Sell My Soul (A Sixty Days Novel Book 1)

by Jade West

  Sell My Soul

  A Sixty Days Novel

  Jade West

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Afterword

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Jade West

  Sell My Soul copyright © 2018 Jade West

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs http://designs.romanticbookaffairs.com/

  Edited by John Hudspith www.johnhudspith.co.uk

  All enquiries to jadewestauthor@gmail.com

  First published 2018

  To everyone who has supported me through the worst times of my life these past few months.

  I have no words for how much your kindness means to me.

  Thank you all.

  Foreword

  As always, this is a Jade West novel.

  You have been warned.

  Chapter One

  Paige

  It came as a whisper in the shadows. Barely more than a rumour passing from lips to ears after dark via alcohol-loosened tongues. It was a shiver on the wind around our university campus. A proposition bubbling just under the surface of our sweet little seaside town.

  Sixty days of utter submission.

  No safe words. No limits. No holds barred.

  Sixty days of your body being used like a ragdoll for any man stepping up for his turn.

  And then you were free to go, no further dues, thanks and goodbye.

  The opportunity paid well. Really, really well.

  Money shouldn’t be enough. Not for anyone — that’s what the rumours said. The demands were rough, dangerous, sleazy and not for consideration by anyone with even a scrap of self-respect.

  I’d heard just snippets before the rumour finally reached me in full sentences, hissed in my direction by my drunk dorm-mate, Pippa, after too many wines at happy hour.

  “It’s really going on,” she assured me and the rest of our gathered student huddle in the women’s toilets. “Carolyn Lane’s older sister signed up and went through with it. She came out with enough cash to buy an apartment and a brand new car, but apparently it was bad. Real bad. The things they did to her…”

  How my eyes widened at the stories.

  Tales of a seedy haven for rich men’s twisted games, recruiting right here amongst us and dishing out shit so bad that the girls either side of me were pulling faces long before Pippa was through with the details.

  The protests came quick and easy from their mouths, dismissing the sanity of anyone signing up for sixty days of that crazy shit.

  “Not me. No way. Not for all the cash in the world,” said Emma as she reapplied her mascara.

  Her friend Katie plucked the stick from her fingers to reapply her own. “Too right. You’d have to be sick or desperate to even think of signing up to anything with those disgusting freaks.”

  And maybe Katie was right. Maybe you would have to be sick or desperate.

  But as it turns out, I was both.

  At approaching nineteen years old, my life was nothing more than a hellhole. It was no secret that I was amongst a whole heap of students on campus having it especially rough that term. Money was tight from loan handouts, and jobs were hard to find in winter by the sea when the tourists had long gone. I’d tried my best to land a job through the months since arriving there, but around those parts landing a position wasn’t so much a case of what you knew as who you knew. Well-connected parents and tight bunches of friends made job prospects a game of handshakes and back-patting rather than a decent resume.

  Still, tight finances from the student life weren’t the only cause of my troubles. Those I could’ve handled on a tight budget of canned soup and cheap white bread happily enough until graduation.

  The real issues in my world came from the older sister living twenty miles up the coast in a much busier city centre. My older sister, Phoebe May, was the ultimate reason for my choice of university, having chased her across country and leaving nothing more behind than the drunk of a father who’d rattled a fist in my direction as I said my goodbyes.

  It was a sense of duty, not just affection, that drove me to try to save the girl I’d lived my life with.

  Phoebe was bunked up with a much older boyfriend, and that much older boyfriend had opened a big host of debts in her name to pay for his crack habit, and hers along with it.

  Some of the debts would be settled in the courtroom, but plenty of others would be settled in the back alleys after dark. She told me so through body-shaking sobs at every opportunity she got, but even then she’d go crawling right back to him for more.

  Her weaknesses didn’t matter. She was my sister, and she was all I had that really meant anything in this world. A very dim light in a very dark tunnel. One that needed far more money than I had a hope in hell of getting together, and fast.

  I guess that’s what made me insane enough to listen to the seedy sixty-day stories with wide open eyes as my thumping pulse picked up pace in my temples.

  “Carolyn Lane’s sister really signed up for this sixty day stuff?” I asked as Pippa let up for breath and lipstick.

  She pressed her lips to even out the shade, then nodded. “She sure did. What a filthy cow. I wonder if Carolyn herself will be following in her footsteps for an apartment of her own.”

  Carolyn Lane was in my psychology lectures every Monday morning. I knew her sister was local. I’d seen them together down at the ice-cream place by the pier that summer.

  Her sister was tall and pretty, with lush dark waves of mahogany locks down her back.

  My long waves weren’t lush, and not quite so dark, but they glossed up nice with some half-decent conditioner. I may not have had the curves of the elder Lane sister, but mine weren’t too bad in tight clothes, even if my hipbones did jut out a little.

  I was tall, and my features were even and my eyebrows were groomed well enough that I got regular compliments in the campus hallways.

  Maybe, just maybe, I could get a similar rate of pay as elder Lane did for her sixty days of submission.

  And if I could…

  “You really heard this from Carolyn Lane’s sister directly?” I asked Pippa, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

  Her eyes twinkled as she shook her head. “Not directly. Through a friend of a friend who knows Carolyn Lane’s si
ster pretty well, though.”

  I shouldn’t be considering it, not even for a second. I was inexperienced at best, my first time being with a guy who’d grown up in the same street and had offered me a sympathetic shoulder that previous spring. It turns out his shoulder was a lot less interested in being sympathetic once I started taking his dick in my mouth on a semi regular basis.

  Looking at the girls I’d been thrust alongside in my dorm setup, I realised all over again that I wasn’t made of the same stock they were. My eyes felt old and jaded, having seen too much in my lifetime to carry the same careless joy that theirs did on a night out. I felt aged before my time, weighed down heavy on my skeletal frame by the pressure of trying to rescue my sister from the dregs of drug addiction. The head on my shoulders felt weary and worn, rolled in the dirt by a childhood concerned with domestic duties rather than games in the yard.

  University should have been the land of possibilities and a brand new world calling, but was anything but. Not with Phoebe so close to the edge of despair. I guess it’s that which made a sixty-day sentence of horrible men’s whims seem like any kind of an option.

  And it did seem like an option. Option enough that I had to hold back a whole load more questions that would have given my college friends too much insight into my desperation.

  I buttoned my mouth, faking a smile bright enough to pass as being one of them.

  It was okay. The bar was busy and bustling, and I weaved through after them just fine. I was just a shadow in the corner of the beer garden bench, laughing along with the rest of the world.

  They barely even noticed when I slipped in a goodbye with a wave.

  I wondered if they’d notice if I slipped away more permanently.

  Sixty days more permanently.

  By the time I reached my dorm room and collapsed onto my bed with a sigh at the ceiling, I was already committed to finding out.

  Chapter Two

  Brandon

  “No,” I said with a cursory wave. “Not even vaguely suitable.”

  Eric let out a grunt and shunted the laptop screen further in my direction. His tolerance was wearing thin, even if he was doing his utmost to keep his classically immovable facade plastered on tight.

  That’s the thing about being in business with your younger brother, he couldn’t hide shit from me after three long decades. The other members of our lucrative little fraternity may have been oblivious to his frustrations, but not me. He tapped the screen with a pointed finger when I looked away.

  “Nice legs, big tits, dirty glint in the eye,” he muttered just loud enough for me to hear him. “Why the hell not?”

  “That’s exactly why the hell not,” I muttered back. He didn’t get it, his raised eyebrow speaking volumes. I fought back a sigh as I began the explanation of what I’d assumed would be plenty obvious to his slowly acclimatising business brain by now. “Look at her,” I told him. “Dirty glint in the eye, sure. She’d be tipping her head back and begging for requests before we were even through with day one.”

  “So?” Eric asked. “Would make our lives easier, no? Better than the prim little prigs who’ve never taken it in the ass before. I thought you’d be loving the dirtier girls coming through the ranks. Word must be getting out round these parts loud and clear.”

  We were still relatively new to this coastal bolt hole. I personally couldn’t stand the place with its university student population and two-pence tourists, but this was untouched turf, a world away from our last city location.

  Six months max in any locale – that was my golden rule. Six months of hot pussy purchases and we’d pack up and roll on to pastures new.

  It wasn’t so much that we didn’t have the high-powered network in place to get us out of any criminal allegation shit storms that might rise up to bite us on the ass, but that wasn’t the point. Flying under the radar was safer all round, both for us and the clientele spending a dirty fortune on our freshly sourced goods.

  We’d done pussy scouting in London and Edinburgh and plenty of bustling spots in between, even venturing across country to north Wales and its bleak rugged hills. Coming down south to the coast seemed as good a next step as any, but just three months in and I was already itching to head back to city life. Manchester beckoned, or Liverpool even. Anywhere with crowds of commuters and bars big enough to lose yourself in on reckless nights.

  I looked again at the hungry little bitch on my brother’s screen. She’d taken more than a few up the ass, that was certain. I made a mental note to cast seaside bolt holes aside in future endeavours. The rumour mill was churning quicker than wildfire down here.

  I was well aware of the likely source of these rumours. Rebecca Lane had been a meek-looking purchase, but her tongue seemed a whole lot more free to waggle without a mouth jammed full of dicks. I had little doubt her river of bragging gossip was where the sudden local stream of applications was appearing from, and while a decent pool of potentials could seem like a welcome benefit to an outfit like ours, it was anything but the truth of it in actuality.

  The girls that wanted to flash their fake eyelashes on an application to the likes of us were exactly the type to have a dirty glint in the eye. They were horny little bitches used to the dirtier rides in life. Dirty enough not to balk at the prospect of sixty days taking whatever crazy shit we could hit them with.

  Our clients didn’t want that kind of horny little bitch, and neither did I.

  We didn’t offer the kind of easy ride they could pick up cheap on a roadside somewhere. We didn’t source girls already used to offering their slutty wares to any cash-rich man asking.

  We offered fresh, innocent, corruptible.

  We offered wide eyes and genuine shock. Trembling fingers and shallow breaths.

  We offered nervous girls. Natural girls. Girls without any real idea of what filthy delights their body was capable of delivering.

  Rebecca Lane had been one of those girls just a few short months ago. Now she was armed with a sly little smirk and a very healthy bank account to see her along her way.

  “Gossip brings nothing but cheap whores,” I told Eric, and rose to my feet. “That’s not what we offer. Not now, not ever.”

  “We don’t need to advertise them as that. The buyers wouldn’t need to know,” he protested, but I shook my head.

  “They’d know.”

  “You can’t be sure they’d be able to tell, especially not online…”

  But he was wrong. He often was.

  “I would know,” I told him.

  He didn’t argue with that.

  I patted his shoulder on my way out of the room. The kid had a lot to learn. Luckily he was around the very best of teachers.

  I cleared the stairs two at a time and headed to the door at the end of the corridor with quick strides. I didn’t give any warning as I pressed down the handle and pushed my way inside, and the pale tangle of limbs on the bed in the corner flinched and gathered into a huddle as the light flooded in.

  She was a sweet little peach, big blue eyes squinting at the glare behind me as her dainty fingers spread wide across her face. Annabel Fisher was everything a sixty-day purchase should be. Corrupting her was going to be an absolute pleasure.

  She let out a delicious little whimper as I pressed start on the network of cameras facing in at her and closed the distance.

  Let the sixty days begin.

  Chapter Three

  Paige

  My belly was lurching and flipping all the way to my Monday morning psychology lecture. I could see Carolyn Lane up ahead of me, walking into the lecture hall, long dyed burgundy hair bobbing behind her as she laughed with Jenna Willoughby from the dorm opposite mine. I really shouldn’t have been so preoccupied with the prospect of spending sixty days of my life as victim to some filthy men’s whims, but the weekend had sped by in a blur of nothing else, just me and this sorry little hope that salvation for my sister might lie within my reach.

  I could hear Carolyn’s laugher
continuing from the row beneath mine as I took my seat with a nervous shuffle. I’d never been one to believe in surface appearances, having learned so well already through my miserable lifetime that looks can be deceptive, and the desperate reality underneath a beaming smile can be rancid enough to take your breath. Still, Carolyn’s laughter sounded free and easy, her voice light and loud. She didn’t sound like someone whose sister was damaged for all time, disturbed beyond all repair by sixty days fit for a cult horror movie.

  That’s one thing Pippa’s recounted stories had given plenty of testament to – that the conditions of the sixty-day torment may be filthy and dangerous to the extreme, but apparently these people promised several hard outcomes. One was that the money would be delivered promptly on completion, with no further interaction ever needed. The other was that these men would deliver their sixty-day conquests back to their regular lives entirely healthy, with no long-lasting injuries.

  Carolyn Lane’s sister seemed healthy and happy by all accounts. Nothing untoward on the surface of her physical condition. No wild eyes, or cold sweats in public, so the rumours said.

  I could handle wild eyes and cold sweats if it came to it. They were familiar friends of mine from years gone by. Hell, I could even handle some lasting health defects as long as I was still physically well enough to go about my daily life once I’d bailed my sister out.