1
Sapphire
I sat alone at the bar with a scotch on the counter in front of me. The amber liquid was strong down my throat, but not strong enough to fill me with the warmth I needed to survive this nightmare.
My mother’s house had been repossessed by the bank. The single asset I inherited had been taken away from me with the snap of a finger. Now I didn’t have a place to live, and what was worse, I still had to pay off the loan.
All because of my brother, Nathan.
His girlfriend left him, he got mixed up in the underworld, and he made a gamble he couldn’t afford to lose. The guys killed him once his pockets were empty, and since Nathan had so much debt racked up, the government took the house to pay off everything he owed.
I couldn’t believe this bullshit.
The house had been left to both of us, so we were both on the deed. Since I had better credit, and I was the more responsible one, the loan had been made out in my name. Now I had to pay for his stupidity by losing everything.
And I mean everything.
The house was gone. I still owed five hundred thousand dollars to the bank. My financial aid for college had been canceled because my credit was shit. Now I owed money for an education I couldn’t afford to finish.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The crew Nathan got mixed up in hadn’t been compensated for the money they were due. They couldn’t take the house because the government beat them to the punch. Knuckles, the leader of their organization, was one of the biggest crime lords in the world. Everyone spoke of him like he was a myth because they hadn’t seen him in person.
Lucky bastards.
He was untouchable by the police because he had more power than any man should.
They called him Knuckles because that was his weapon of choice—his bare hands.
And I was his next victim.
I stared at the piece of paper sitting in front of me. Scribbled in black ink were simple words.
Three days, sweetheart.
Knuckles liked to play with his food before he went in for the final cut. He was torturing me, watching me struggle without a penny to my name. In random places, I would find these notes, usually slipped into my backpack when I rode the subway. Since I was homeless, I was crashing on people’s couches.
And lying about my circumstances. They thought my place was being fumigated.
It was such a stupid lie, I couldn’t believe people actually believed it.
I only had three days of freedom left before Knuckles closed in on me.
And turned me into his personal sex slave. He promised there would be whips and chains. He promised there would be pain and pleasure. He promised he would get every cent he was due between my legs.
It was the final punishment for Nathan—even though he was long gone.
Knuckles warned me not to leave, that there would be dire consequences if I did. He had the resources to find me, and once he did, there would be a lot more pain than pleasure. There would be brutal torture along with his cock ramming me in every hole I possessed.
Fuck, I couldn’t believe this was happening.
I wasn’t sure who I was more pissed at. Nathan, Knuckles, or myself.
Myself because I should have known what Nathan was up to. I shouldn’t have been so absorbed in my studies and work. I should have had a clue about what was going on around me. Nathan lived with me… How did I not see it?
I finished my scotch and ached for another, but I simply couldn’t afford it. One was enough for the day.
The TV in the corner switched to Entertainment Tonight, and Lacey Lockwood appeared on the screen. One of the most beautiful models in the world, she was blond with blue eyes and a body that would make every man fall to his knees. She modeled the most luxurious lingerie created. It was the kind of stuff that every woman wanted a man to buy her. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. “Conway Barsetti is a genius. Everyone compliments my appearance, but he’s the man who deserves your praise. He’s the most meticulous and brilliant man I’ve ever known. Even on my worst days, he makes me feel beautiful.”
With a size zero and a smile like that, how bad could her worst day really be?
The image changed to Conway Barsetti, standing for pictures outside one of his fashion shows. In a gray suit that fit him like a second skin, he stood in front of the cameras with pure indifference. It was like dozens of people weren’t taking his picture at all, the bright flash hitting his eyeballs over and over. His hands rested in his pockets, and his broad shoulders contrasted against his narrow hips. For a man who designed clothes, his tastes were very simple. He turned his head slightly to give another angle for the photographers, his intense expression hardening like he was annoyed.