Page 4 of Bought
Our Bachman world is in turmoil. Blaze and I are the only two left here to save it, and under that pressure, even the most perfect smiles feel dull lately. The compliments? Empty. The practiced moans? Annoying. They seem rehearsed, and I start to feel like a ghost in my own room.
I made a stupid decision.
With the Morettis tightening their grip on the city, my focus should be on war. On strategy. On survival. But the itch under my skin has spread too deep and turned into something raw and burning.
So, I decided to try someone younger and less experienced; a wildcard. I already know it was a mistake, but she’s on her way.
And it’s too late to turn back.
I wait with a pit in my stomach, because what if an innocent, naive virgin doesn’t understand the rules? I clearly wrote everything out for the agency, and they had her sign it. But I don’t know what to expect when that door opens.
Mack knocks twice.
“Come in.”
My bodyguard opens the door, standing to the side to reveal her.
There’s nothing vulnerable about her makeup-free expression; instead, she looks like a warrior. Chin held high. Her bright blue eyes are sharp and focused. Dark hair falls past her shoulders.
When she steps over the threshold, she hesitates. Not for long. Only a beat. Enough for me to notice. Enough for me to care.
Not only do I want to see more of her body, but I’m offended by the inadequacy of her coat in this weather. “Take your coat off.” My words are quiet but with an edge.
She does. Slowly.
Eyes on mine, she unfastens the belt at her waist, slides her arms out of the sleeves, and lets the coat fall to the ground, creating a ring of gray wool that forms a moat around her shiny black high heels.
She leaves it where it lies.
She’s wearing a simple black dress that accentuates her curves. Her strong nose tilts slightly to the left; possibly broken at some point and left to heal naturally. Her blue eyes dart around the room.
This isn’t the innocent, naive prey I ordered.
She’s a fighter.
“You’re not what I expected,” I tell her.
Her gaze narrows at me. When she speaks, her voice is another surprise, raspy with a naturally sultry edge that feels effortless. I feel the sound in my core.
“You either,” she says.
“How so?” I ask.
“Older,” she says bluntly. And I am older than her, by a decade at least. “I thought you’d be a pretty playboy.”
“Am I too ugly for you?” I smirk.
“God, no!” she breaths. I want to smile at her honest enthusiasm. She cools back off, controlling her tone, “You’re handsome.”
She keeps a neutral, controlled facial expression. Not because she's nervous, just wired.
Like she’s made from instincts and scar tissue.
“Come in?”
She nods.
Mack leaves us, closing the door behind us, leaving us alone.
