Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(55)

For as much as I enjoy Farren f*cking me, I have no desire to have this disgusting man watch. I sense these sick requests are angering Farren, too. His body tenses as he says to Dawson, “We’re not going into your house. And enough with the girl; she’s not important. However, I believe we still have some business to discuss.”

I think it’s all over, and so, apparently, does Farren. He begins to lower my top. But that’s when Dawson states, “Not so fast. I want to see the rest of her before talking any business.”

Bile rises in my throat. We can’t keep saying no. Farren has to talk business with this man. He needs to make a deal with Dawson. A deal that will result in keeping Haven—and me—safe.

That is why when Farren swiftly turns me around and bends me over the hood of Dawson’s limo, I don’t resist. I put up no fight when he yanks down my shorts and panties, and I don’t struggle when he places his hand on my lower back and urges me to arch my ass up high so Dawson can see all of me.

It’s all so humiliating, like I’m some object to display and apprise. But the worst part of all is that, because Farren is doing these things to me, my body starts to respond. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Dawson.

“You’ve trained her well,” he comments lecherously. “She’s f*cking soaked.”

I press the side of my face to the hood, tears hot as they stream down my cheeks. It’s true; my body is aroused. My camisole was never lowered enough to cover my breasts, and the heated steel my chest is pressed against feels surprisingly good against my sensitive nipples.

“Get her off,” Dawson says offhandedly, “and then we’ll talk business.”

I am so turned on that I’m not as repulsed as I should be by his request. I only crave relief. Still, I hate that this wicked old pervert will watch me come undone. I close my eyes and try to pretend it’s just me and Farren. When he slips his fingers into me, I tighten around him and let out a moan.

“She likes it already.” Dawson laughs.

Shut up, I think, shut up. I wish I could kill Dawson. I think Farren wishes he could kill him, too, as his movements become rougher and harsher. But Farren is still skilled enough with his fingers that I’m soon rocking my hips with the pace he sets.

I forget we’re not alone. I writhe on the hood of the limo as Farren works my clit with his thumb. When he twists his fingers, two of which are inside of me, in just the right way, I come.

Once my orgasm subsides and I am no longer aroused, I start to cry.

Farren lifts my limp body off the hood and slips my panties and shorts back up my legs. Quickly, he reclasps my bra and lowers my camisole completely.

The whole time he’s whispering in my ear, “I’m sorry, Essa. I am so sorry.”

When I turn around, I see Dawson is gone. “Where’d he go?” I whisper while I wipe away my tears.

Farren jerks his head toward the limo. “He’s in there, waiting to talk business. He said it was getting too hot to stand around out here.”

“I bet,” I scoff bitterly. “He’s probably in there jerking off after what he just saw.”

Farren cups my cheek, so much more gently than before. “Essalin, I’m so sorry I had to do that to you in front of him.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s not like we had much of a choice. I’m just glad he was satisfied with just you touching me.”

Farren’s eyes narrow. “I wasn’t about to let him touch you. I’d kill him first.”

“What about the fallout?”

“Fuck the fallout, Essa.”

Somehow, I know Farren is not kidding around. And the fact that he would rather kill than share me makes any humiliation I’ve endured today a little less horrible.

Still, I can’t wait to leave.

Farren sees my discomfort in my eyes and says, “We won’t be here much longer. Go back to the car, okay? Wait for me there. And, Essa…remember what I told you.”

I nod. I know Farren is referring to the gun he stashed under the seat. “Use it if it comes to that,” his expression says, before I turn and walk slowly back to the Ferrari.

I glance back when I’m almost to the car. Farren is getting into the limo to speak with the most disgusting man I’ve ever met.

This day can’t end soon enough.





Twelve minutes, that’s how long Farren is in the limo with Dawson when I start to panic.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Slowly, I adjust my hands around the .38 that’s resting in my lap. I’m not sure how much longer I should wait. Farren said to use the gun if things go badly. Is this too much time? Should I get out of the car and go rap on the limo window? I don’t know. I mean, how long should a meeting like this take?

I glance down at the weapon in my hands. I found the gun easily enough. It was right where Farren promised it would be—under the passenger seat. I retrieved it the second I was back in the car, right after I closed the door. I’ll use this gun if I need to. In fact, shooting Dawson would probably bring me a special kind of joy.

But my thoughts are just fantasies. Truthfully, I’m scared. Scared for me, scared for Farren, and scared this thing Farren is involved in is much more complex than I ever imagined.

Four more minutes pass, and, to my relief, Farren emerges from the limo. He appears to be fine, so my hold on the gun loosens. When he opens the driver’s-side door and slides in, I ask, “How’d it go?”