Page 16 of Bought and Broken

Just as I grab my purse, there’s a knock at the door. I startle and drop my bag. It lands on the floor with a thud.

“Kensi, your buyer is here to take you for the weekend,” a female’s voice comes from the other side.

I pick my purse up from the floor and toss it to the couch before going to the mirror and checking my hair and makeup again. Everything is in place, so I take a deep breath, let it out, then go to the door. But before I reach it, it swings open.

I stumble on my feet, nearly tripping when I see who is standing on the other side.

Chapter Eight

Tatum

The look of shock mixed with terror on Devon’s face is something I will cherish for the rest of my days. It’ll never get old. Not in a year. Not in ten. It’ll be the one and only thing to pass before my eyes when I’m on my deathbed. It’s pure fucking perfection.

It is the exact moment she knows she’s screwed. When she knows I have the upper hand. When she knows she’s in for a weekend she will never forget—and not because she’s going to have fun. What is going through that pretty little head of hers?

Am I going to force her to spend the weekend with me alone? Or will I rat her out? I bet both scenarios have gone through her head, and she has no idea which I’ll choose. I’d thought about which would be worse for her, and the answer is simple. Me.

Spending the weekend with me alone is the worst kind of torture for her.

We’ve gone back and forth for years giving each other shit. She pretends she doesn’t know why I hate her guts, and I let her. She’s well aware of what she did to me, and if lying to herself is what gets her by, fine. For now. I’ll throw it all in her face when it’ll hit the hardest. I’ve kept my cards close to the chest, biding my time. I knew I couldn’t be rash with this. It had to be just right. Seems all my patience has paid off.

And as I stand here now, in front of her, knowing I own every inch of her body for the weekend, I get the very best idea.

A three-point-five million dollar idea.

Owning Devon for the weekend, making her do whatever I want, isn’t the ultimate payback. She was going to do this with a stranger; of course she can tolerate me. We spend time together anyway. Not as closely as we will this weekend, but she’s had practice being around me. So, I need more. I need to hit her where it’ll hurt the most.

Though we haven’t been close in years, I still know her. People change, but they don’t change that much. And I’ve had the luxury of being around Devon every damn day. Watching and waiting.

Devon is a romantic at heart. Deep down, she wants nothing more than true love and a perfect family. She wants a husband who will give her the freedom of independence. Children who will respect her enough to do the right thing so she can let them be who they are. She wants to be free as a bird, yet still have everything she wants waiting for her at home. Because Devon is fucking selfish. No matter what she’s given, it’ll never be enough. I would have given her the goddamn world, but that didn’t stop her from doing what she did to me. And if the world isn’t enough for her, then nothing is.

I was wrong thinking forcing her to spend the weekend with me is the ultimate payback. How could I be so stupid? The way to get back at her is to break her heart. Destroy it. Crush it. Shatter it into pieces so small she’ll never be able to put it back together. And when she thinks it’s irreparable, I’ll pick up some of those shards and tape them together.

And then I’ll shatter them again.

“Surprise,” I say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she stammers, stepping away from me. She cants her head to the side, looking beyond me as if she expects someone to come in and save her.

I move closer.

“Are you looking for someone?”

“Why are you here, Tatum? Is my father with you? Dane? You c-can’t take me to them. I signed a contract. I—”

Does she… Well, it seems Devon thinks I’m here to rat her out.

Her mind would make her think that. Because why in the world would I, someone who hates her, spend so much goddamn money on her? Because that’s how petty I am.

“You think I’m here to take you home?” I ask with a raised brow, taking another step closer.

“Why else would you be here?”

She holds my gaze, and I don’t show her any of my cards. If there’s anything I perfected in life, it’s a blank, careless expression. It’s the only way to get by in the business world. I inherited a fantastic poker face from my father.

I hold her gaze, waiting for her to make a move. To say something. To run. I see the exact moment she realizes what’s going on. The second everything clicks into place. The instant it all comes together. Her eyes widen imperceptibly.

“No,” she breathes out, those perfect lips of hers turning into a frown.

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