Selling Scarlett

by Ella James

  “And wait and see how long it takes them to drag out more of my story? The part about how Rita liked to hit me? The world already knows my mother was an escort. The media is having a fucking field day with all my 'Mommy issues'. You know what it will be like when it comes out that I killed my goddamned child-abusing stepmother.”

  “You didn’t kill her!”

  I shrug. “It makes no difference to them.”

  “What do Dr. Bernard's notes even say? I’ve been to enough shrinks with my mom to know she probably didn’t write HUNTER IS A MURDERER in red caps.”

  That’s true. I have no idea what’s in those files. Libby Bernard hadn’t looked at them in seven or eight years, she said. But it doesn’t matter. “I don’t know, but that’s not the point. I think the FBI already knows about the cover up, which sure as shit makes me look guilty. Even if they don't, in the court of public opinion, I’m fucked. And when I get charged for Sarabelle’s murder, I’m doubly so.”

  “So we have to set the record straight,” she says. “We have to try. Please try. Please.” She kisses my mouth, and I can't help groaning. “Libby. You're so good.”

  “You are.”

  She's tugging at my gym shorts, and all of a sudden I'm hard as fucking rock and aching for her. I sweep her hair out of her face and press my palms against her warm cheeks. “Libby, are you sure?”

  She knows what I’m asking, and she leans in closer for a kiss. As I lap into her sweet, warm mouth, I realize I just told her. I just told her everything. My eyes flip open and I squeeze her shoulder. “You don't care? What I told you—it doesn't...change anything?”

  “Hell yeah, it changes things. It makes me want to kill your father, but that’s about it.”

  I let out a long breath, and she shakes her head. “I’m so made for you, that you had to go through that. That you still are.” She leans her head against my cheek. “But does it change my feelings for you? No.”

  That's all I need to hear. I swoop her up, throw her over my shoulder, and stomp to the bedroom doing my cave man impression. She’s trying to grab my ass and giggling as I spank hers. I carry her to the green room—it’s clean, this time—and toss her on the pillow-stacked bed. I climb up after her and tug her shirt over her head.

  “I think it's time to cash that check.”

  “Yes, please,” she gasps.

  My cock twitches as my gaze rakes her shirtless body, and I bend over and start to work her bra. “Is this okay?” I murmur between our kisses.

  “Oh yes.” She leans up, kissing my throat as her warm hands pulls my shorts down, and when my dick springs out, I swear to God she actually shivers.

  “Oh...Hunter. I want you so badly.”

  “You can have me. But I want to taste you first.”

  *

  ~ELIZABETH~

  His eyes are molten as he crawls over my limp body and pinches my nipple in between his teeth. “Oh,” I moan. “Hunter!”

  He sucks me for another second before he lifts up and kisses both my eyelids, then my cheeks, my nose, my mouth. He's breathing hard, and his dick is rubbing against my thigh.

  I lean up and kiss his mouth. “I want you inside me.”

  He nods, his shoulders rising and falling with his need. “No promises, remember? You know I can't yet.”

  I stroke his jaw, feeling warm inside because he said 'yet'. “I only need you, Hunter. I just need to know you feel this, too—right now.”

  “Yes. I feel you.” He cups his hand between my legs and glides a finger inside. I'm wet and ready for him. I reach down between his legs and gently stroke his head. He pushes himself into my hand. His breath is coming in harsh tugs, and I can tell by the way he kisses my mouth that he's getting hungry.

  “Christ,” he pants, “you're so beautiful.”

  “You are.” I kiss his shoulder and his pec and his mouth and his knuckles. He's got his fingers inside me and I'm trembling and needy.

  “Please, Hunter.”

  I roll over the edge with a shuddering gasp, and Hunter reaches for the drawer beside the bed. He pulls out a rubber and I sit up a little. “Can I help?”

  I work it over his weeping, plum-sized head, and he gasps as I curl it down his shaft.

  He dips down and licks me one more time, and slides another finger in. “You're so wet.”

  “Ready for you,” I say, breathless. I want to scream it at him.

  He crouches his body over me, leaning down to nibble at my throat. “It’s going to hurt. I wish it didn't.”

  I nod.

  He strokes me some more, bringing me close to climax again. I'm aching. “Hunter...”

  And then he's taking himself in hand, pressing his head against my heat and gliding gently over my entrance. He rocks against me, sliding his head against my wetness until I'm desperate. Then his hands find mine, our fingers intertwine, and his wide, green eyes cling to mine.

  “Baby.” I feel him, hard and hot against me. Then with a press of his lips on mine and a thrust of his hips, he pushes in. It stings—badly. I gasp. He's wincing, still pressing my hands against the mattress. His eyes close as he pushes once more, deep, and I'm impaled.

  “Oh God.”

  “Are you okay?”

  He leans down for a trembling, open-mouthed kiss, and I can feel the vibration from the movement deep inside me. It makes me...want to move. “Oh...Hunter.”

  It still hurts, but as I rock against him, just a little, it also feels really, really good. Like I might burst. I open my legs a little. Gently lift my hips to take in more of him. I'm rewarded by a strangled groan, and Hunter's forehead falls against my cheek.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight.”

  He kisses my lips; our tongues stroke, and then he's pumping in and out. I'm moaning—loud, deep mews that spring from my mouth unbidden. As we find a rhythm, I begin to lose myself. This is not like other things we've done. This is...hypnotizing. We're rocking together, and I'm clinging to his shoulders and he's bowed over my chest. He drops a quick kiss on my mouth, gasping as he rocks in such a way that his shaft glides down my clit. It feels so good, I grab his ass. I want him all.

  “Hunter,” I pant. I'm flying high, my eyes squeezed shut, raising my hips, scratching his back. “Hunter!”

  “Libby.”

  “Hunter!”

  His thrusts come harder. My legs are boneless as I push against him. Heat blooms inside me, sweeping through my body like a tidal wave, and my eyes flip open. I can see his nipples tighten as I feel him stiffen. He groans. “Libby.” I think he shudders, but I don't know. I'm shivering, half sobbing and he's panting so hard. And then I'm aware of him pulling out, leaving me stinging and empty, but it's okay because he's pulling the covers over me, pressing his body against mine.

  “Thank you,” he breathes.

  “Oh my God.” I laugh. He grins, and I can see his hair is damp and sticking up. His eyes glow with deep warmth as they look into mine. “That was amazing,” I say.

  He smooths the covers over me. “I hope it didn't hurt too much.”

  “It was perfect.” He kisses my lips and then my hair, and then he's getting up.

  “Hunter?”

  “Just grabbing some food.” I watch him walk, in all his naked glory, to a small refrigerator that looks like a wooden chest. He returns with a big bottle of DeVille bottled water and a bowl of strawberries. He lies on his side and offers me the bottle.

  I grin as I take a long swig. “This stuff's handy.”

  “Never even have to leave my room.” He winks.

  “Oh, I bet you keep this stuff in here for just you,” I tease.

  “I do,” he says seriously, and I remember. He's had sex with mostly escorts—who wouldn't care if he provided good food afterward. He feeds me a strawberry, and I shut my eyes as I chew. I want to lie here forever.

  “Will you shower with me?” he asks.

  I lean my head against his chest. “I actually just remembered...Cross drove me, and he'
s probably waiting. He'll notice and I'd be embarrassed.” I flush. “I think I'm already going to be embarrassed.”

  He toys with a strand of my hair. “Well you look beautiful. Can you stay here for a minute? Let me get a warm towel for you?”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  I watch him disappear into the bathroom, and I think how different I feel from last time I was in this room. Abruptly, I wonder about Cross. There's a window to my right, and I can see out of it if I lean off the bed and peek between the wooden blinds. I sit up, feeling kind of woozy, but very sated.

  As I turn to face the window, I see movement on the other side of the room. I freeze. The door leading from the hallway to the bedroom opens, and I find myself staring at one Michael Lockwood.

  Holy shit.

  Chapter Forty

  ~HUNTER~

  I did it. I had sex with Libby—and it was incredible.

  I clean up in the bathroom, then find a glass bowl, rinse it out, and fill it with warm water. I go search my cabinet for the softest towel I can find. As I sift through washcloths, I'm surprised to find my hands are unsteady. I’m excited. I can't wait to get back in bed with Libby.

  My thoughts naturally return to our conversation about Rita. I might always blame myself, but knowing Libby doesn't—knowing she can look past it—is an unexpected gift. I'm surprised I feel better, getting it off my chest. And the Cross thing—that might be a lucky break. I felt pessimistic about it at first, but at this moment it's hard to feel anything but hopeful.

  I wrap myself in a robe and grab an one for her. I'm already smiling like a moron as I push the door open. My eyes fly to the bed, eager to see Libby's face. But she's not there. I stride into my room and turn a full circle. Empty. The blinds to the right of the bed are cracked, and Libby's clothes are on the floor where I tossed them. The bedroom door is open, so I wonder if she went to another bathroom.

  I stride into the hallway. “Libby?”

  I look right, but there's no noise farther down the hall, toward the great room. The only thing that's to the left is the foyer. I take a few steps down the hall before I notice the blood spots on the hardwood.

  *

  ~ELIZABETH~

  Lockwood has a cloth in my mouth before I can scream. Something burns the inside of my nose, and everything goes dark.

  When I come to, the first thing I notice is the dim roar of a small plane. I wince, because it makes my head throb. Why am I flying when I have such a bad headache?

  My eyes snap open and I bite back a scream. I suck in a few shallow breaths through the cloth that's tied around my mouth. I listen, but hear only the plane. I see...a ceiling. It's round, of course, and not too wide. I shut my eyes again, hoping for some clarity, but there's nothing. I remember making love to Hunter...and then Lockwood was there.

  Holy cow. I can't believe this really happened.

  I open my eyes a little wider and look down at my body. I'm lying on a narrow cot, with my arms bound in front of me, and holy crap, I'm almost naked. I'm wearing an oversized, dirty green t-shirt, but it barely comes to my upper thigh. I register some soreness between my legs before my eyes are bouncing around the space again. I slide them to my right, I see Cross. He's lying in a recliner beside me, slumped over on his side, facing the wall. He's not moving. Seeing him so still makes me panic. I gasp, and when I do, I smell the bitter scent again. Some kind of chemical. That must be what put me out.

  I turn my head a little, ignoring the skull-splitting ache, and try to get a better look at Cross. But there's nothing to see. He looks...limp. Slowly, with great effort, I turn my head to the left, hoping—no praying—I see Hunter on the bed beside me. When I don't, I feel a rush. That's a good thing, I remind myself. If Hunter was with us, who would rescue us?

  And someone has to rescue us...don't they?

  That's the last thing I think before the door to our room opens, and Priscilla steps in, a smile splitting her face.

  “You’re on your way to Mexico,” she says.

  She steps a little closer to me, and I shy away. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” She walks behind me chuckling. A moment later I feel a pinch in my upper arm, and her face, above me, starts to blur.

  I don't know how much time has passed when I wake up and find myself lying on my back in a dingy motel room. Long enough to land a plane, and long enough for my stomach to cramp with hunger, despite a brain-killing headache and the stench of garbage.

  I glance down at my aching body. Wrists still tied; ankles now tied. My gaze drifts up to the cracked ceiling, and then back to my body, which feels weak and strange, like I haven't moved in years. I'm lying on a twin bed, on the most disgusting pale yellow bedspread I've ever seen in all my life. Right in front of me, pushed against a cracked yellow wall, is a rickety-looking wooden table with a chipped ceramic flower vase on top. I assume based on the heat that we’ve arrived in Mexico.

  God, are we really in Mexico? Part of me can still see Hunter moving over me. Taste the strawberries. How did this happen—and why?

  I summon the energy to lift my head and glance over to my right, where I find Cross, lying face-down on the other bed. He looks so...still. My pulse starts pounding.

  “C-cross?” As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn't spoken aloud. I lie there for a minute, tense, worried that Priscilla or Lockwood will burst through the warped wood door. When no one does, I try to sit up. Maybe if I kick and strain enough, I can get myself untied. Unfortunately, I find that with my arms tied in front of me and my legs bound, plus the effects of whatever drug I've been given, I have no balance. I can barely even get my shoulders off the mattress.

  I press my hands together and try to get some slack in the dirty rope that's squeezing my wrists. No luck.

  Oh shit. Now I start to panic. What's going to happen to us? Is Cross okay? Where is Hunter? Even thinking about him makes tears spring into my eyes. I need him so much right now. What if he can't find us?

  If he can't find us, I tell myself sternly, you will save the day. You don't need a man to save you. Hunter may have no idea how to reach us; I can't wait for him. If I can just get Cross awake, he and I can try to come up with a plan. In the meantime, I shut my eyes and try to figure out Priscilla and Lockwood's game. Is Cross's dad in on it? Surely not. He and Cross don't get along, but I can't imagine him wanting to hurt his own son. So it's just Priscilla and Lockwood.

  I take a deep breath and glance around the room once more. I cast my eyes on Cross, looking desperately for the rise and fall of his shoulders. He's breathing, thank God, but his face seems to be pressed into a pillow. I think about the monitors Nanette had to take off of him for our field trip today. One was for his pulse, the other for his blood oxygen saturation. I forgot what the other one monitored. Nanette said he really didn't need them anymore. He's doing extraordinarily well, but that was before this. What if the drugs he got today make him go back into his coma?

  I inhale deeply. Positive thoughts, Elizabeth. You'll find a way out of this. I can't really vanish into Mexico—can I?

  I hear a creaking sound, and before I can think to play dead, Lockwood strolls through the door. He's wearing dirty-looking brown workman's pants and a gray button-up shirt. He's got on some kind of big, floppy cowboy hat, which shields most of his sunken-cheeked face. I also notice he's wearing a gun on his belt.

  Of course.

  Belatedly, I want to shut my eyes, but his gaze is already on me. “What do you think?” He spreads his arms out. “You like your comfy little Mexican hideaway?”

  I swallow back a string of curse words. I need to appear calm or he might put me back to sleep. “My wrists hurt,” I answer.

  “I didn't ask about your wrists. I asked about your room.” He looks up at the cracked ceiling. “Believe it or not, this is big shit in Mexico.”

  “Where are we?” I ask him.

  He grins, looking genuinely amused. “You think I'm telling you? All you need to know is this is where we sell '
em. You'll fetch a good price. He may, too,” he says, nodding at Cross's broad back. “He's got nice blue eyes.”

  Hearing this news, I feel nothing. Maybe I'm in shock. The only thought I have is that I want to get more information from him. Not want to, have to. I have to stay in control if I want to get away. I try a simple statement. “You killed Sarabelle.”

  “Only because I had to,” Lockwood says, hooking his thumbs through his belt-loops. “I was gonna take her here to market but she got too frisky. Conniving little pussy. Acted like she was going to give me head and bit my cock.” He grimaces, fondling himself, and I grit my teeth. “Sarabelle, she wasn't like the last one, little Miss Lucky.”