Page 8 of Envy

He just said he didn’t. Besides, Garret doesn’t need to drug women to have sex. That’s not his style. He wants you to know it’s happening. Because what he really fucks is your mind.

“And?” I force out.

The corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smile. Something worse. I want to run.

Crawl my way out if I have to. But I can’t. I can scream, but no one will hear me. I can fight, but he’s stronger. And I’ve learned one thing about rich men with power. Running only makes it worse.

Garret leans closer. Bends at the waist until his mouth is inches from my cheek, his breath candy-sweet against my skin.“Take your fingers,” he says slowly, “and run them above your slit.”

My pulse skitters. His gaze drops to my hand.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Fucking asshole. He’s trying to tell me something, but he wants me to find out his way. The most humiliating way possible.

I hesitate. Then do as he says. My fingers slide beneath the sheet. His gaze stays locked on mine. I expect prickly hair. Rough skin. But it’s smooth. Buttery soft. Bare. Shaved. The realization hits me like a freight train. Garret shaved me.

He bathed me.

I haven’t had a razor in weeks. And John, he liked it grown out. He said it made me more of a woman. Sick fuck.

But Garret? Garret had a different reason.

I drag in a breath. “Congratulations.” My voice drips venom. “You’ve seen me naked and decided to be a creep, so what now?”

He sits at the edge of the bed. But with him there, it feels small. “For the record,” he says, “we both know I’m not a creep.” I hate how perfect he is. How beautiful. “I cleaned up my stepfather’s cum from your pussy.” He pulls the sheet back. And stares at the tattoo on my left shoulder. The numbers. My cattle brand.

His eyes narrow. His tongue drags over his bottom lip. His fingers skim the numbers causing my nipples to go hard. “Does it mean something special, Rose?”

It’s the date I was enslaved. Written backward.To some, it’s just a set of numbers. To me, it’s the day I was destined to die a slow death.

But I don’t say that.

I lift my chin. “If you know, you know. It doesn’t matter what you think.”

“I think what most people in Kenyan think,” Garret says, leaning back. “You’re a liar. And you’re Prey.”

My stomach sinks.

“You are fair game,” he continues. “On campus, you belong to us.”

My blood runs cold. “Us?”

“It’s no different than what you like to do with John.”

Rage churns inside me. He doesn’t know. But it’s killing him. And I can’t tell him. I lift my chin. “Your mother made it clear to stay the fuck away from her son.”

Garret’s jaw tics. His mask slips—just slightly.

I snort. “Lucky for her, she never had to worry.” I lean forward, mirroring him. “I’d rather fuck a corpse than an entitled prick like you.”

I struck a nerve. His gaze darkens. His lips curl. “Spoken like a true whore.”

“You shaved me while I was unconscious,” I mock, “because deep down, you know I wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

His smirk vanishes. “I forgot to add,” he says slowly, “a drug-addicted whore.”

The words cut deep. He leans back, watching me crumble. “You’re so disgusting, your pussy stinks.”

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