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She’s old enough and she’s definitely willing, so what the fuck is my problem?
Beyond the obvious.
I pull out another bikini, just as small as the gold one, but there isn’t any actual underwear, just heels and revealing dresses and things to wear at the pool that leave zero to the imagination.
I spread out the black bikini, a black dress, and heels. There are slip-on flats for the pool, and I put those out, too.
Everything I do is with a deliberate touch. If there’s a bug in my room, I’m betting hers is more invasive. It’ll pick up sounds and images.
And if it’s nothing more than paranoia on my account? So be it. Paranoia helps a man avoid sloppy mistakes. Not that I make those.
Like I’m pretty fucking sure that if they drugged her to get her in the mood for group sex, I wouldn’t put it past them using sleeping pills in her drinks when they want her knocked out.
Why the fuck else would there be drinks left in her room?
There were none in mine, and even as an unexpected add-on, if they did welcome drinks in rooms, I would have found a decanter or a bottle.
I run my fingers over the gown, the material so delicate it’ll be easy to rip. Easy access. Exactly what these people want.
The plan is to buy her to keep her close and then get her the hell out of here without anyone knowing.
But the big question is how? A thought rattles my brain as I look around the room like I’m surveying what’s mine.
Kidnapping in the guise of a game could work. It’ll explain my next moves, too.
I leave her room and head down to the first floor.
As I pass one of the expansive rooms, words float into the hallway. It’s the man who bored me with his stock market talk.
“…the white tiger will be arriving tonight,” he says.
I study a painting hanging next to the entryway. It’s worth a fortune. Art’s not my specialty—I wasn’t kidding when I told Dakota killing was—but even I recognize the famous stolen piece of art.
“And the girl?” asks someone else.
The man answers. “There are plenty of girls.”
“Not her. Not… Dakota.”
I recognize the voice. Brutus fuckface somebody.
I’m betting it’s just Collectors in the room.
No ‘talent.’
“I want the little blond slut. I heard about the show,” he says. “I want a taste, and you know that?—”
His words cut out as other nearby voices break into laughter. When it all dies down, Boring Fuck Stock Market Man speaks.
“Carter knows the rules. And he’s paying big money for her. He moved in first and chose her. And… you saw how she responded. He has her tonight… and tomorrow, when the final few arrive, then we’ll dine on tiger and our sweet prizes. Including that Dakota cunt. It’s going to be good. Just be patient.”
“Her tits,” someone moans. “And did anyone get a look at that pussy?”
A woman laughs. “I did. Can’t wait to try it.”
I clench a hand and move before I lose my shit and punch a hole through every one of their throats. I go into an empty room where a fire burns. Weird, since it’s hot as hell here. Then again, these rich fucks are probably burning endangered trees they’ve had cut down into firewood.
Just because they can.
