Page 40 of The Prey

I press my lips firmly together to stop myself from saying anything else. I already told myself I wouldn’t drag him into the Yanov mess, and I don’t want to discuss the memories right now. Not with how skittish I’ve been lately. He might ask other questions, and knowing myself, I’ll end up spilling everything by accident.

Lifting my chin, I give him one final, narrow-eyed look before I turn decisively and walk away. “I said I’m fine, and I mean it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

18

Sebastian

Days later, the hallway incident, as I’ve come to think of it, still bugs me. I step into my bedroom and close the door behind me, running a hand through my hair with a frustrated sigh. Striding over to my minibar, I pour myself a drink and tip it back, letting the whiskey burn a path down my throat as I grapple with shit I have no easy solutions for.

I’ve been doing my best to ignore her, but Ely always seems to be right in my path. I’ve considered her words, played them over in my mind a thousand times, and I still feel, in my gut, that she’s lying. She remembers something from that night, something that she could use against me, and she doesn’t want to tell me because she’s afraid. It’s the only thing I can think of that fits with her sudden behavior change.

The fear, the forgetfulness, how easily distracted she’s become…like she’s lost in her head somewhere far away…it’s not like her. Even if it isn’t her memory returning, something is going on, and I need to figure it out.

When I clench my fists around the lowball glass in my hand, a few drops of cold condensation wash over my fingers, breaking the spell. I throw myself down into the chair near my bed so I don't send the glass flying.

I’m better than this.

Get ahold of yourself, dickface.

Why is every day an even more difficult test of my control? Control of my anger and of other things...my mind immediately shifts to the memory of her kneeling on the floor with my cock in her mouth. I clench my jaw at the sheer need that ripples beneath my skin.

So what? I want her. That's not news. It also doesn't mean I have to act on that desire. In the end, it’ll be easier if we continue to avoid one another. It’s worked this long; there’s no reason it won’t continue to. Yeah…if I can stop myself from looking at her, watching her every move, even when she doesn’t think I’m watching her.

If I wasn’t watching her, I wouldn’t have noticed the change in her demeanor. On top of that, I swear she's lost a couple of pounds, and that, coupled with the heavy bags that always seem to be under her eyes, tells me she’s not getting enough sleep. Maybe I need to monitor that, as well.

Just in the interest of making sure my employees remain healthy.

I throw back another swallow of whiskey and consider what else I might do to ensure she doesn't go off the rails. Finding a new maid isn't an option. Especially with Tanya sneaking around. No doubt she'd hire someone she can trust, someone I'd never be able to rely on...even for just cleaning. So for now, I need to keep Ely safe and as healthy as I can.

After all, if she's not cleaning or doing what I need her to do, then she’s not really working to pay off her father’s debt, which is only half the reason she’s here. The other half she has yet to discover, and hopefully, she never does because that would change things between us. In a bad way. I finish off my drink and slide the glass onto the bedside table. I need to stop drinking to get a grasp on everything, but without the whiskey to dull my senses and desires, I run the risk of losing control, and control is all that's standing between myself and my little prey.

With that in mind, I stand, button my suit jacket, and head out into the hall.

The house is quiet, but that's okay; I prefer it this way. I’m not particularly interested in seeing Tanya or her pet bodyguard. I doubt he’s her fucking bodyguard, anyway.

Well, maybe the fucking part. Heh, heh, heh.

I head downstairs to the back room that houses the security cameras and guards. It's an open space without a door. It leads right into a room with a bank of monitors, with a small armory against the wall and a set of lockers for the guards. A room next door houses some bunks and a small kitchen for them. It's the best I can offer, and at the very least, it stops them from traipsing through the length of the house, making a mess and drawing attention.

I hear one of the guards chuckling softly and stop just outside the entrance.

The first guard nudges guard two and points at the cameras. Quietly, I creep closer to get a better look. They are pointing at an upper hallway, where on the screen the video plays, and I spot Ely in the frame. She tiptoes into the spare room with a bundle of blankets in her arms.

What the hell? I lean against the wall and listen as the first guard laughs again. “She's been doing this for a while now, and the other day, I got curious and went upstairs to check what was going on. I thought she was sleeping in the room, but nothing was out of place when I walked in. The closet door was cracked, so I opened it, and that’s when I saw all the blankets piled up. It looked like a damn bird was roosting in there with how she had it all arranged.”

The other makes a humming noise and laughs, too. “What a fucking weirdo. Why stay there if she has her own room down here? Wouldn’t having an exit make her feel safer?”

I consider what they are saying. Ely is sleeping upstairs in the guest rooms? How did I not know about this? And in the fucking closet, no less. I’m both pissed off and concerned. I’m angry with myself for not noticing. For not knowing about it. Yes, I saw the change in behavior, but I didn’t realize other things were going on.

I've been so wrapped up in my own shit and in trying to keep away from her that I missed the biggest sign that something is going on.

“She's weird, sure, but I'd definitely fuck her. Did you see how tight that ass is?”

I lift my gaze and lean my head back against the wall. I concentrate on their words, listening a little bit more intently. I'll let them finish before I fucking destroy them with my presence. Let's see how deep they dig their own graves first.

There’s some typing, and I slowly peek around the corner, watching as the first guard points at something on the camera. “But yeah, you're right. They say the craziest ones are the hottest in bed. Any of the women in this house...”

I snap, like a string pulled too tight, and step into the room before they sign their death warrants in earnest. “If I hear either of you utter another word, I'll cut out your tongues.” The weight of my knife rests in my hands, and I blink, trying to recall when I pulled it out.

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