Buy My Soul: A Sixty Days Novel

by West, Jade

  “Go on,” he pushed.

  I picked at a piece of lettuce. “I used to think it was purely the kind soul thing that drove me to do it. That I wanted to be a good person and give my time to people who needed it.”

  “You seem to be a very kind little soul,” he said, and it should have pleased me no end to feel a scrap of flattery, but it didn’t.

  “Thanks,” I told him. “But I think pushing hard for change and goodness in outside aspects of life made it easier to believe there was some way I was heading out of my own darkness. Like I had some power somewhere. Some fight. Some way of standing up for something.”

  “And you don’t feel like that now?”

  I dropped my gaze to the remains of my sandwich. “I don’t know what I feel like now. Not anymore. Not here.”

  At that he cleared his throat. I could have sworn he was about to make a comment in response, but his eyes sharpened as his mouth opened, and he stopped the flow. Just like that.

  I didn’t get the chance to ask him to carry on with his train of thought before he cleared his throat a second time and pushed his half-eaten sandwich aside.

  “Tonight is going to be quite a performance,” he said. “I trust you’re rested?”

  I nodded. “Yes, thanks. I rested well last night.”

  How I wanted him to say he did too. How I wanted him to acknowledge that there was something between us. Something brewing and weird and fluttery and crazy, and not just from my direction towards his, please God no.

  I really wasn’t expecting his next question. Not for a heartbeat.

  “Jake Wharton,” he said. “What do you know of him?”

  I’m sure my jaw dropped wide. “Jake Wharton? He’s just a guy, from college…”

  “And?”

  “And he’s one of the three on the beach, one of the guys I crawled to across the sand… one of the guys you pulled off me before they…”

  “Before they violated you and you broke my instructions,” he finished and I nodded.

  “That’s all I know of him, really,” I concluded, but he raised a brow.

  “Nothing more you want to share of your interactions with the guy around campus?”

  My heart thumped in my chest. “I wasn’t expecting him to seek me out for a conversation. I was outside of a lecture and he asked if he could speak to me. He’d heard rumours around campus of me seeking out money in the same way Rebecca Lane earned hers. Was worried I was signing up to something he didn’t think I should.”

  “He was worried?” he prodded.

  Another nod. “So he said. He offered me an alternative.”

  “An alternative? What kind of alternative?”

  I ate a slice of tomato and hoped my face wasn’t the colour to match it. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him to elaborate.” My pause was longer than I needed to pick at my salad. “I didn’t want to take his proposal.”

  “Why not? What if it was a considerably less invasive way of saving your sister’s skin?”

  I couldn’t find the words. I picked at my food like it was the puzzle of a lifetime.

  “Why didn’t you get him to elaborate, Miss Emmerson? Why were you so committed to putting yourself on the edge of your physical limits for sixty days straight if there was an alternative available?”

  I felt the prickle in his tone. The prod of his questions butting so hard in my gut. Wanting answers.

  Wanting the truth.

  “Because I wanted to…” I told him. “I may be crazy as hell, and maybe more crazy now, but I wanted to.”

  I flinched when he cast the breakfast tray to the side from between us.

  “You wanted to? Why? To save your sister? To trust you had the highest likely pay day in a thousand mile radius, screw what little Mr Wharton had to offer?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Maybe, yes. For all of those reasons. But not just those reasons. And you know it. I know you know it.” I could barely spit out my next words, wondering what the hell was going wrong with me. “I know you feel it. I know you feel me.”

  “Oh, I feel you alright,” he told me, and his cutting tone was back strong. “I feel a girl who is seeing good in a man where there is none. Who’s seeing a saviour in a man who wants nothing more than to tear her soul apart for a decent pay day. Who wants to feel safe with a man who will sell her out to a string of cunts and watch her suffer for weeks on end.”

  I should have believed him.

  Should have believed his words.

  Should have believed every scrap of venom in his voice when he spoke about himself and his shitty ways in this world.

  But I didn’t.

  I didn’t because there was that rawness again, burning bright under the surface. There was that hurt in his eyes I couldn’t ignore, because I felt it deep down in mine staring right back at him.

  My optimism clashing with his cynicism and falling in love. Falling in love with the heart underneath the hate.

  “It’s Stockholm syndrome,” he continued. “Worth nothing. Not real. Not able to stand up to anything.” I shook my head as he spoke. “This stuff you feel about me, this stuff you feel I feel… this bullshit… it’s not real, little girl. None of it is real… it never is.”

  “Never is?” I pushed. “How do you know it never is? What happened to you?”

  And I swear he would have answered me.

  I swear it was all right there. Straining to break loose. Straining for honesty.

  If only his phone hadn’t rang out loud between us.

  “I’ve got to take this,” he said as he checked out the caller ID.

  And once again, he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Brandon

  It was a lucky escape.

  I picked up the call as soon as I was out of earshot on the landing with the bedroom door locked tight. Lance’s voice was flat as a pancake as he delivered the news of Jake Wharton’s mobile number.

  “Text it through,” I said as he attempted to speak it out loud to me.

  “Sure thing,” he replied. “Kid looks worried sick if it means anything. I got his mobile number from the haulier business, called up pretending to be a college associate. Checked him out on his way back to his dorm before that though, was close enough to see him heading back from football practice. He looked pretty fucking stressed out.”

  I tried to imagine the boy’s worried face. Seriously worried. Worried about the girl upstairs. Concerned enough for her wellbeing that he’d put her above all else in this world, including vast chunks of his personal fortune.

  Because that was the brunt of the situation. If he was genuine — seriously genuine — he was above the moral judgement of virtually everyone else in this world I’d come to associate with in any capacity whatsoever. Above the moral judgement of virtually everyone else in this world I’d counted on existing full stop.

  And exactly the kind of saviour an optimistic little sweetheart like Paige Emmerson deserved in this life.

  “Want me to go back to tracking down Rebecca Lane?” Lance asked, and I grunted an affirmative, even though I knew there would be sweet fuck all for him to find now she was in Henry Drake’s cuntish grip.

  That was the other zip of disgust up my spine. The shit storm of a situation with Rebecca Lane, despite her big fucking mouth. Not just for the idiot girl herself, but the implication of what it could mean for other girls on the payroll.

  What it could mean for Paige should she ever come back to Drake’s attention.

  Maybe he’d get a taste for revisiting the girls on our payroll.

  Maybe this one would mean too fucking much for me to ever keep a clear head on Drake’s never-ending bullshit if he did.

  My next cigarette was in the rain. Pacing across the gardens and psyching myself up to facing the asshole’s messages on the encrypted portal. I needed to face those encrypted fucking messages and sort out this lock of horns before I jumped in far deeper than I could manage.

  But no. I didn’t face them.


  Didn’t call up his pings and read them in the cold light of the afternoon.

  Didn’t care to wade through his reams of asshole threats and form a counter argument.

  Instead I stared up at the bedroom window, hoping it was ajar but finding it closed tight. I wondered if she was up there, staring out at me as I was staring up at her. I wondered like a fool if there was even a hint of anything real beneath the bluster of a girl going mad in my grip.

  She may have the same insane interpretation of want in my presence that the other girls developed in due course, but there was more to this one. So much fucking more.

  Her simple honesty. Her simple optimism. Her humility.

  The way she saw so deep into someone else’s soul without judgement. The way she saw so fucking deep into mine — what precious little was left of it below the debris.

  I wondered if she’d see so deep into Jake Wharton’s good-boy soul. If she’d find enough solace in his white knight rescue efforts that she’d want to bury herself in a whole new world of love.

  At least she’d survive a clash of idyllic bullshit with that one.

  And that’s when I knew it, for real and definite.

  I knew whatever affection I had for the beautiful girl upstairs and her sweet little heart was real enough that I’d have to sacrifice my own sorry needs for the sake of hers.

  I also knew that if I could pay Annabel Fisher the full whack of her contract while setting her free with time to go, I could sure as hell bring myself to do it for the girl fast becoming a twinkle of light in my very dark fucking sky.

  I would find a way. I’d find a way and soon. Real fucking soon.

  My throat was dry as parchment before I’d finished my cigarette and sparked up another. My conviction in that cold clear moment was everything. Stronger than anything.

  I couldn’t hold back the smirk as I realised to myself for the first time in almost two decades that I was putting something in this world above money.

  The thing that finally meant more than money was the thing promising to earn me more money than I’d ever been graced with.

  Ironic.

  How fucking ironic.

  I knew she was staring out at me from that upstairs window, even though I couldn’t see her. I smirked up at the pane with the rain pouring down hard on a miserable winter’s afternoon and I didn’t need to catch sight of her, I just knew it.

  I also knew I had a marathon of spits and slaloms to make it through before I could deliver her back to her freedom unscathed.

  Could I do it?

  I’d have to.

  I’d never been a man to shy away from a challenge. I’d certainly not shy away from this one, not even if it involved going head to head with the prick of a business partner who’d almost certainly try to wipe me out for good.

  It was coming. It had been coming for years. Miss Emmerson and her elfin brilliance may have been purely the impetus needed to draw my line in the sand and get my spear at the ready for combat.

  I was crystal clear on my decision when my solitude of a rainy-day smoke reached its end.

  Eric had obviously been on the pier beers when he stumbled out onto the back porch. His grin was wide as he piled on out to me with the promise of a decent hearty lunch for me on the kitchen table.

  He’d never have suspected in a million years that I’d have rustled up my own to share with the creature upstairs.

  “Did you click accept on the bids?” he asked as I joined him on the steps. “It’s gonna be a good show tonight, right? They’ll be slavering like crazy if they know their time is coming.”

  I couldn’t hold back the smile as I slapped him hard between his shoulder blades. This time it wasn’t fake. Wasn’t bluster.

  “It’s gonna be a really good fucking show tonight,” I told him, and I wasn’t lying.

  But this time it wasn’t for the cunts slavering like crazy at their webcam screens. It wasn’t for the pricks straining to buzz through bids with their dollops of cold, hard cash up for grabs for the privilege.

  This time it was all for me.

  I told my grinning brother I wasn’t hungry and took my seat at my office chair with him at his own nearby, smirking like I was my regular self with my regular business workload.

  I clicked accept on those bids and fired off the scheduling forms like I didn’t give a shit about the sweetheart upstairs. I conducted my business like it was a day like any other one of sixty and I didn’t have a spat of epic Henry Drake proportions to deal with when this one sorry day was through.

  But I didn’t care.

  I didn’t care because there was a part of me burning bright under the sterile steel of a man possessed by nothing but power and pay outs for years on end.

  There was a part of me who’d sigh in relief at the knowledge I finally found something worth protecting and set it free to shine bright in this world unscathed.

  That part would exist for the rest of my days, a tiny light under swaddles of pure fucking darkness. But that didn’t matter. None of it would ever matter. Just as long as Paige Rowan Emmerson was the same sweet little Paige Rowan Emmerson.

  And far, far away from a cunt like me.

  I fired off the text message to Jake Wharton before I stood even the slightest hope of returning to my regular senses.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Paige

  I knew it as I watched him through the bedroom window. I couldn’t deny it for a second at the way he stared up in my direction.

  This between us, whatever was truly pulsing right the way through me, was more than some sixty-day bubble I’d ever be able to turn my back on when my time here was through.

  It was a heady mix of fascination, desire, lust… need. But it was more than all of those things. It was some crazy closeness way beyond spoken words. It was an affinity of one person’s soul with another’s, despite them being polar opposites on their outlook on life.

  Soul.

  An affinity.

  And that’s when I knew it. For certain. A truth beyond truth.

  It was love.

  Even the word gave me a shudder up my spine.

  Love.

  It was the only thing that mattered in this life. It was the only thing worth pushing through the hardships for day after day, throwing yourself on the fire for the sake of another person, no matter what.

  And I’d do that. I’d throw myself on fire for this man, day after day, no matter what the consequences. The feelings I had for this creature of darkness, in the darkness, were enough that I’d splay myself on a pyre eternal just to feel the depths of that rawness inside him.

  Love wasn’t alien to me. I’d felt the bond with my sister since before I was consciously aware of its power. This love though — this was something else. Something different.

  The way he made my body scream for more, even when it was screaming for less. The way his arms meant so much as they held me tight. The way I trusted him in the face of a world I should never be trusting a soul in.

  The way he’d saved me.

  The way he still was. The way he was saving me every minute of every day by having me in his world.

  I pulled away from the window when he went back into the house, my stomach panging fresh with the need to tell him what was really going on inside. What this time with him really meant to me.

  But I couldn’t. How could I?

  We were a few days into sixty days of utter submission for money. I should be saying nothing but yes, sir and getting on with instructions, not hoping for some kind of happy ever after with a beautiful monster like Brandon Grant.

  I forced myself to be some kind of calm through the hours, sitting in bed and staring at the possessions in his personal space, wondering if there was another place in this world that was truly his. If he had a home somewhere. If he had favourite TV shows or a bookshelf stacked with his favourite novels. If he was a sportsman, heading out to some local gym of an evening and pounding a treadmill, or meeti
ng up with sports friends on some football pitch somewhere for a kickaround.

  If he liked board games. If he was a chess player. If he’d teach me the ropes and laugh at my idiot efforts while I was finding my feet.

  If one day I’d beat him.

  The thought made me smile.

  I drank plenty of water from the bathroom to keep my hydration levels up for whatever was coming. I said thanks to a random suited guy who let himself in and brought me a fresh plate of pasta. I prepared myself for whatever show was coming my way that evening, in just a few short hours.

  And I waited.

  I was waiting with a rumble of both excitement and nerves as the sky turned to night and the stars moved their path overhead through the window.

  The room was dark when my master finally unlocked the door and stepped inside. I flinched as he got the overhead lights, my eyes sharpening on the leather case he carried along with him.

  “Another set of clothes for my dirty little girl,” he told me, but his smile wasn’t the usual sly smirk I’d come to expect from him in dominance. He took a seat on the bed and opened the case. My eyes widened at the sight of his selection.

  More lace, absolutely. The clothes were decadent in their styling, but they were different tonight.

  White lace mixed with satin. Trails of fabric fit to cover so much more than the babydoll previous. He held up the straps of the dress he’d selected, and it was beautiful. Sexy but beautiful.

  “Shower first,” he said when I reached for the straps.

  I nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  I got to my feet and wasn’t expecting him to take my hand and lead me so delicately through to the bathroom. I definitely wasn’t expecting the way he cast his own jacket aside and took to his shirt buttons. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sculpted plains of muscle as he revealed himself under the hard lights. He was smiling a smile I hadn’t seen from him before when he turned the shower on and gestured me in.

  The water felt amazing against my bruised skin. Its warmth was incredible, the pound of the flow on my shoulders enough to make me grin.