Suddenly His

by Kane, Jessa

  Suddenly His

  Jessa Kane

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  1

  Maisy

  Oh dear.

  This is what I get for trying to hang out with the cool girls.

  From the backseat of Gina’s musty Hyundai, I watch the scenery fly by outside. It’s nighttime, the moon is like a giant wheel of cheese in the sky, wispy clouds threading past it. Tree branches dance in the chilly fall wind. Cold wind travels in through the front passenger side window now as Darlene rolls it down, howling along with the loud music that blares from the car speakers, confident there’s no one to hear us all the way out here.

  We’re a long way from the poor side of the county in which we live. But we’ve gone through the rich side and straight through to the insanely wealthy section. The big, clustered together houses are in our rearview now and we’re entering an area where the mansions are more secluded, acres of land surrounding each one. I’ve only been out this far once, because my mother is the full-time cleaner at one of them.

  In the daytime, the winding tree-lined roads were majestic, lush. In the nighttime, they seem more ominous. Secretive. Reaching up so high, the stars barely peek through.

  Resting a hand on the passenger seat in front of me, I lean forward, sticking my head in between Gina and Darlene. “Wh-who did you say was throwing this party?”

  They look at each other and burst into laughter. “All you need to know is there will be free booze and a good time. Relax, Maisy.”

  I force a smile. “I’m relaxed.” Liar. “I’m just surprised you guys know anyone out this far. People from this neighborhood don’t come to our part of town.”

  “That’s because we come to them,” Gina drawls, her eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror. “And they sure do like their conveniences.”

  Confusion wrinkles my brow, but I don’t have the chance to question Gina’s meaning. Because we’re pulling off the main road and stopping in front of a large, ornate security gate. Gina rolls down the driver’s window and keys in a passcode with a few taps of her long, electric-blue fingernails and it trundles open, revealing a driveway of which I can’t even see the end.

  My heart starts to rattle around in my chest.

  Most Saturday nights, I can be found cleaning the local elementary school and various offices. Following in my mother’s footsteps as a cleaning person isn’t exactly what I planned for my future, but it’s a respectable job and it allows me to listen to audiobooks I check out from the library as I work. So I might be scrubbing floors in reality, but in my imagination, I’m stowed away on a pirate ship or kissing a duke in Regency England.

  The schools were closed this week for Thanksgiving break, though. Most of the offices haven’t been occupied, either, so I had the night off. I’ve known Gina and Darlene since I was a kid. We grew up on the same block, but I’ve always been a loner, while they’ve been thick as thieves. Every single Saturday night, they pile into Gina’s Hyundai in glittery dresses, high heels and beautifully applied makeup. I’ve always envied their sense of adventure, but was never daring enough to accept their repeated invitations to join them.

  I’m starting to regret my moment of weakness when the house comes into view. And then alarm bells begin clanging wildly in the back of my mind. Because it is not just a house. It’s an estate. A mega mansion. There are four—four!—fountains lining the circular driveway, hedges trimmed to perfection, even the air smells better floating in through the car window. Like pine and cider. The mansion reminds of the White House itself, but with more embellishments. More expressions of wealth, such as the gold-plated double doors, the roses and ivy clinging to the sides, a chandelier over the entrance.

  Maybe I should be delighted that I get to see a house like this on the inside. It’s a far cry from the small two-bedroom apartment I share with my mother right beside the train tracks.

  But I’m not delighted.

  My mother might be a complicated woman, our relationship might not be perfect, but she knows the world. And ever since I was a baby, she’s told me, “Maisy, life isn’t a fairy tale. Rich men only want bad, bad things from poor girls. It’s easier for them to get it because they hold all the power.”

  “Whose house is this?” I ask, my fingers curling into the seat.

  Gina brakes slowly and parks the car behind a sleek silver Rolls Royce. One of many.

  “All right, I guess it’s time we come clean,” Gina says, shutting off the ignition.

  Darlene turns in the passenger seat to face me in back. “This house belongs to Winston Creed.” I don’t recognize the name and my puzzled expression lets them know it. “Oh, Maisy. You really do need to get out more. He’s one of the richest men in the state.”

  “Why is he inviting us to his party?”

  The girls trade a glance. “Maisy,” Gina starts. “We hate seeing you come home every day exhausted and filthy. What if we told you…you could earn what you make in three months cleaning houses…in one night?”

  “Oh God.” My face stings with heat and I fan myself to cool it. Without realizing it, this is what I’ve been afraid of all along. My mother’s prophecy coming true. “They pay you for sex here. Don’t they?”

  Their silence answers my question.

  “I’m not…” I swallow the riot of nerves in my throat. “I’m not judging you. Nothing like that. But if you brought me here so I could…I just can’t. I’ve never even kissed a guy.”

  Two pairs of owl eyes are staring back at me.

  “Not one?”

  “Never? You’re eighteen.”

  “I know,” I breathe, trying not to have a panic attack. “I’ve been busy.”

  Also, the men in real life are nothing like the heroes in my audiobooks. They’re generally kind of stinky, breath-wise, and say awkward things. Like, you’ve sure grown up nice, Maisy. Or, what are you listening to in those headphones? Nothing dirty, I hope.

  What am I supposed to say to that?

  Darlene reaches into the backseat and squeezes my knee. “Do you have any idea how much one of these rich, old bastards will pay for a virgin?”

  “Five figures,” Gina whispers reverently, as if she’s talking about something religious. “Maybe more. Their bank accounts are bottomless and they’re bored as hell.”

  “And horny,” Darlene snorts. “The girl takes home twenty percent of whatever they earn, Winston Creed keeps the rest.”

  I stare between the two of them. “If you’re making that much money, why are you still living in the poor part of town?”

  “Two reasons.” Gina counts off on her blue-tipped fingers. “One. They don’t pay that much for us. Not even close. And two…”

  Darlene ducks her head and smiles, flushing up to the roots of her hair. “We’re saving up for a place of our own. A houseboat down in Miami.”

  “You two are together?” I ask, falling back against the seat. “I never knew.”

  “Back to the topic at hand,” Gina says briskly, but a smile plays around the edges of her mouth. “Maisy, you don’t have to do anything in there unless you’re comfortable. Okay? But I think you should consider checking it out. Five minutes on your back could be your ticket out of this shit stack town, too. No more cleaning the school or those dusty offices. Think about it.”

  I can’t help it.

  What would it be like, to have financial se
curity?

  I could actually pursue my dream of being an audiobook narrator.

  Maybe it’s vain to think so…but even my mother says I have a pleasant voice and she almost never gives out compliments. I often find myself repeating some of the more beautiful sentences out loud when I’m listening to a book, just to see if I can do it better. If I had money, I could buy the necessary recording equipment and sound booth. I could enjoy what I do.

  Still…no. I can’t do it.

  It’s not worth letting a stranger take my virginity, no affection between us. My narrator dreams will have to stay on the shelf until I can pursue them in a way I feel comfortable with.

  “Thank you for considering my situation. I do appreciate that, but…” I shake my head, sending a dark lock of hair tumbling down from my bun. “I’ll just come inside and wait until you’re ready to leave.”

  Gina shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  The three of us exit the car and advance toward the entrance. When we’re almost there, I start to hear laughter from within. Male and female. Music. Apprehension tickles my belly, but I tell myself it’s just a couple of hours and I’m not participating. Nothing can make me. Truthfully, I’m not sure some fancy rich man would be interested in me anyway. Unlike Gina and Darlene who look amazing, I’m dressed in a plain, pink silk dress from the discount store, my shoes are cheap and white with bows decorating the toe.

  Darlene raps on the door and a silver-haired man pulls it open, his cold eyes sweeping over us, before he steps aside. “Good evening.”

  “Who is that?” I whisper to Darlene as we step over the threshold.

  “That’s Banks. He’s kind of a…lookout.”

  “A lookout,” I murmur. Of course. Because this is completely illegal.

  After that, all I can do is gape at the splendor in front of me. The interior is elegant, smelling lightly of cigars and cologne. The lights are low. Very low. But I can still make out the groups of men, the scattering of girls who look to be around my age or slightly older. They’re gathered around talking in the main room, although some of the men openly grope the girls. Hands fondle breasts, squeeze backsides, fingers trail up thighs, as if it’s completely normal.

  There’s an odd tickle at the back of my neck and I turn, just in time to watch a figure sneak in the entrance behind us, but he’s gone before I can get a good look. Was he outside in the driveway the whole time? He couldn’t have arrived so quickly without us noticing.

  “Come on,” Gina prompts, guiding me farther into the house. God, it’s incredible. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, exotic rugs that stretch across entire rooms, a domed, stained-glass ceiling that filters the moonlight and casts the room in dark, moody colors. “The bidding is going to start soon.”

  Bidding?

  “Oh.” My feet skid to a stop. “Is there somewhere I can sit that’s out of the way? Or—”

  “Gentlemen! Please take your seats. Get comfortable.” The energy in the room changes immediately when a tall, fair-haired man in his sixties begins to speak. Even in the dark atmosphere, his black eyes are coldly brilliant. Evil. They send a chill down my spine. “And ladies…” His voice is significantly harder now. “You know the drill. Line up and look your best.”

  Darlene shoos me away. “Go sit in the foyer—”

  “No, no,” says the man with the cold eyes, bringing everyone to a standstill. “She stays.”

  “Oh, no,” I breathe. “I’m not participating.”

  He chuckles. “You just plan to watch, do you? Plenty of our members come to…observe. But I’m afraid that will cost you a hefty membership fee. Are you prepared to pay tonight?”

  Something tells me the twenty dollars in my bank account isn’t going to cover it.

  I shake my head.

  “Then line up,” he says, smoothly, but there’s impatience twisting his mouth. “We’ve already got several members very interested in bidding on you.”

  “Me?”

  Again I start to protest, but Gina is suddenly whispering in my ear. “That is Winston freaking Creed, Maisy. He’s a very dangerous man, okay? You don’t argue with him. I’m sorry…I had no idea he would fixate on you like this—”

  “Enough,” Winston snaps. “What is the issue? She could do a lot worse than the fine gentlemen in this room. Surely she isn’t a virgin or something.”

  Having my sexual experience talked about so casually in front of a room of strangers is horrifying. Fire ants crawl up my neck. I beg for the power of invisibility and try to hide behind Gina. But apparently that is the exact wrong way to handle the question, because it sparks an alarming interest among the dozen or so men. They make low sounds in their seats, shifting to get a better look at me.

  Even Winston seems caught off guard, his light eyebrows lifting to his hairline.

  “Oh, she is a virgin.” He smiles wickedly. “Well. She’s definitely not leaving now.”

  2

  Jack

  It’s almost eleven o’clock when my phone rings. I’m sitting in my bathtub with a cigar in my mouth, staring into the fireplace, finding it impossible to get my mind off…the girl.

  Always the girl.

  This obsession should have run its course by now. I’ve spent no time in her presence. She picked up her mother once and I glimpsed her through the upstairs window, the afternoon light turning her into a glowing sunbeam in her yellow dress, the line of her neck elegant, her voice a gentle lilt that haunts me. Somehow one glance was all it took for the infatuation to take hold. For me to rearrange finances and lose my ability to focus. Concentrate.

  Yes, I might know my interest in the girl is ridiculous, but I can’t help but be annoyed at the interruption when I’m thinking of her. I almost ignore the call. If it wasn’t for the fact that I seldom receive them at this hour, I might have. But I sit up in the tub and glance over at the screen and my senses go on alert.

  Kirk. The private investigator. If he’s calling me, there’s a good reason.

  Quickly, I wipe my hand on the closest towel and hit the speakerphone button. “Yes?” I bark around my cigar. “What is it?”

  “Mr. Lincoln, we have a situation that is developing rapidly.”

  Thanks to his harried tone, I’m already out of the tub, steaming bathwater pouring down my body onto the marble floor, the phone poised near my mouth. “A situation? With her? What the fuck does that mean?”

  “She normally cleans on Saturday nights, but she went out with two friends instead. Girls from her neighborhood.” His audible swallow makes me nervous—and I don’t like to be nervous. I spend a lot of money to make sure I am always in control and having it taken away from me is unacceptable. “I would have called you sooner, sir, but I…I couldn’t believe she would come here. I thought they were passing through the area to get to the next town…”

  “Where is she?”

  “The Creed Estate, sir. The guests are…bidding on her.”

  The blood in my veins turns to ice, denial digging its claws into my stomach.

  No. No, it doesn’t make any sense. For the last six months, I’ve learned everything about Maisy Whitaker, down to her favorite food—Thai noodles—to the kinds of audiobooks she checks out of the library—historical romance, with the occasional self-help title thrown in. She avoids male attention like the fucking plague and every once in a while splurges on a romantic comedy at the theater. Alone. With gummy bears.

  She does not attend sex parties at the house of a crime boss.

  “Get her the fuck out of there.”

  Kirk blows out a breath and I can hear the background noise, the male voices and shifting of furniture. “It’s not going to be that simple. She’s causing a stir.”

  I sprint into my adjoining bedroom and throw the phone down on the bed, leaving it on speakerphone. “Of course she is.” I throw open my closet, blindly pulling out the first suit my hand lands on. “Jesus, you have to bid on her. Tell Winston Creed you’re bidding on my behalf. He’ll allow the bidd
ing to be done over the phone.”

  “There’s a matter of the membership fee, sir—”

  “Pay it. And do not let anyone outbid you. I don’t care how high it goes. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line goes silent and I set a land speed record getting dressed, sliding my feet into loafers and booking it out the front door of my estate. My home is only a mile from Creed’s, so it won’t take me long to get there. I’ve averted this crisis. That’s what I tell myself, but my palms remain clammy on the wheel of my Bentley, my carotid artery beating in Morse code.

  Is that my breath rasping in and out?

  This is very inconvenient.

  I was just going to watch Maisy, make sure she’s safe, help make life easier for her. In return, she wasn’t supposed to scare me like this. Or do anything out of the ordinary.

  Christ. In a few minutes, I’m going to be in the same room with her for the first time.

  I’m definitely not nervous about that.

  What do I have to be nervous about?

  I’m a goddamn billionaire. I’m young, in great shape.

  And I’m a completely unlikeable asshole.

  She’s going to hate you.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and stomp down on the gas, trying to banish images of old men breathing on her beautiful skin. If one of them has already touched her, I’m going to breathe fucking fire, so help me God. But I don’t think Winston Creed will allow it, once he knows I’m interested. Like recognizes like, and although he’s a dangerous man, I have enough money to be dangerous, too. He really doesn’t want to piss me off. And “pissed off” is an understatement of what I’ll be if someone else were to win Maisy.

  How did she get herself into this?

  Haven’t I been paying her mother enough to clean my house?