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My mind wandered back to Damien, and I prayed they wouldn’t end up like him.
I let out a huge breath before gulping down more coffee.
At one point, I didn’t care who was dragged in and sold. Who lived lives they hated. It wasn’t my problem, and for a little while, I enjoyed being selfish. Enjoyed having a better life than the one I’d grown up with. Enjoyed forgetting my mother and the shit she’d put me through, with her desperate need for alcohol and drugs and forcing me to do anything to fund her addictions. I enjoyed forgetting each man who’d climbed on top of me as a boy while I put girls underneath me as a man.
But I’d grown up a lot.
I was nurtured into a better person by people who showed me love.
I clicked the last property.
Rothbart Koch had owned many girls over the years, apparently.
Beautiful Blonde girl 3210—deceased/replaced.
Long-Legged Lady 462—deceased/replaced.
Miss Morgan—deceased.
Pretty Raven 002.
The Decoy’s slut.
My heart fucking dropped from my chest, and I even looked away from the screen like I was searching for it on the floor.
Sweat coated my skin, my spine glistening as I leaned forward in the chair, blinking and reading it again, forgetting all the names that came before and not even glancing at the ones that came afterward.
The Decoy’s Slut.
My door swung open, hitting the dent in the matte black plaster that was already there from every other time he’d done it.
“Oh, shit,” said the voice entering, and I thought the same fucking thing as I quickly minimized the page and barricaded my screen, looking far too guilty.
“What are you looking up that you shouldn’t be?” Declan laughed. “Porn sites?” Blond brows wiggled at me unharmoniously. “Didn’t think they were something you needed. Especially after last night. I pity your cock. You were still going for hours after I got home. How’s the bruises?”
I adjusted myself because, ironically, the bruises were fucking hurting.
And then I answered.
“Did you want something?” My patience was thin, close to snapping when he stepped inside.
It was stretched far beyond that as he got deeper into the room.
“Aside from requesting you keep it down when the urge strikes again?”
Declan found more amusement in his words than I did. I needed him out. I needed him gone.
“I brought you a coffee.” He held up the ugliest cup in the house—a brown glass thing that allowed me to see he’d made the coffee by hand and hadn’t adequately stirred it.
My entire body turned towards him when he swapped the ugly cup with my empty one. “I guess Woodrow beat me to it?”
“Doesn’t he always?”
Dec shrugged, leaning against my desk. The coffee threatened to spill all over my glowing keyboard as the desk rocked. “Does it matter? We both know one is never enough.”
That was true, but I didn’t have time for chit-chat. Not now.
“Was there something else, Dec?” My manners were forgotten, and I was too eager to get him out of my room.
