Page 6 of The Devil's Daughter

That explains the view of the cameras—she must have found a hidden feed in her search. When she switches back to that screen, I look more closely. A couple are legitimate security feeds I recognize. I have cameras at every entrance to my penthouse, even the door to the roof, a few newly installed since the twins moved in. But the others, the more intrusive ones, are definitelynotsanctioned by me.

I clench my jaw. Did the twins…?

Fuck, I hope not. Actually, I’d rather itisthem than the other possibility. I doubt they’d do it, but I’m hoping for a more benign explanation because if it isn’t them, then something else is going on. Something I really don’t want to think about.

I stare at the screen, dread coiling in my gut. The more I think about it, the more I don’t like the conclusion I’m drawing. But after a moment, my brain finally registers movement, and every one of my senses comes alive.

Elle is now sitting at the end of the bed, staring right at the camera as she unbuttons her blouse from the bottom up.

My mouth goes dry, and I can’t look away as the buttons come apart, slowly revealing the smooth expanse of her flat belly, then the faintest curve of the undersides of both her breasts. She pauses and stands, biting her lip as she leaves her shirt hanging over her breasts in an inverted vee, then drops her hands to unfasten her jeans. Swaying her hips as she moves, she undoes the button, then the zipper, then slowly peels the fabric down.

I’m transfixed, even though it’s nothing I haven’t seen. She spent the first weekend after moving in lounging in a bikini by the pool, insisting on milking this change that had been foisted on her for all it was worth.

Except she’s not in a bikini under her clothes. Her snug boy shorts are made from pale lace, and she’s clearly not wearing a bra. Between the plackets of her button-down shirt, all I see is bare skin. The fabric drapes over her nipples, a breath away from revealing everything.

She does a little dance, gracefully spinning for the camera and teasing her fingers at the next button of her blouse. My gaze falls again to her lacy panties, sheer enough to see the faint dark vee of her pubic hair underneath. The security feeds are black and white, but for some reason my brain fills in the color of her panties as petal pink, and my dick hardens at the sight.

Shame roils in my belly, a voice in my head telling me I’m a perverted monster for continuing to watch, but I can’t look away. She’s dancingforthe camera, so that means she wants to be seen, right? Does that mean she knows I’m watching?

I skim back through the camera feeds, but find none for my 30th-floor office.

I should fucking shut this down. Not just my watching, but her dancing. But it’s been so long since I tasted the sweet thrill of watching a woman undress behind a camera like this. It’s a dangerously erotic feeling, giving me a rush like an old drug I thought I’d kicked worming its way into my veins unexpectedly. I’m fuckinghighon seeing her do her thing.

My blood runs hotter when she unfastens the last button, then turns her back to the camera as she lets her shirt slide to the floor with a flirtatious glance over her shoulder. Jesus, she really has dancing down to an art.

When she begins to turn, I lean closer, balls tightening in anticipation. I’m a fucking pervert, but I can’t stop.

She faces the camera, a wickedly mischievous smile on her face, arms crossed over her chest. Then she drops her hands and takes a step closer.

I blink, because what I’m seeing is not what I expected. Her nipples are covered by two black strips of tape crisscrossed into dark Xs, and across her chest in clear, fat print that looks like lipstick, she’s painted the wordsFUCK YOU.

I gawk as she mouths the words, then lifts her middle finger to fill the frame.

3

Elle

I holdmy middle finger up in front of the camera a second longer. I hopethatgets through to them.

The last thing I do is slowly peel off each of the strips of tape covering my nipples, then I walk to the camera and slap the whole sticky wad over the lens.

I throw on a comfy T-shirt and crawl back onto my bed to get to work digging around in Drake’s network again. I haven’t had any luck, but there’s a lot more to search through. The folder the cameras upload their recordings to is just sitting there, taunting me. Do I dare? They’re invadingmyprivacy, but do I really want to stoop that low?

Maybe just this once. It’s only fair. I search for the folder that matches the ID on the camera hidden in Drake’s bedroom, then click to open it.

I have to admit, the striptease was fun. It made me feel powerful to think the guys might be watching, maybe even hoping to see more. Whether or not they even care about what I look like naked, I have no clue. Baz and Ben act like brothers, for the most part. Drake… I don’t know how to categorize how he treats me. He’s more than a boss, but less than a friend, so ifhewas on the other end…

Well, he can’tfireme, at least.

I grimace inwardly at that thought. I don’t like the person I’m becoming after all these mind-boggling changes in my life. I’m not mean by nature; I care about the people I’m close to. I just get so antsy being cooped up for too long and my aggravation manifests in not-so-nice ways. I’m allowed to be angry at my circumstances, aren’t I? At knowing so little about the two men who are dictating my life right now?

But acting out isn’t cool. If the only way to get what I need to stay sane is to act like an entitled brat, then maybe I need to make an effort to be more creative. Having a little more information at my disposal would certainly help, though.

Clicking into the folder, I find multiple gigs of footage and don’t know where to start, so I click the first. It’s just a fifteen-second shot of Drake entering the room, walking to his bedside table to pick something up, then leaving again. A few seconds after he disappears, the video ends.

The next one is something equally benign. Then there’s one that shows him enter, start undressing, and then wander into his closet. When he emerges, he’s in flannel shorts and a white T-shirt. Meh, not even a dick shot.

He disappears into the bathroom, and I fast-forward to him emerging. Then he crawls into bed and turns out the light. A few seconds later, the recording ends.

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