Page 23 of Taken By the Dark Billionaires

She didn’t have a choice.

If she said no, that would take her anyway because she had their brand. How had her life taken such a bizarre turn?

But her family would be taken care of without a day’s worry. All she had to do was get… pregnant.

By them.

“When was the last time you had your period?” Jensen asked.

“Two weeks ago,” she said, blushing a painful red.

“We’ll give you a few hours to get your things in order. A car will come around for you at 5 p.m.” They turned to leave.

“What happened to the cupcakes?” Maxim asked, coming back into the apartment.

“The man with the gun ate them.”

He nodded then left with Ezra and Jensen.

Sutton’s hand flew to her mouth the instant she was alone. She doubled over, her heart thudding so loudly that she felt as if she were going to throw up.

She sat down on the edge of the only chair in her apartment and tried to breathe while straightening out her thoughts, her mind a hamster wheel, going around in circles, coming to the same point every time.

They were going to breed her. Impregnate her. Touch her again. But they were also going to pay her for it.

A quick glance at her phone made her jump. Time slipped by, and she had less than an hour to get things in order as she had been instructed.

They weren’t worried about her trying to escape because there was practically nowhere in the world she could escape to that they wouldn’t find her.

She didn’t have a choice.

Chapter Ten

With her body still trembling from emotion overload, it took Sutton all of five minutes to pack a bag. She didn’t have a choice—the words echoed in her head with every movement she made.

When she went downstairs, a limo—sticking out like a sore thumb in her neighborhood—was waiting for her. The friendly chauffeur introduced himself as Hans, took her suitcase and overnight bag, and opened the door to the passenger side of the car for her.

He continued to refer to her as Mistress Sutton despite her telling him to call her Sutton.

When they arrived at the billionaires’ house, a stiff, smartly dressed woman in a pantsuit introduced herself as Mrs. Hampstead, their housekeeper.

Without any of the warmth of Hans, Mrs. Hampstead showed her to her bedroom. Spectacular didn’t quite cover it. She was so overwhelmed by the sheer luxury that she wanted to laugh.

She felt entirely out of place in their house with her one meager suitcase and an overnight bag. She was sure Mrs. Hampstead had sneered at the sight of her luggage. Her bags were threadbare and patched together, but they still worked.

“We will have to get rid of those immediately,” she said, pointing to the bags that Sutton now held onto for dear life. And nope. It was conclusive that Mrs. Hampstead did, in fact, sneer. No doubt.

“I’ll be keeping these, thank you.” For a moment, Sutton wanted to apologize and give the housekeeper the bags toget rid of, but suddenly, she was also proud of herself for standing up.

“Fine. I will have one of the maids disinfect the room.” Mrs. Hampstead gave her another dirty look, as if Sutton herself were dirty, then walked to a closet and withdrew a gown from the rail. She also picked up a box of shoes.

“This is your dress. I’ve been instructed to let you know that you are to wear it tonight. Your shoes,” she said, pointing to the box. She opened a drawer. “Your undergarments and cosmetics.” She closed the drawer and opened another to reveal a range of sealed boxes of makeup.

“You are expected to be dressed at 7 p.m. You are not allowed to be late. Do you need anything else?” She clasped her hands together and turned her nose up at Sutton once more.

“No, thank you,” Sutton said, daring to maintain eye contact with her. For some reason, Mrs. Hampstead did not like her at all.

“Then I’ll bid you goodnight. I was instructed to prepare you a dinner, but it was short notice, so I made you a sandwich.” She nodded toward a cloche lying on a side table. “The rest of the staff will be taking care of you for the rest of the evening. Breakfast will be served at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning with Mr. Collin, Mr. Flynn, and Mr. Black. Don’t be late. It will reflect poorly on you.”

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