Page 77 of Sweetheart: Part One

When I found my voice, it was more bitter than I intended.“Yes.”

But I wouldneverdo what he wanted unless he forced me. Only, I knew he enjoyed that even more.

Sure enough, he let out a low laugh. “Show me what you’re wearing for me.”

The command seized me and I shut my eyes, reaching for the zipper of my jacket and tugging it down. I didn’t want to see what was beneath. I looked as little as possible when I’d pulled it from my suitcase and put it on earlier—after his text had come through.

After I’d known I was to see him, regardless of the contract. It was Alastor’s favourite. A wine-red set, and the top was a lace bralette.

I flinched as his hand brushed my chin, lifting it as he examined me like a doll, his eyes drifting without apology down to the lace he forced me to wear for him. “You won’t wear that for any of them,” he murmured. Again, the command slid into my mind, little pincers stealing something from me each time they locked on. “Forgot to add that to the list.”

I said nothing.

Just do what he wants and this will be over sooner… Then I can go back to my mates.

To Drake.

“Have you already?” Alastor asked.

I looked up at him sharply, a sneer on my lips

Had I wornthisfor them?

I wouldneverput this on for my mates. Not even Ebony. I opened my mouth to say that, then shut it. He would take that as a dare.

Instead, I shook my head. I’d done what he wanted—beyond all odds. Why was he still taunting me?

I hated him.

I fucking hated him so much I wanted to scream.

“Good.” Alastor’s voice was low and melodic. So fucking pleased with me that it twisted my stomach. “Have they touched you?”

“I haven’t slept with any of them,” I said quickly.

“You can, you know?”

I shut my eyes, balling my fists, trying to keep my breathing steady.

I’d been better at this before, better at steeling myself when I hadn’t been around anything but his cruelty for months.

Ebony… I’d even take him over this. I didn’t care what he was, if he was my mate, he was better than this. Ebony cared—he might hate me, but Imeantsomething to him.

I wasn’t an object. A tool. A weapon.

I was more to him than whispered threats and promises of men who didn’t care for me at all. Who saw me as nothing more than opportunity.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” I said, teeth gritted.

If I failed, if I returned to Alastor's pack with nothing, I’d been told how I’d be punished.

“My pack will be so very unhappy, if you come back a failure—and you’ve given your body to them, too. What kind of omega would that make you? Not one deserving of any kind of prize…”

“So you’re going to get them to fall in love with you, next?” Alastor asked.

I nodded.

---