shame to let your current address slip to Caleb.” My stomach churns as he asks, “Wouldn’t it?”

“Like I said,” my mouth is as dry as sandpaper, and I try to swallow, resulting in a choked sound. “I’m here now. I’m taking care of it.”

The line goes dead.

“Hello?”

I slip my phone into the pocket of my coat, the one he bought me to keep me warm. Sending a driver with a luxury car, buying me this coat. He’s taking care of me, and I can’t deny I love the feeling.

And I hate the thought of crossing him.

A sudden wave of self-hatred hits me. I was so confident, walking into his apartment that first night. Simple plan?

I’m not only a terrible person, but I’m na?ve, too.

Breathe, Erin.

I want to come clean, tell him everything, beg him for help.

He’ll be furious. He’ll send me away. He’ll never want to see me again.

Rightfully so.

And then where will my family be?

Vulnerable. Unprotected.

I can’t afford to make another enemy.

Especially one as dangerous as the Morettis.

Rumors are spreading around the city about what happened to the last person who crossed them. I’ve heard his cut-off fingers are arriving one at a time at different houses.

The image I’ve spent too much time and not enough therapy on resurfaces. My beloved sister, broken on the kitchen floor, blood staining the tiles beneath her as well as her hair, her face, and her baby.

“Ryan.” His name is on my lips like a prayer. “Sweet Ryan.”

I’ll go back in, and do my job, so I can completely cut ties with these dangerous men.

All of these dangerous men.

Even the one who makes me feel like my heart is beating for the first time.

Deep breath. Steady nerves. Chin high. Smile.

I breeze through the door.

He’s waiting on the other side.

The moment he steps toward me, the atmosphere in the room shifts. Thick, charged, like I could reach out and touch a current. It’s that powerful force that exists between us, with its own breath and heartbeat.

He traces along the strap of my bra, right where it peeks out from my neckline, and the shiver that runs through me is impossible to hide.

“You’re nervous,” he says, gesturing for me to turn. “Let me help you with your coat.”

I raise my chin higher, slipping my arms out of the sleeves as he lifts. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows what to look for.” Standing behind me, he leans in, and his lips are pressed to my earlobe.

“Like you said,” I mutter, hoping sarcasm hides the pounding of my heart. “I’m not a professional.”

He brushes my hair back away from my neck, letting it fall over my right shoulder.

A second, even more delicious shiver runs through me. He’s kissing the curve at the base of my neck, and my eyes close, an involuntary moan passing my lips as he nips my tender flesh with his teeth.

His mouth is gone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He’s disappeared. Blinking, I turn around and watch him walk back to the bar. He folds my coat over the same stool as before.

Standing behind the bar, he refills my glass with water. Looking into my eyes, he says, “Join me.”

It’s only now that I realize I’m standing, frozen like a statue, in the middle of his place. And I’m the one who should be seducing him. After all, I’m here to gain his trust. And then steal his secrets.

My stomach turns.

I cross the room as he says, “Truth for truth.”

“Truth for truth?” I blink at him, sliding back onto my barstool. “Is that a game? Or a demand?”

“Both.” A wicked grin lights up his cold, hard, too-sexy-to-turn-away-from face as he says, “You do look fun to play with.”

And the tension between us rises.

I take a breath and try to pretend my lungs aren’t constricting. “Fine. You first.”

“Who was on the phone?” His eyes are like beams, holding me in place.

Looking away, I focus on my glass. “Pass.”

“Fine.” He runs the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip. “Did you think about me when you left?”

I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs together. “Did you think about me?”

“Asked you first.”

“Clearly, I did.” I take a sip of water, hoping it’ll cool the fire he’s kindling in my core. “I’m the one who messaged you.”

“I thought about you all day,” he says, blunt and sharp, as if it made him angry, and he blames me. “More than I wanted to.”

"Is that an insult? Am I supposed to apologize?” I shoot back, “I wasn’t exactly hoping you’d take residence in my mind either. This was supposed to be simple.”

“I know.” Genuine emotion escapes his masked tone. “But it’s not. Is it?”

That’s another question, and it’s not your turn . But I owe him something for his honesty. I don’t look away. “I wore this dress because I knew you would find it sexy.”

His gaze darkens. There’s that misplaced anger. It shouldn’t excite me the way it does.

“And the blue lace bra?” he growls. “Is that for me?”

My throat works. “Maybe.”

He presses forward. “Your turn.”

I glance toward the windows, at the city glittering like temptation itself. “I don’t… do this.”

“What?”

“Date.” Something in me tenses sharply. “Do you?”

“I did.” His pause reveals an old wound. “In another lifetime. I don’t anymore.”

We’re near, but the barrier between us still keeps us apart. He takes my glass, sets it aside, and I can’t look away from his hands.

Hands that seem destined to destroy me.

But I’m coming for him.

And he has no idea.

I’m here because there’s something in this apartment that the Morettis need, but the Bachmans don’t want them to have. Something they haven’t been able to reach.

Something I’m supposed to slink in and steal.

Earn his trust. Then break it.

And I’m overwhelmed by my hatred for the entire plan. And for myself for agreeing.

He circles slowly and deliberately until he’s behind me, and I see his reflection in the window across from me.

My pulse trips.

I go still, as if one wrong move will send the world crashing.

Do I turn to face him?

“Relax,” he says against the crown of my head, his breath warm. “We’re not doing anything you don’t want.”

His hands rest on my shoulders, anchoring me.

“Your turn,” I say, breathless.

“Do you want to be here?” he asks.

More than anything. “Yes.” The word is barely audible—a confession.

“Why?”

The truth cuts out of me before I can stop it. “Because you make me feel safe. And scared. All at once. And I like it.”

His hands flex, then ease, tracing a path down my spine that leaves me trembling. Then his hands are gone. And I’m cold. I want him back.

“Come with me,” he says, and somehow I do.

He gently guides me to a plush gray sofa near the windows. The view is breathtaking. The city sparkles like diamonds scattered across a smoky velvet background. I sit at the far end, pretending to keep my distance, even though my body leans toward him as if I’ve already decided.

He moves closer. I don’t pull away.

My knee tips toward him without meaning to, even though I have no idea what to expect from this night, this moment. My breath hovers in my lungs.

“Two rules,” he says, quiet and steady. “If I touch you and you don’t like it, you say ‘enough’ and I stop. If you want more, you say ‘more’ and I’ll give it to you.”

He’s close enough to devour me, but we’re not touching at all.

I smile. “Complicated.”

“I’ll write it down.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m flattered.”

I play along but my chest goes tight. “God, that’s worse.”

“Erin.” The way he says my name makes me ache in my core. He leans in. Heat and muscle. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes.” My eyes don’t leave his.

“I thought as much.”

“I hate how much you’re right.”

“Get used to it.”

The air thins. He lifts my hand and kisses my wrist. My pulse flutters against his mouth.

He pulls away, eyeing me. “Enough?”

“No.”

“More?”

I close my eyes. “More.”

“Tell me something true,” he whispers against my skin, his hot tongue lashing the inside of my wrist.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

“Of me?”

“Of how much I want you.”

His mouth moves higher and softer, finding that vulnerable spot on my neck. “Same.” His confession settles in my chest.

I tilt my jaw, offering him more, and he takes it. Slowly. Carefully. Like patience itself could seduce me. His lips linger at my throat, each kiss like a match dragged across my skin. My breath is shallow, ragged, but I don’t say enough.

“More,” I whisper, ready to beg.

I’m rewarded by his hand slipping up the inside of my thighs.

“If this is a game, do you want me to play with you? Touch you, tease you between those pretty little thighs of yours? Maybe even lick you, here?” His fingertip brushes my clit over my panties, and I jolt like I’ve been struck by lightning.

My entire body strains toward him.

“You want me to?” he asks.

“Yes.” The admission escapes me faster than an exhale.

I want you to ruin me for what I’m about to do to you.