Page 9

nine

Lucy

“What the fuck is this?” I hiss over a glass of Chianti in one of Manhattan’s finest restaurants.

After the heated exchange with Damien in the dressing room, I forced myself into a cap sleeved, knee length, plum bodycon dress with black heels and met up with him at the front counter as he was handing the cashier his Amex.

“Modest enough?” I sneered and he looked me up and down, slowly, with approving eyes.

“It will do,” he grumbled before he turned back to flash the cashier a million-dollar smile.

“Prick,” I grumbled as I marched out to meet Bruno, who was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Bruno?” I asked when Damien came out.

“With Adrian at the restaurant. Which we’re late for, because of your antics,” he said as he pressed some buttons on a key fob.

An all black, sleek Audi lit up before us on the store front and it took all my willpower not to stomp my Jimmy Choo heel into the Manhattan sidewalk.

The car ride was silent and tense, and I refused to look at him the entire way to lunch. And now, as I sit across from him and his attorney, I can’t help but gape at him in absolute horror.

A contract. A fucking contract. Detailing every single term and condition that I must abide by as long as I’m with him.

Which is a year in total. Per the contract at least. And I can’t back out of it, because he’s threatened to kill me, which I refuse to bring up here at lunch in this restaurant in front of his lawyer.

So, needless to say, I am fucked.

I am so completely fucked.

“You can’t be serious,” I say to him as I lean back in my chair and try to keep my ravioli down.

Which he watched me eat the entire time with watchful eyes. But I refused to feel scrutinized. I know he spent a majority of his years with my sister who got full off of a handful of almonds and I’m sure he’s fucked many thin, beautiful models who eat the exact same way.

I, on the other hand, enjoy food. It’s one of life’s most sacred and basic desires.

And now I’m trying not to hurl it up all over the white, silk tablecloth.

“As a heart attack, but please, don’t have one at the table. I don’t want to cause a scene by calling an ambulance,” Damien says as he rolls his eyes in his chair.

He looks around the restaurant, a bored expression on his stupid, handsome face. All the while his lawyer looks like he’s going to pass out.

“You approved this?” I sneer at Adrian, whom I just met less than an hour ago.

He shrugs at me then, refusing to look me in the eye.

I look back down at the contract, my vision blurring as I stare at the text.

“No leaving the premises without contacting the party in which this contract was initiated by,” I growl as Damien nods.

“No phone calls should be made unless authorized by the initiating party,” I repeat as my eyes scan down the page.

“An allowance of twenty grand per month will be allotted to the signee,” I say, the only line that I somewhat am okay with.

“No trips shall be made without the initiating party, and the signee must attend any and all events created for and by the initiated party both in and outside of the United States.”

Great, so now I’m signing up for human trafficking.

Cute.

“The signee must attend routine, monthly visits to the doctor assigned by the initiating party with a staff member present.” I scoff.

“Are you going to monitor my birth control too?” I growl and he raises his eyebrows at me.

“No need. You’ll be getting the shot every three months,” he says casually.

As if it’s not invasive.

As if it’s not controlling.

As if it’s not completely, ridiculously dehumanizing.

Oh, but that’s not all.

Not even the worst part.

“The signee must agree to be married to the initiating party within thirty days of the contract being signed?!” I practically scream and Damien’s foot instantly steps on mine under the table.

“Lower your fucking voice, woman,” he growls, threatening fire igniting in his eyes.

But I can’t calm down. My hairline is sweating and ruining my fresh blowout. My wine glass is about to shatter in my hand from the forceful grip that I have on the stem and my face now probably is the same shade as this tablecloth that I’m about to lose my lunch over.

“I need to go to the bathroom. I’m going to be sick,” I whisper before I look up at Damien and his lawyer.

“Unless you need to come with me, per the contract,” I growl, and Damien waves me off as he drapes a long arm over the back of his chair.

“Please, go. I’d rather not send another suit to my dry cleaner today,” he growls back, and I immediately get up and stomp towards the ladies’ room.

I rush into the nearest stall and sink to my knees above the toilet, my dark red, manicured fingers gripping the edge as I close my eyes and take deep, pulling breaths.

How did I get here? What have I done to deserve? this?

I’ve been ostracized, ridiculed, outcasted and banished from the life that held every threat inside of it and I’ve lived by and for myself since. I thought I eradicated every bit of danger that my former life once held.

But clearly, I am mistaken.

“Why me?” I whisper, as I flush the toilet and stand to straighten my dress before leaving the stall.

“Do you always victimize yourself when you use the restroom?” Damien mumbles as I practically ram my head into his chest upon leaving the stall.

“Jesus-” I shout, but his hand instantly slams over my mouth as he shoves me against the stall door.

“Enough,” he growls from above me, his large, rigid body pressed tightly against mine.

His mouth practically hovers outside of his hand and my breasts are being pressed to his chest as I start to panic and flail beneath him.

He uses his free hand to grab both of mine and pin them above my head. I’m completely at his will now. I am the toy he has written on paper.

This is what he wants.

Complete submission.

Total control.

“You don’t have a choice anymore, Lucille. I’ve made that abundantly clear. This contract is only a written agreement which was already made verbally last night, do not forget this. You are mine now, whether you like it or not. And if you want to be safe, if you want to remain untouched and unharmed, I suggest you get with the fucking program and just listen to me, okay?” he says, and his words wash over me like acid rain.

Painful. Harsh. Abrasive.

“Now, are you going to be a good girl and keep quiet if I remove my hand from your lips?” he growls and I don’t know why, but my body instantly reacts to those words.

And not in a good way.

In a lustful way. In a way that I cannot begin to explain or control.

But still, I nod slowly. I agree with him.

Because he could snap my neck in an instant and cover my murder up like it never even happened in a restaurant bathroom.

A restaurant that he probably owns, mind you.

“So, what, you’re going to kill me if I try to move outside of the boundary lines in the contract? One failed step and I-”

“Could die. Yes,” he says after he drops his hand to his side, the other hand still holding mine above my head.

“You’d really kill me so easily?” I whisper as I blink up at him.

He stares at me for a long, long while. His eyes are hard and dark as we breathe each other in.

“What don’t you get? It’s not me that you have to worry about, Lucille,” he sneers, and I can’t help but scoff at him.

“Why would I get it? You haven’t explained shit to me, Damien-”

“Because it’s for your own good,” he barks, and I quieten immediately.

He doesn’t scare me. Not at all. Okay well, maybe a little.

I don’t quieten because of fear.

I quieten because I’m hoping my little act of submission, of silent obedience and yield, might make him open up.

He sighs then and tilts his head back, eyes now aimed at the ceiling.

“Look, when some situations arise, when we meet at certain places with certain people, I will fill you in as I see fit. Enough to keep you aware, enough you keep you protected, but you have to keep yourself in line, understood? There’s people out there…people who would… do unspeakable things to you if you so much as look at them,” he says and I tilt my head at him.

“And you work for these people?” I ask.

His head drops then, those dark eyes darting to mine and penetrating them with the most lethal stare I’ve ever seen.

It’s unnerving.

“I own these people,” he growls, and I swallow tightly.

“But they’re impulsive. Greedy. And they could do anything at any given moment, which I’m prepared for. But that’s because my team and I are on the same page. Precautions are taken at every measure. Which is why you need to abide by this, by me. It’s for your own-”

“Safety, yes. I’ve gathered that.” I sigh.

I search his eyes then, for what I don’t know. Maybe compassion. Maybe empathy. Maybe for a single ounce of humanity.

But instead, I find nothing.

I’m left with nothing.

“What is it that you really do, Damien? Who are you?” I ask, even though I know the answer deep down, I just refuse to admit it.

And he doesn’t say anything, because he knows this too.

His actions, his money, his dominance, he’s made it all clear.

So, I don’t know why, even with this terrifying knowledge, I am now going to my toes, lifting myself so my mouth can line up with his. I don’t know why I practically moan as my nipples slide up his chest through our clothes, why my heart quickens as I breathe in his bourbon and expensive cologne.

And I definitely don’t have an excuse for why my mouth locks with his, why I trap him in a kiss that I’ve dreamed about for so long, despite the fact that he’s my sister’s ex-husband.

Despite the fact that he’s a monster.

And I don’t know why he lets me, but he does.

He lets my lips brush over his, once, twice and then he lets my tongue slowly sneak inside.

But he stops it there.

As soon as I finally, finally get to taste Damien Reed, he stops it all.

And slaps me hard across the face as soon as he rips his mouth from mine.

I’m breathing deep, my heart erratically pounding against my chest as I drop my head and refuse to meet his eyes.

I am not only ashamed and embarrassed, I’m fucking mortified.

“Don’t ever do that shit again,” he says blatantly, and it takes everything in my power not to cry as he releases me and drops me to the floor.

I cover my mouth with a shaking hand, feeling not only dejected, but worthless.

And how pathetic is that?

I feel like the monster for kissing the man that’s holding me captive.

He walks away and rips open the bathroom door, but my eyes lock onto his shoes because they pause. He pauses.

And so I let my eyes travel all the way up to his body to his face, and what I find there is staggering.

Because as soon as I lock eyes with him, I am met with complete, unrelenting lust.

But he doesn’t say anything then. Doesn’t try to explain it or address it, which is typical for him.

He just shakes his head slowly at me and straightens the collar of his shirt that’s still undone at the top, revealing that gold chain against his dark skin.

And then he walks out and leaves me on the bathroom floor.