by Ella Miles
That man also happens to be my current owner, who might sell me on Friday. And I’m more confused than ever about who he is. What kind of man is Zeke?
We both climb into the truck soaking wet. I’ve lost both shoes and sand clings to my brand new jeans.
Zeke again doesn’t look or speak to me as we drive. But I squirm a little, hating that I’m getting saltwater and sand all over his car.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have you clean it out tomorrow,” Zeke says, with—wait, is that a grin?
I try to hide back my own smile, but I can’t. I don’t know how I went from pissed, to crying, to smiling in a matter of minutes, but I did. Zeke did that.
“I’m not your maid. I think you have enough money to hire someone to clean your car.”
He raises an eyebrow. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you in a slutty maid outfit.”
I shake my head. “That is never happening.”
“We’ll see,” he whispers.
Yes, we will see—and it’s not happening.
As we drive past Julian’s house, the joking moment we had before turns serious. My fear returns at just the sight of his property. Today is Wednesday. That means I only have one more day to convince Zeke not to bring me to that house. One more day to convince him not to sell me. One more day to put an end to all of this.
As I climb into Zeke’s bed after showering, I know one day won’t be enough.
18
Zeke
I still don’t understand what happened yesterday. How did I go from being pissed and hurt, to wanting to take away all of her pain?
Siren is a strong woman, but she’s still a woman—still human. I forgot that because she always acts like a superhero. She acts tough and resilient, like nothing could ever hurt her.
But last night, I learned she hurts just like all the rest of us; she just hides it better until the dam finally ruptures. And last night it burst.
How stupid was I to bring her to the water? I knew it would help her. I knew it would stop her tears. But it also sharpened our connection to each other. She learned things about me last night she shouldn’t have. She learned I have a soft spot for her; I’m not as cruel as she thought. Which means I’m going to have an even harder time controlling her. An even a harder time keeping her safe.
I open my eyes, and instead of staring up at my white ceiling, I see Siren straddling my body—and what a sight she is. Even with her messy hair and sleepy eyes, I want her. I could get used to waking up this way every morning. Yet, I don’t think she’s straddling me because she wants a quickie before I go to work. She wants something.
I grumble and roll my eyes. “What do you want?”
“A rematch.”
I sigh. “A rematch?”
“Yes, I want another game of truth or sin tonight.”
“Fine,” I rub my eyes and then stretch my arms up over my head. I expect her to jump off me now that she’s gotten what she wants, but she doesn’t. She continues to straddle my waist, and if she moves a few inches lower, she will be greeted by a particular part of my body that would be very happy to get better acquainted with her pussy. She’s wearing a layer of shorts and panties, but that barely separates us.
“Anything else?” I ask, rubbing my head. I think I’m getting a headache from her.
She grins brightly. “You aren’t a morning person, are you?”
I growl, and she finally jumps off me. “No, I’m not. So I suggest you remember that before you wake me up like that again.”
I get out of bed and pull on my jeans. I showered last night, so I don’t bother today before I head into work. I have to meet Oscar today.
“Going to work?” she asks, her voice hesitant.
I nod, as I pull on a white T-shirt run my hand through my long hair, before pulling it up into a man bun.
“Are you going to lock me in a room again?” she snickers.
“Nope, you already learned that trick.”
“But you are going to leave me here, alone?”
I turn toward her, raising an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I? You already destroyed everything in my house. There is nothing left for you to damage.”
She frowns. “Aren’t you worried I will run?”
“Are you going to run?”
She doesn’t answer.
I sigh. “No, I’m not worried. For one, I live too close to Julian’s property. He has cameras everywhere. He would see you run. He would chase after you and only return you to me after he’s had his turn with you. You already seem to know that, though, so I know you won’t run.”
She pulls the covers up over her body, immediately changing her demeanor when I talk about Julian.
I finish gathering my wallet and keys—not worried at all that she will still be here when I return. But I pause at the door, because I don’t want a repeat of yesterday.
“I’m renting this place from Julian. And he sees everything that goes on in his house,” I say, eyeing the camera in the door.
Siren’s eyes go wide. I hacked the camera last night when I couldn’t sleep to see what she did yesterday when I was gone. The sight of her pleasuring herself drove me insane. I deleted the footage, hoping Julian or his guards hadn’t seen it yet. It was a risky move; Julian could notice my hack and the deleted footage. But I couldn’t stand for him to see Siren like that.
I don’t tell her that, though. Maybe it will get her to behave today to know Julian is watching her, not just me.
“And if you get bored, you can always start cleaning up the mess you made yesterday.”
She snaps back to life. “You aren’t going to hire someone to clean up and get you new furniture?”
I shake my head. “I’m really not. Why would I when you would just destroy it again?”
She pauses. She doesn’t have a smart retort for that.
“Have a good day, Siren.” And then I’m gone to go meet Oscar and hope I can find a way out of the mess I’ve found myself in.
Oscar smiles at me as I pull up at the warehouse where he holds the women. The same warehouse Siren was held in just a few days ago. It makes my stomach flip to think about it.
Siren deserves so much better. She deserves to live the life she wants. She deserves to be happy with a man who can give her everything. She deserves to have the big house and two-point-five kids with a dog, if that’s what she desires. I don’t even know her well enough to know what she wants.
Is she a dog or a cat person?
Does she want kids? How many?
What was her job before she was captured? Does she want to return to that career or start something new?
Where does she want to live?
Does she want to get married?
No, none of those questions matter. Because I will never be the man to give her any of those things. There are only a few questions that actually matter. What is her relationship to Julian? And where does she want me to drop her off?
“Zeke? Are you listening?” Oscar asks.
“Yes, sir.” Fuck, now I’m calling Oscar ‘sir.’
“Good. Follow me.”
I follow Oscar back into the depths of hell. I have to force my legs to follow him instead of running back to my truck and getting the fuck out of here.
But once inside the warehouse, there is a new stillness in the air. I don’t hear the heavy breaths of the women afraid to breathe, let alone move. I don’t hear the hustle and bustle of his men moving supplies around. It’s almost eerily quiet.
Oscar notices my change in expression. “Our other shipper picked up the women last night.” He grins. “It’s a great feeling to know all my hard work paid off, and the money has hit my bank account.”
I squeeze my teeth down to keep from chewing him out before clobbering him into the ground with my fists. I’m grinding my molars so hard I’m sure I’ve rubbed off a layer of enamel, and Oscar can hear the sound of my teeth destroying each other. But if he notices, he doesn’t react. He just continues to talk
about the women he sold like they were cattle.
I need to get out of here. “When will you have a shipment for us?”
He smiles. “Two weeks.”
Shit.
That’s not enough time for me to form a plan on how to save them. That’s barely enough time to make a real plan to try and sell them.
I’m screwed.
And so are the women he’s about to take.
My soul will forever be tarnished. There is no forgiveness for men who sell people. I’ll be banished to eternal damnation. I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror. And I sure as hell won’t be worthy of a woman like Siren, even to kiss her. My lips alone would burn her like fire. She’s pure; I’m evil.
“How many?” I ask, needing as much information as possible.
“We should be able to do two-hundred easily.”
Fuck, it’s worse than I thought. Two hundred women. I’m having a hard enough time saving one woman; there is no way I can save two hundred.
I slam the door as I return to the house. I need a drink—no, I need six. This is hopeless. There is nothing I can do. I don’t have the money to buy two hundred women while secretly letting them all go free—no one does.
Fuck, I’m spineless. I should be going into Oscar’s warehouse guns blazing, trying to kill every man who works for him. That’s the only way to save the women.
I’d have to kill Julian too, but he’s been very careful. He has more men working for him than he lets on. If I attack him, I need to know every single one of his men, or I’ll spend my life running and looking over my shoulder.
It’s too late, anyway. Most of Oscar’s men are already out somewhere kidnapping women. I don’t know who they are or how to stop them. In two weeks, the women will be mine. And I’m still clueless as to what I’m supposed to do.
“You’re back,” Siren says, leaning against the door of the kitchen as she holds a high-ball glass filled with amber liquid.
“Where did you get that?”
She grins. “I made sure not to break all of your glasses and liquor.”
I walk to her.
She doesn’t retreat. She stands her ground.
I stop inches from her. So close, yet so far. I take in a deep breath. I can’t even smell the liquor. All I smell is her—a fresh, citrus, watery scent.
She wags her finger in front of me. “You aren’t getting any of this. This has to last me the entire time I’m here, since you refuse to restock the liquor cabinet. I’m not sharing.”
“You destroyed my liquor and glasses! And most of my fucking house! I shouldn’t be the one to replace any of it, you should.”
She bites her lip to hide her growing smile. She likes riling me up.
I hold out my hand. “Drink.”
She scrunches her nose and makes an adorable purse of her lips like she’s contemplating it. And then she goes to pour the contents into my hand.
I stop her before she tilts the liquid into my hand.
“Don’t play with me—I’m not in the mood for games.”
“That’s too bad, because you already agreed to play our game tonight.”
I huff as I pry the glass out of her fingers. “I need a dozen drinks first.”
I down the liquid as I release her hand. When I glance back, she has two more full glasses in her hand. She quietly holds one out to me.
I set down my empty glass and take the new one, noticing the sparkle in her eyes. She likes playing games. And this time, she’s out to win. She’ll either learn more about me or get to commit another sin. And I have a feeling last night’s sin was child’s play compared to the plans in her head.
“I shouldn’t have bought you.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because you are going to be the death of me.”
She smirks. “I’ll drink to that.”
We clink our glasses together. Our eyes never leave each other, even when we tilt our head back to drink the smooth whiskey.
The liquor isn’t all I drink in—I greedily gobble up her body. She’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans that hug her luscious hips. She found new heels, thank god. I almost regretted last night just because she lost her heels. A snug red top completes her look. She’s let her hair down in long waves, but she’s not wearing any makeup, not that she needs it. Her lashes are long, cheeks blush pink, and lips redder than any lipstick could match. She is beauty—makeup would only hide who she really is.
Her eyes take in my appearance as well. From my muddy boots to my overworked ripped jeans; my white T-shirt clinging to my body and covering enough of my tattoos that she can’t tell what any of them are. She frowns when her eyes stop on top of my head.
I smirk—she doesn’t like my man bun. I can see her imagination working, wishing my hair would fall down to my shoulders again. Most women hate my hair. They’d prefer me to chop it off. I don’t know why I don’t. Other than I’ve always worn my hair like this, and I’m too lazy to get a monthly haircut to keep up a shorter style.
She clears her throat as if to clear her mind. She’s ridiculous for thinking about my body at all.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods.
I follow her through the kitchen to the sitting room, the only room other than my bedroom she didn’t completely destroy.
“What do I have to do to get you to spend some of your millions to hire someone to clean up this mess?” she asks before we reach the sitting room.
Her eyes meet mine again, and she blushes when she sees the heat in my eyes. She would have to willingly do some very dirty things for me to clean up her mess—things she will never voluntarily do.
Siren sits in the same armchair from last time we played this game. I notice the bottle of whiskey on the end-table and make a mental note to hide it after our game, if there is any left. I’m tired of her having the upper hand.
This time, instead of sitting on top of her or kneeling, I pull up one of the other chairs in the room and face it right across from her. This way, I won’t miss a single expression she makes.
“Ladies first,” I say.
She taps her fingers against her glass as she contemplates her single question. Is she going to try to get answers from me, or is she going to try to get me to let her sin?
She sighs, and I know I’ve already won before she even asks the question. Because tonight she is going to choose answers, even though she’s burning to commit another sin. She thinks, in the long run, having more answers might mean losing this battle but eventually winning the war.
Unbeknownst to her, Siren has already won no matter what answers I give or sins she commits. She’s already gotten me to silently vow to save her. In a few weeks, she will be free while my soul will belong to satan.
“Where are you from?”
I cock my head, trying to understand where she is going with this. Why does it matter where I’m from? It doesn’t. So what game is she playing? Does she think if she gets me to answer an easy question today that I’ll answer a harder one tomorrow?
“Are you sure that’s the question you want to ask?” More like a waste.
She closes her eyes as if it pains her to ask. “Yes, my question is, where are you from?”
This is an easy question to dodge the truth on, while still giving her the truth. Before I came here, I lived in Miami. I spent most of my life there. At least I did when I wasn’t out on one of Enzo’s yachts.
But telling Siren I’m from Miami would be risking Enzo and my friend’s lives. If Julian is listening, he would have probably heard of Enzo Black. He would know he’s from Miami. He could piece together Enzo is my real boss. And I don’t want Julian to know.
Siren doesn’t realize the question she asked matters. She just wants to break through my walls and learn more about me. She wants to see if she can hitch a ride back to my home town. She can’t—I would never take her to Miami.
I could tell her I’m from the ocean, but that would piss her off.
So I
answer the only way I can. “New York.” The place I was born. I lived there for less than nine months, but technically it answers her question. It’s where I’m from.
Siren grins. “Zeke, from New York. I can work with that.”
I frown, realizing now why she wanted to ask the question. All that is missing is my last name, and she would be able to search me in any database. She won’t figure out my last name, but even if she did, New York knows nothing about who I really am.
She tucks her legs under her body, happy with her choice of question.
I shake my head. How can she go from strong, gorgeous woman to sweet, innocent girl with one giddy smile and tuck of her legs?
“Your turn,” she says.
I could ask her the same question—use her strategy against her. I already know her first and last name. All I need is a location to find out everything. Although, if I wanted to research her right now, I could. I could find out everything with just her name.
But I’d rather find out everything from her. At least, until I’m forced to find out the truth. I’m nervous to face the truth, though, because honesty has a way of ruining everything. And I don’t want whatever is flaring between us to disappear quite yet.
So I don’t ask her where she is from. I consider my question for a moment, but I know the question I want answered.
“Who hurt you? Who made you hate men?”
Her eyes blink slowly, surprised by my question. She doesn’t realize she wears her pain like a suit of armor. She oozes pride and defiance, a will to never let any man hurt her ever again. She is a woman who doesn’t need a man.
Maybe it was getting kidnapped and then sold that made her hate men? Although, I think her hatred started long before Oscar found her. Was Julian the one that hurt her? Or does her pain extend back a lifetime?
Once she gets over her surprise at my question, her mind goes there—back to the day a man hurt her. Her body trembles slightly as she remembers. Her fear and pain ring through her body. Her eyes cloud over. She is no longer in this room—she’s there. With him—I just don’t know who he is.
