Why couldn’t my life be this simple. As simple as strolling down the road on a relaxing Saturday morning? My life has never been simple or relaxing. Even when I was a little girl, Dad was non-existent, but yet somehow, he always managed to rule with an iron fist. My sister and I hardly had a life outside of our house and all though it didn’t bother her so much, it sure as fuck bothered me.
We pull up to a stop outside of Peppers, where Bryant lives in his massive penthouse. Once I’m out of the car, Jerry already has my bags out from the trunk.
“Thanks, Jer.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Not that it does reach his eyes a lot, but I can sense something is stressing him, so I ask, “What’s up, Jer?”
He cranks his neck and it looks like he’s trying to relieve some of the tension from his neck. “We will be in the suite beside you. You need anything, you know I’m on speed-dial and of course, there will be someone outside your door at all times.” I wanted to say how the one time I went back to this very place unprotected—
probably my father’s doing what with him all excited that I was about to bed Bryant—was the time I got semi-kidnapped. But I don’t say that, of course, I just smile. “I know, Jer.” Ending my sentence with a light pat on his shoulder. The doorman who guards Peppers is a little on the old side, and I could probably outrun him if I wanted—if I didn’t hate cardio—but he seems nice enough.
Clearing my throat, I step forward and make my way toward the entrance. Walking through the glass doors, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I quickly shift hands to reach for it, excited that it might be Devon returning my call.
“Aw, you miss me and you’re done being shitty?” I purr down the phone.
“Isa, the code to the penthouse is 4566.” My smile drops instantly.
“Got it.” Hanging up my phone, I shove it back into my pocket, this time a little more on the angry side. Bryant pisses me off, yes, but do we fuck like machines?
Also yes. But I hate him. I hate him with a fire so hot it could burn the freaking sun. That was dramatic, but you catch my drift. Bypassing the reception desk, I head straight to the elevator and push the up button. Watching the numbers slowly drop has my stomach all twisted. Fuck. I’m doing this. I mean, I’ve already pretty much done it, but this time I’m really doing it. As in, I’m about to have all my shit in his apartment, and I can’t go home.
This is fine, I can make it work. Bryant Royal doesn’t scare me, no not at all. I’m Isa Johnson. A fucking badass who eats men like Bryant Royal for breakfast, lunch, dessert and still have room for a side dude. He has nothing on me. Ding! The elevator doors slide open and I swallow past the ball of nerves that has set up in my throat. Fuck, I was thinking so much shit right then. I don’t have myself at all.
Stepping inside, I watch as the doors slowly slide closed, and I try to allow the soft melody of music to calm my chaotic thoughts and raging feelings. I have no options right now. Whatever Bryant has on me is relevant to my surviving this ordeal—that much I do know. The car ascends higher, along with my gut until it comes to a halt and the doors slip open again, the familiar charcoal walls and the rich mahogany wood on display, yet again.
“Bryant?” I call out, walking into the apartment and removing my jacket. I know I should ask more questions about who it was that was there the day that he captured me. The day the truth came out. It feels like a lifetime away already, but I figure I already truly know who it was. It would have been one of the other guys from that day, whose faces I wouldn’t be able to pick out if they were all lined up together. I didn’t recognize Bryant as Wolf the first time I met him, there’s no way I would notice the other guys. This is why drugs are bad and why you should stay in school.
“Yeah?” his voice cuts through my thoughts as he saunters into the kitchen. Dark loose sweatpants hang from his lean hips just as droplets of water drip off his floppy dark hair and cascade down over his chiseled chest.
Fuck me. This is not helping my train of thought at all. Then his ocean blue eyes pierce through me like lasers, so I quickly divert my eyes before I get sucked in.
With his eyes still on mine, he pulls open the fridge door and takes out a carton of milk, flicking it open before bringing it to his lips.
“Are you just going to stare or are you going to tell me a plan?” I snap, tossing apartment keys onto the kitchen island.
He chuckles, swiping the milk from his lips. “You don’t throw orders around, Isa.
You will know the plan when I say you will know the plan. Until then, learn to control your mouth or I’ll fuck the shit out of it. Are we clear?”
I grit my teeth. “Crystal.” Not clear at all, but again, the play nice card. Which is going to be maxed out soon if he carries on like this. How long is he going to treat me like this? Because honestly, a girl can only take so much.
He points. “Go upstairs. I’ll have someone collect the rest of your shit from your apartment.” How he knew that I had left some of my belongings at my apartment, I don’t know, so I follow his orders, heading up the stairs and into his room. I take a seat on the edge of his bed, just as he walks in moments later. He leans against the doorframe. “We have to lay the groundwork, and you won’t make this difficult for me, Isa.”
“I won’t,” I murmur, resting my elbows on top of my knees. “I just—what do you have on me and can I please see it?”
He glares at me, so I glare back. I don’t back down without a cause, and him having a tape that could possibly prove I’m a murderer is a very good cause to back down for, but he’s testing my self-control. Just when I think he’s about to tell me to fuck off, he pushes off the wall and walks toward the closet that is opposite his bed.
He disappears inside for a few seconds before coming back out, carrying a USB
stick. Kneeling down, he reaches for a bag and places it on the bed, unzipping it but keeping his eyes on mine.
Pulling out a laptop, he throws the bag back onto the ground and takes a seat beside me, placing the laptop on his lap.
He looks at me. “You want to see or not?”
Kicking off my shoes, I crawl down the bed and sit just behind him, enough that I can see the screen of the laptop clearly.
He chuckles, shakes his head, and then looks back to the screen, hitting play on a video. I see from the corner of the room where I walk in. It was just after Brooke and I—well, Brooke—hit some lines of coke, and the four post bed is in clear view of the camera. Bile rises in my throat and I close my eyes, trying to squash down the memories. Seeing the tent again isn’t something I thought through—obviously.
I know what happens about five minutes after that and so on. It’s obvious that they recorded the whole thing. “I don’t need to see anymore.”
He shuts the laptop and turns to face me. “We could both benefit from this, Isa. It gets your dad off your case, too.”
I can’t help but laugh, sliding off the bed. “Who said my dad was an issue for me?”
He shrugs. “The fact that at almost every social event, you hated it, but yet you were obligated to go.”
I pause. Honestly quite shocked at his answer. I thought my fake smile was on point. “How would you know?”
He halts, looking up at me from picking up his bag, then grins. “I’m observant.”
Brushing my hair out of my face, I stand and place my hands on my hips. “Okay so what exactly are you proposing? What’s the plan?”
He gets to his feet and struts right up to me. Cocking his head, his eyes scan over my face. “Business arrangement. You stay here, play wife to what everyone out there,” he points to the windows, “thinks, but in short, we remain open.”