Page 8 of The Prey

Over the course of the months I’ve been here, I’ve learned things about Sebastian. Although he doesn’t vocalize every emotion, he feels things deeply. And so I know that look, because I’ve put it there more than once or twice before, and as much as I loathe his existence, I find it hard to breathe when he looks at me like that. Hard to exist.

The moment is ruined when a voice carries from the hallway to the room through the still-open door. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

Ugh, no. As if this situation couldn’t get worse. I let my eyes flutter closed and hug the cotton shirt to my chest, trying to shield myself from her gaze. Of course she would stumble upon us when I’m half naked in Sebastian’s room. Innocently, half naked.

“Mrs. Arturo, what can I do for you?”

When I open my eyes again, my gaze automatically shifts to Sebastian. I’m pretty sure it’s obvious to everyone but her how much he dislikes her—either that or she doesn’t really care. Sebastian does his best to hide his irritation and annoyance of her, but sometimes his mask slips, and other times his feelings are so profound they slip through the cracks. I’ve never bothered to ask what the problem is and why he dislikes her so much, kind of like I’ve never bothered to ask why he hates me. It’s better not to know the truth sometimes. Though I’ve never done anything to earn me so much hatred from him. Who knows, maybe Tanya hasn’t, either?

Maybe he just hates people for the hell of it?

It's impossible to miss the tightening of his jaw and the slight clench of his teeth. He turns to stone instantly, his body becoming rigid, his eyes narrowing, the typical emotionless mask he wears around everyone except me falling over his face.

No, he saves all his anger and hate for me. And enjoys making me see it.

Tanya creeps deeper into the room, sucking all the air out of the space. Just like always, she’s beautifully polished and put together from head to toe. Her ruby-red lips pull up into a predatory smile as soon as her gaze lands on me. I wish the floor would swallow me up and spit me out back in my bedroom, but I don’t get that lucky.

“Am I interrupting something?”

3

Sebastian

Am I interrupting something? The list of things that are starting to piss me off seems to be getting longer and longer. Maybe if Elyse hadn’t wasted so much time and had fucking suitable clothing—anything other than a damn work uniform—in her dresser, I wouldn’t be in this room with her and Tanya right now.

Who am I kidding? Rationally, I know none of this is Elyse’s fault, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make it seem that way.

Something about her begs me to give her a hard time.

Tanya, technically my aunt, although she calls herself my stepmother, has been living in the house for ten months now, and when I say living, I use the term loosely since I haven't seen much of her in that time. Thank fuck. She tells me—like I actually give a shit—that she’s been balancing her time between here and the house she has in Miami. I don’t really give a fuck what she’s doing as long as she stays away from me. For some unknown reason she’s been hanging around a little more lately, though, and I don’t like it. Just looking at her makes me sick. It makes me want to crawl inside a bottle of bourbon and never come out. I will deal with her for now, until I can figure out how to convince her to let me buy out her part of the house’s deed.

“Yes, you’re interrupting something, but we don’t have time for it now, anyway, so no apology is necessary.” I give Tanya a hard glance and peer back down at Ely, noticing how she clutches her shirt tight in her hands, hands that are visibly shaking.

Good.

I need her fear like I need oxygen because it means I’m in control. I feast on it, and she gives it to me so easily, it’s almost pathetic. And keeping her afraid shouldn't be a problem after she finds out where we’re going. I’ve gone easy on her the last couple of months, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she remembers things. Dr. Brooks warned me that once her memories trickle in they may come and go like waves. He also said she might not ever regain her memories from that night, so it’s crucial that I maintain control over her so I know what she’s remembering and not remembering. My own life and future hangs in the balance of her recall.

“Elyse, go pack up whatever else you’re going to need, and hurry back. We’re leaving soon. As in, in an hour soon. You don’t show up, I hunt you down and drag you out the door. Is that clear?”

She blinks up at me, her big doe eyes wide and shining with fright and maybe a hint of something else. Something I’m not even fucking touching right now. Maybe she doesn’t think I’ve noticed her lingering stares or the heat in her eyes, which she tries to hide beneath a hateful glare every time I say something shitty. She might be good at hiding from the rest of the world, but she can’t hide from me. I notice everything when it comes to her. In fact, sometimes I have to remind myself that she’s my employee, and this can only end one way. Developing an obsession for the quiet, fearful brunette is not necessary to my end goal.

If I wanted to, I could have her. I could fuck her any way I want, however I want, even if she said no and begged me not to. She belongs to me, after all. I pride myself on control, though, being in control and maintaining it. Giving in to those impulsive desires would be the same as letting her win, and I refuse to let her break me down to that level of baser instinct. Plus, nothing good comes from making choices with your dick. My aunt/stepmother, Tanya, is proof of that on my uncle’s part.

When she doesn’t immediately start moving, I clap my hands, and she jumps, startled by the sound. “Move it!” I taunt. She springs into action, scurrying from the room.

I return my focus to Tanya, un-beloved auntie, adopted mommy, stepmother. Mother is a generous term for a woman who didn’t do anything to actually raise me; nor did she give birth to me. It was my uncle, Mitchell Arturo, whom I consider my adopted father, who raised me. Not my grandfather, who took credit for turning me into a brutal, sadistic asshole, and definitely not this bitch who thinks she can have what’s mine.

My family is beyond fucked up. Just the thought of it makes my head hurt, but Tanya’s presence is a constant reminder of all that I try to forget. My mother, who I reconnected with before her untimely death mere months earlier, had an affair after giving birth to me that resulted in the birth of my sister, Bel. Since my biological father was psychotic and abusive, among other amazing attributes, my mother wanted to leave him. She struck a deal with my grandfather, her own father, where she signed over her rights to me, giving him guardianship and allowing him to raise me, and he allowed her to leave, free to live her life as she saw fit. I guess that’s what she wanted, since that’s what she did, without a single penny to her name.

I’m past the point of hating her for it. In fact, part of me respects her for it. I can understand her desire to escape this place and these people and live a different sort of existence—even if it meant leaving me behind.

I can understand, because I’m living the nightmare she managed to escape right now.

Which brings me back to the present situation.

“What do you want, Tanya?”

Her smile widens, her lips shining in the afternoon light that beams through the windows on the far side of the room. I usually keep the curtains drawn, as it’s far more fitting for my mood, but someone must have left them open after cleaning.

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