Chapter 35 #3
Saint already acts like I’ve been his for years.
Saint glances at Elliot’s empty cup. “ You should go get yourself another drink.”
Elliot glances at his empty cup. “Yeah.” He glances at me and then at the bartender and back.
“I’m good,” I tell him, handing him my now empty plate. “Go ahead.”
Elliot looks nervously at Saint and then mutters, “I’ll be right back.”
Saint grabs my hand and pulls me gently through the crowd gathered by the pool.
“Where are you taking me? And don’t think I don’t know what you did back there.”
He chuckles. “Elliot’s a pussy.”
“Saint—”
“Come with me.”
“What about Elliot?”
Saint laughs softly. “I think Elliot officially lost whatever competition I didn’t know I was in.”
And because I’m apparently incapable of making good decisions around him, I follow. The crowd parts around us. The music grows louder as we move through the house.
Then quieter. Saint guides me down a hallway hidden behind the main staircase. The noise of the party fades behind thick walls. Private rooms with closed doors line the hallway. The kind of spaces guests aren’t supposed to find.
“What are we doing?”
Saint glances at me. “I’m showing you my room.”
My stomach flips, but then I remember who he is and what he is capable of. “That sounds ominous.”
“It is.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where’s Monica?”
His expression doesn’t change, and the reaction I expected never arrives.
“Monica?” he asks, surprised.
“Yeah, I thought she was your date. The girl you invited to your party personally. The way she made it seem was like she’s been here before. She made sure to tell me at the bar last Friday.”
A flicker of amusement appears in his eyes. “Did she?” The answer comes too fast, and then Saint’s smile grows.
At the moment, I hate the way he’s making me question myself. He turns left like he’s had a change of plans and takes me down a short hallway. The air seems thicker, the same growing smaller as we stop outside one of the doors.
The music from the main living room is gone now. It’s been replaced by a low-vibe song by Zandros, a heartbeat beneath the walls.
My stomach tightens. “Saint?”
He looks at me and then opens the door. I expect a private bedroom, anything except what is inside.
The room beyond is dimly lit. A red hue blankets the bed from the dim lighting in the room. Monica is between two guys, naked as one sucks on her breasts. Her long dark hair over one shoulder as the other is fucking her from behind. Her head tilts back as he fucks her harder.
They don’t turn.
They don’t stop.
If they see us standing at the door watching, they are oblivious. Zandros’s “Obsession” plays on low, setting the pace.
For a second, I envy the way they are making her feel. Chills skate over my arms, the heat of Saint’s body making me sweat. The scent from his hoodie envelops me, wishing it were him fucking me. Quietly. Deep.
He leans close, his lips ghosting my ear. “I don’t think she’s my date.”
I fold my arms, trying to calm the wetness between my legs. “Everyone thought she was.”
“Everyone is usually wrong.”
I stare at Monica. She is on top of one guy. He’s sliding his cock inside her pussy, and the other guy behind her is lining the head of his cock up to her ass. She takes them both. Her moans grow louder over the music.
Saint’s hand rises slowly, and his knuckles brush the side of my neck.
My breath catches as Monica effortlessly takes them both. The three of them move in a rhythm.
Saint’s touch is barely there, yet my entire body reacts.
Saint steps closer, close enough that I feel his breath on my skin. Every breath I take feels heavier.
His voice lowers. “Everyone assumes Prey are helpless.”
I turn my head. His eyes hold mine. His pupils are dark and uncomfortably perceptive.
“They think power is always taken.” His words settle between us. “Sometimes it is.” His thumb traces lightly beneath my jaw. “Sometimes people choose the cage because they’re afraid of what happens outside of it but love what is done inside of it.”
A chill moves through me.
“You understand that, don’t you?”
The question isn’t really a question. He’s talking about Monica and what she likes inside that cage. He’s talking about Kenyan and what happens behind its walls. What is not listed on their brochure.
He’s talking about me and what I can choose to want, and somehow, those things feel connected.
Saint’s gaze never leaves mine. “That’s the dangerous thing about this place, Amy.
” My name sounds different when he says it.
Softer. Possessive. Almost reverent. “It doesn’t have to be about what people are forced to do.
” His eyes drift briefly toward Monica and the two guys.
Then back to me. “It’s about what you discover you wanted all along. ”
The silence that follows settles over us like a confession, and the more I watch, the harder it becomes to separate fear from desire. Maybe they were never different things.
Maybe the most dangerous discovery is believing that darkness is something that happens to people.
Sometimes…you choose it.