Hooked (Never After, #1)(25)

“Such a good girl,” he purrs.

Satisfaction courses through my veins and burrows deep into my chest; warm, and fluffy, and everything good. He moves, lifting my body so he can settle in behind me, and I curl up on him, his large hand stroking my hair and whispering words of praise.

I don’t try to speak, don’t try to think too hard over what I just let happen. How he’s treating me like some type of pet that he’s proud of—or how it makes me feel when he does. I just close my eyes and let this moment be what it is.

And when I wake up, I’m no longer on the deck, and I’m all alone.





15





James





The teakettle boils on the stove, and I stare at the backs of my hands as they grip the counter. That—what happened earlier with Wendy was unexpected. But Christ, the way she came apart under my fingers, the way she begged me to cut off her air supply and trembled beneath my touch, had me dangerously close to losing control.

And that is unacceptable.

I’d love to deny it, but unfortunately knowing one’s own weaknesses is paramount to overcoming them, and Wendy becoming a weakness is painstakingly obvious. Especially after I carried her off the sundeck to my personal quarters, and then proceeded to watch her sleep, enjoying the way her dark hair contrasted against the cream of my sheets.

I glare at the teakettle, irritated that she affects me so strongly. That she calls to my base urges and brings them to the forefront, making me wrestle for control. With a scoff, I push the kettle off the burner, running a hand through my hair.

“I can do that for you, you know,” Smee says as he walks into the room with the remaining dishes from dinner.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

He nods, heading to the sink, placing the glasses next to the basin. “She’s a beautiful girl.”

“Hmm?” I ask, my thumb and forefinger rubbing against my chin.

“I said she’s a nice girl.”

I turn, taking him in. Smee is close to my age and has been working on my boat since I found him on the streets next to the JR when I was eighteen—the weekend after I killed my uncle. He was homeless, begging for change, but there was a look in his eye. Something that told me he was dealt a bad hand in life and just needed a way to regain control after it had been stripped away.

And that’s something I can relate to.

For weeks, I would visit him, taking small rations of money and warm food and clothes, watching from the sidelines to see if he was a byproduct of the drugs I funnel onto the streets, or if he was something else. Someone worthy of a second chance.

Luckily for him, it was the latter.

When I bought The Tiger Lily with my parents’ inheritance; the one that was kept from me by my uncle, I went straight to Smee, and offered him room and board. A new chance. A fresh start. So long as he swore his loyalty and only worked for me. Outside of Ru, he’s been the most constant thing in my life.

Still, I keep him at arm’s length, not allowing him to know about the darkest parts of my life. Anyone can flip if given the right incentive, and while I know Smee would follow me to the ends of the earth, I’m not willing to risk him being snatched up and spilling secrets that aren’t his to tell. It would be a shame to have to end his life.

“I don’t need you to approve of my conquests, Smee. Wash the dishes and keep my yacht in check. That is what I pay you for,” I snap.

“Apologies, boss man.” He nods and turns his back, focusing on the dishes in the sink. But his words have filtered through my already frayed edges. I know what a nice girl Wendy is, her pure-hearted innocence bleeds from her pores like oil, shiny and impossible to look away from. Maybe that’s why she calls to me the way she does—the pitch-black parts of my soul aching for her light.

Heading back to my personal quarters, I remind myself of what’s at stake. She’s a tool. Something to be used and broken, a means to an end and nothing more. And while I’m quite looking forward to enjoying myself with her, allowing these feelings to muddle up my insides will do me no good.

My purpose reinforced, I slide open the door, steps faltering when I see her sitting up in the center of my bed, hair a mess on her head and eyes still heavy with sleep.

A grin lights up her face, making my stomach tighten.

“Hi. I was worried when I woke up all alone.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “My apologies. I thought you might be thirsty but then realized I’m not sure what you’d like.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks grow round with her smile. “That’s nice of you. For a moment, I was worried I’d been kidnapped. Waking up in a strange room was a little disorienting.”

“Wonderful kidnappers to keep you in such high-quality sheets.”

“Well… you never know, they could have been trying to trick me into submission.”

My lips twitch, amusement bubbling in my chest. “Trick you?”

“Yeah, you know.” She moves a strand of hair from her forehead. “Stockholm syndrome or whatever.”

My brows raise. “And you think you’re susceptible to such a thing?”

She nods. “I think we’re all susceptible to strange things when our emotional and physical state are under duress.”

“Very astute, darling.” Nausea churns in my gut.