Page 26 of House Rules
And I thought my dad was bad.
The uncomfortable shifting of his body in his seat tells me he did, but the contract is what it is.
He stands, buttoning his suit jacket as he backs away from the table and goes across the room to a large wooden secretary. He says nothing as he pours a large measure of rich amber liquid into two crystal cut glasses.
He brings them over and sets one in front of me. He lifts his glass towards me in a toast before bringing it to his lips and downing it in one long pull.
I rather think he has the right idea.
Just picking up the crystal glass feels wrong, like I am going to break it. Like I should be afraid of it because I am not meant to hold such fine things. I push that thought down with the rest of my common sense and drink the burning liquid, letting it scorch its way down my throat, into my chest, and then my stomach. I take comfort in that searingheat as it pools in my gut, numbing a little of the nerves that are racing through my body.
My heart is still pounding, cold sweat still trails down my spine, and the liquor is turning my stomach sour, but it’s helping steady my nerves, all the same.
“Again, I assure you the lawyers have gone over the contract, and it is all above board. In addition to the contract, you will be required to sign an NDA. That NDA states that not only are you not allowed to speak about your contract, but no information regarding the Titans is to be given to anyone other than myself and my assistant, if need be. That includes any acts you are required to perform within your duties. Or what you may witness them doing at any time, regardless of the legality of the act.
I nod again, understanding and hating every moment of this.
Was there really such a difference between doing this and letting Baldy and Pedo-stash whore me out?
I think back to the way Baldy looked at me, the way he touched me and grabbed me. Then I rememberthe way Con touched me, the way he bent my body to his will.
I rub my aching ribs where Pedo-stash kicked me repeatedly yesterday, and then run my palm down the back of my head, where he slammed it against the dining room table.
I look at my wrist, swollen and throbbing beneath my jacket.
Yes, there is a difference.. Con never touched me like I was trash.
I sign the contract, and Mr Masterson replaces it with the NDA. I sign that, as well, without another second thought.
“You are to start immediately. I assume you know where the Titan’s suite is?”
I nod, having heard that all of them lived in a penthouse apartment comprised of individual suites for each of them and several common areas.
“Good, head up there now. You should have a room there waiting for you. They are having some type of party from what I understand. You have my assistant’s number if you need it.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say as I take my duffle bag and head out of his office. I walk past his secretary, who looks my way and clicks her tongue. I can only imagine what she thinks of me, but it’s probably far better than what I think of myself right now.
“Wait.” the assistant calls as I reach the door. “You’ll need this.”
She holds up a key and gestures toward the elevator outside the glass walls of her office. “It’ll take you directly to the penthouse from Elevator C.”
The key gleams gold and ominous in her palm. It looks too elegant to open a door to hell.
I nod and take it, turning it over in my hand until I get on the elevator. I scan the buttons and see the spot for the key beside the button marked PH. With a sense of dread, I insert and turn the key one hundred and eighty degrees.
The elevator begins to rise.
When it stops, the double doors slide silently open, revealing a massive open plan suite with two walls composed completely of windows. It’s full of people, women mostly, and the thump of bass.
I stand hesitantly for a moment, until the doors begin to slide shut. They galvanize me, and my hand shoots out, stopping them. Slowly, I step inside, my gaze flicking from one person to the next.
It really is a party. I hate parties, hate that feeling of inadequacy and awkwardness that dogs me every time I try to join one. Eyes on the crowd, I slink over to the nearest corner and lean into it. Half of me is waiting for someone to acknowledge me; the other half is praying no one does.
As the minutes pass, I realize I may as well be invisible. Each of the Titans is too absorbed in whatever they’re doing—playing a video game, strip poker, getting a lap dance. Their guests are waiting on their cue.
I take a hesitant step forward. “Um?—”
Fast enough that I barely catch it, Storm’s hand moves, and the knife he was playing with hurtles past my cheek to embed itself in the wall, inches from my head.
