The Pawn (Endgame #1)(6)
I always imagined that I would have sex with my husband, that he would take care to make it easier for me. A man who paid for the privilege would have no reason to restrain himself. “I mean worse than that. You know…kinky stuff.”
“Kinky stuff,” Gabriel says, the corner of his mouth turned up. “What do you know about kinky stuff?”
My face feels hot. “I’ve seen the movie, okay? I know about things.”
That’s a lie. I squirmed through the movie, lips parted in shock. How did people think of this stuff? Why would any girl like it? And I’m not just a random face in this city. My picture has appeared in the society papers. People know my father. Maybe some of the men were cheated by him, just like Gabriel. Would they want to hurt me in revenge?
“Tell me what you know,” Gabriel says.
The words are mocking, but something sparks inside me. “I know that some men like to hurt women. I know it makes them feel big and strong to hurt someone weaker.”
“And are you weak, little virgin?”
No, I want to say. Except I’ve lost everything in the past two months. My life, my school. My friends. I’m a shadow of my former self. Little virgin makes me fight back, though. Gabriel makes me fight back. “I’m doing what I have to do. Is that weak?”
His gaze flickers over my body, the yellow of his eyes brighter in the lamp’s glow. When he meets my eyes, there’s a begrudging respect. “Scott will screen the men who get invited.”
“Naturally,” Scott says. “I’m not promising these men won’t want kinky shit, but they’ll respect reasonable boundaries.”
That sounds a little vague—what qualifies as reasonable? But I would be stepping into their world, one with thorns and dark shadows. It would be dangerous.
It would be immoral. Daddy taught me to protect myself, but then he failed to protect me. I don’t know what to believe anymore. “I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this.”
Scott waves a hand as if it doesn’t matter to him. Maybe it doesn’t. “Go home, think it over. Come back tomorrow if you want to do it.”
I take a step back, relieved to be dismissed. The thought of making a decision hurts my heart, but at least I have a reprieve.
“Oh, and Avery,” Scott says thoughtfully. “If you do come back, bring some lingerie. We’ll want to get some pictures circulating to generate interest.”
I imagine myself undressed down to my bra, my underwear. More exposed than I am now. And photographs would last forever. That would only be the beginning, because when a man purchased my virginity, he could see every part of me. Touch every inch of my skin. Invade every place in my body. My eyes turn hot with tears. All I can manage is a curt nod, and then I’m practically running from the room.
I’m already in the hallway when I feel a hand on my wrist. Something inside me snaps, and I turn back with a cry of anger, of grief. Of defeat. I strike out with an open palm, trying to hit him, hurt him.
Gabriel subdues me with another hand on my wrist.
One step forward and he backs me into the wall. The rich wood paneling is cool through the cloth of my shirt. His body radiates heat at my front. I shrink against the unforgiving wall as if I can get away from him. He closes the space until we’re a breath away.
“I was going to say you forgot your coat,” he murmurs.
Then I see my trench coat draped over his arm. He’s doing something nice, and I just freaked out at him. God, I’m so messed up inside—fear and shame churning in my stomach. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re right to fight me. I’m not a nice man.”
And he was the one to suggest the auction. His hands are still holding my wrists against the wall, and I realize how exposed I am. “Are you going to let me go?”
His lips brush my temple. “Soon, little virgin.”
“Don’t call me that.” My voice trembles only a little, revealing the turmoil inside me.
“What else should I call you? Princess? Darling?”
“You could call me by my name.”
He dips his head, his mouth right by my ear, his voice just a breath. “There’s only one thing I’m going to call you. Mine.”
The possession in his voice makes me shiver. “Never.”
But a little voice inside my head says, Not yet.
He steps back with a quiet laugh. “You can run away, little virgin. But you’ll come back.”
I’m very afraid he’s right.
Chapter Two
There used to be gardeners working outside and the part-time chef in the kitchen. Maids working under the direction of the housekeeper. Ten thousand square feet of French architectural splendor doesn’t tend itself.
When the scandal hit, things got even louder.
The phone rang constantly with Daddy’s lawyers and business partners. The long street leading up to the cobblestone driveway became a gauntlet, teeming with reporters. There was even a protest once, with posters that read Clean Up Corruption and Get Out of Tanglewood.
Once-rounded bushes have grown wild, casting jagged shadows on empty pavement.
No one greets me as I walk through the front door. I follow the faint hum of machinery down the hallway and into my father’s bedroom, where a hospital bed has replaced the crackled leather chairs in front of the fireplace.