Page 7 of The Prey
“I know he’s my brother, but that doesn’t mean anything. Don’t let him push you around, E. Us women gotta stick together. Stand your ground, and if he hurts you, come to me. I’ve got your back.”
Bel is what I consider to be my one and only friend in this whirlwind of a life, and while I appreciate her so much and accept her desire to care for me, I won’t ever pit her and Sebastian against each other by dragging her into the mess I’ve gotten myself into with him.
“I know you do,” I whisper and give her a smile in return.
“Sebastian has a lot of bark but no bite. At least, not to those he cares about. Don’t let him scare you into submission.” She gives me a wink and then releases me, her hand falling back to her side.
I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t have the time to read into it. Not when Sebastian starts yelling my name.
“Coming!” I reply and scurry from the room like there is a fire behind me. I find him standing in the hall, wearing the same look of impatience from earlier.
“The time to socialize isn’t now. What part of we’re already running late did you not understand?” he asks, then starts walking again, forcing me to follow. I’m hot on his heels up until the moment he turns into his bedroom. It’s there I find myself pausing just outside the door. Why does this feel so personal and intimate? I’m sure I’m overthinking it, but I’ve never been inside his bedroom, at least not with him inside, and even then, it was only to clean the space. He’s not asking me to clean right now, and while I understand the interpretation, I’m not sure I like being invited into his room to do anything other than that.
Turning on his heels, he spots me stalled in the doorway. A look of pure impatience etches into his features. “For fuck’s sake, Ely. Get in the room. We don't have time for your uncertainty.”
Uncertainty? Am I so easily read? Actually, never mind. While it doesn’t feel right, and I can’t pinpoint in what way, he takes my hesitation and doubt and shoves them back at me, reminding me once more that he holds all the power.
“I highly suggest you get your ass into this room, or there will be consequences, and I can promise, you don’t want to see how creative I can be.”
The hard edge of his voice makes me shiver, and I don’t dare ignore the warning coating his words. Even though my body urges me to turn and run away, I force myself to do as he says and walk into the room. His usual woodsy sea-salt scent tickles my nostrils as it lingers in the air. Someone so bitter and hate-filled should not smell so delectable, never mind look as handsome as he does. It’s like false advertising.
Walking up to his king-sized bed, I drop the stack of clothes. What does he expect me to do now? I look down at the clothes and try to figure out where the hell he’s taking me based on the clothing. He can barely stand to be in the same room as me most days, so what’s brought on the sudden desire to take me somewhere? My instincts scream at me, telling me to think this through properly before agreeing. Unfortunately, my instincts don’t understand that I have no choice in the matter. There is no “agreement.”
The feel of his eyes on me drags my attention back to him.
“What?” I blurt out before I can think better of it.
“Do you plan to stand there all day staring at the clothes, or are you going to try them on? I need to see what you look like in them and determine if this is even worth the effort.”
Wow. World-class asshole right here, folks.
I shouldn’t be bothered by his crass response. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to me that way, and it won’t be the last. He’s all about cutting me down, reminding me that I’m a bug beneath his shoe and that if he wants to, he can and will step on me.
“You know, if you were a little nicer…” I grit my teeth, only then realizing that he means right here and now. Yeah, he’s lost his mind if he thinks I’m going to strip down to my bra and panties in front of him.
“Nice gets you stepped on. I’m not nice. We both know that, so let’s skip the pleasantries. Now try on the damn dresses.”
All I can do is shake my head and roll my eyes. This man is beyond bossy. I quickly grab the green dress off the stack and turn toward the bathroom. If he wants to see me in the dresses, then fine. Hopefully, I look terrible, and he will change his mind about taking me with him. A girl can dream, right? I’ve taken only a step when he speaks again, “No, Ely, I need to see it all. Put the dress on in front of me.”
See it all? Everything in me freezes. “Why can’t I just do it in the bathroom?”
“Are you going to be able to get the zipper up on your own?” I open my mouth to respond, but he’s talking over me before I can get a word out. “Never mind, your response isn’t needed. Besides, I want to ensure that if clothing comes off, you’ll at least be adequate enough to be in my company.”
If clothing comes off? Where the hell does he think he’s taking me? I grit my teeth and ignore his words. He’s just trying to break me down, trying to see if he can make me cry. It’s like his favorite thing to do. See how much he can hurt me before I snap. I’m not really sure why he hates me so much, and I try not to think about it. No point in worrying over something I’ll never get an answer to.
Fear furrows low in my belly. I want to tell him no, that I won’t change in front of him, but I can’t make the words come out. A startled yelp escapes my lips when he snaps, his voice booming around me. “Stop acting like you have something to hide. You aren’t the first woman I’ve seen naked, and you won’t be the last.”
Jesus, does he have to be so blunt?
“I don’t understand…” I start, but he cuts me off with a singular icy glare.
“Do I look like I give a fuck if you understand something or not? I’m certain I warned you once already about repeating myself. If you intend to piss me off, you’ve succeeded. I don’t want to hurt you, Ely, but I will if you make me.”
Hurt me? I don’t think he knows what being hurt looks like. Anger boils to the surface, and I clench my hands into tight fists. I really want to punch him in the face for being so condescending, but I’m kinda forced to work with him until my asshole father’s debt is paid off. So while I don’t punch him in the face, I don’t stand there letting him toss stones at me either.
“Fine,” I growl and grip the hem of my polo, ripping it over my head with a jerk. My chest heaves with every breath I take, and I know I need to get a grasp on my anger before I unleash it all on him, but honestly, he deserves whatever comes out of my mouth.
I can feel his eyes on me, and I look up in time to notice his smoldering gaze as it flicks over the threadbare lace of my bra. I’m barely a B-cup, and while I’m slim, I’m also short. Never mind that I’m missing the sensual curves most women my age have. That doesn’t seem to matter to Sebastian, not when I notice the ember of desire glowing deep in the depths of his emerald gaze. A look that wasn’t there just moments ago.