Page 19 of Pit

“He’s to transfer money into my account the day we fly out on our honeymoon. And he’s also to support me like a husband would a wife throughout our marriage.”

I rest my elbows on my knees, intrigued. “Tell me from the start.”

She sighs again. “He contacted me after I advertised myself on a site—”

“There’s a fucking site?” I cut in, unable to hide my shock. “Like virgins-dot-com?”

She rolls her eyes. “He asked to meet. We did and we hit it off.”

“So, right now, you should be on your honeymoon?”

“Yes. We were leaving after the warehouse deal went through.”

I grin. “Where was he taking you?”

She shrugs. “Dubai.”

“And how much was that upfront fee he was supposed to transfer?”

“Five grand.”

I almost choke on my own breath as I laugh loudly. She blushes deeper. “Five fucking grand? Whose idea was that?”

“His.”

“I bet. Fuck, Tessa, five grand is nothing. You could’ve asked for a lot more.”

“It wasn’t just about the cash,” she snaps, tugging the sheet higher and tucking it under her chin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“And whose idea was the marriage?”

“Mine,” she mutters. “I stated that on the site.”

“What makes a girl like you need stability in the form of a stranger?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in wonder.

“What makes a man like you kill and kidnap?” she counters.

I arch a brow, smirking. “The money is good,” I say honestly, “and I like it.”

“Wow,” she mutters, looking disgusted. “Do you get off on murdering people?”

“If I tell you my secrets, I’ll definitely have to kill you.”

She scoffs. “I thought that was already the plan.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Why aren’t you scared?” I ask, the question slipping from my lips before I have chance to stop it.

“Because when you live a life like mine, death is kinder.”

Her words throw me. “What does that mean?”

“Forget it,” she utters.

I grab the sheet and tug it hard, pulling it from her body. She doesn’t react, instead just sighing patiently. “Your body was created for sin,” I almost whisper, and her eyes dart to mine. “Touch yourself.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Tessa,” I say firmly, keeping eye contact, “touch yourself.”

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