The Prey: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (Oakmount Elite Book 3)

There is no one I hate more than Sebastian Arturo. I thought my father was the most loathsome person on the planet, but I learned fairly fast that it’s that smug asshole with his icy personality…that beautiful man who I swear is broken inside and out who is the epitome of hate.

Who cares if he’s my boss? If he saved my life? If he provides me a place to live?

None of that matters or negates the fact that I absolutely loathe him. Considering the life I’ve had and how I’ve spent the last ten months since I was brutally beaten and shot by my own father, that’s really saying something.

The sound of the door slamming in the foyer still rings in my ears. He always fucking slams the door, as if its presence and the fact that he had to open it at all is offensive to him. I guess I should be used to his crazy antics by now, but unfortunately, I’m not.

I inhale deeply through my nose and try to let it out slowly to release the anger that kindles the moment he comes near me, talks to me, or even looks at me.

Not that he’s going to grace me with his presence today.

The second the thought flits through my mind, the door to the staff wing flies open and slams against the wall again, making me flinch. Shit. Apparently, we’re doing this again. I swear the guy is always one second away from losing his damn mind. I wonder what his vendetta against doors is and why he slams them to announce himself.

Having played this song and dance a time or two, I know I have only seconds before he comes stomping into the room. I’m tempted to cower in the corner, but I’ve learned cowering doesn’t stop the inevitable from happening. If someone wants to hurt you, they’ll do it no matter what.

Quickly, I move toward the dresser, gripping the edge of it to steady myself. My knees tremble, and a sheen of sweat forms against my brow, both telltale signs of fear. It’s been difficult to handle the anxiety that comes with living with someone like Sebastian. Fear has been the one thing that helped me survive this life, and I’m so used to living with it and letting it guide my every choice that even though part of me knows I have nothing to worry about when it comes to Sebastian, I can’t shake the lingering panic.

Yes, he’s dangerous. I know anyone standing within ten feet of the man would assume he’s a menace, but instinctively, I feel safe with him. Which is strange, considering I want to stab him in the eye almost daily.

As I predicted, he comes powering through the door like an F5 tornado, hell-bent on destroying anything in his way. He barely manages to stop in time, but not before partially barreling into me, the toes of his expensive leather loafers scuffing against my worn Chuck Taylors. I fall back against the dresser with a breathless oomph as he straightens himself, too close for comfort.

Glancing down at my feet so I don’t have to meet his gaze, I’m reminded that we do not come from the same worlds.

The typical fear and anxiety that trickles into my veins any time he comes near me makes it hard for me to swallow, to think, to do anything but stand there looking like an idiot. I hate this feeling of helplessness. There’s no reason he should have this effect on me. He may be painfully good-looking, powerful, and filthy rich, but he’s just a man.

That’s all any of them are.

Swallowing my fear, I lick my lips and force myself to look up from my feet and into his dark green eyes.

Sebastian thinks he hides his scars well, but I know better. I know that beneath that soulless, annoyed expression he gives everyone lies a man who’s both damaged and hurt. A man haunted by his past and future. And it’s sad because maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole, I’d be willing to help him. Or I don’t know, at least try not to hate him. But not now, not ever.

He wears his usual irritated expression.

Is it really necessary to slam every door in the house?

The question sits on the tip of my tongue, but the thought hardens into concrete on my lips when his annoyance morphs into anger right before my eyes. Even knowing that I’m not truly afraid of him, I can’t make my body react differently. All I can do is stand here trembling.

Dammit.

I’m so disappointed in myself. I don’t know why I thought this time would be different, that I’d be able to stand up to him. I’m not really surprised; angry men have a habit of making me fear for my life. It doesn’t help that my employer is perpetually angry at the world either.

His gaze rakes over my skin as he assesses my navy blue polo, khaki pants, and sneakers. He’s silently judging me…again.

I straighten my shoulders and tug the hem of my uniform shirt down. I’d really just love to have one day when I don’t feel self-conscious in my own skin.

“Wh-what do you want?” The words don’t come out half as strong as I want them to.

His full lips twist into a scowl as he drags his gaze back up my body, stopping once he reaches my face. “Did you really just ask me that?” He shakes his head like I asked him to buy me a new car or something. “What do I want? How about, how can I help you, Mr. Arturo, or can I get you something, Mr. Arturo? Now if you’re done wasting my time, you can start packing your bag.”

Huh? Packing my bag. What on earth is he talking about? I stare at him, hoping to convey my confusion without using words, but it doesn’t seem to work. He doesn’t explain, so I blurt out my question after a moment.

“What do you mean, pack my bags? I don’t understand.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he growls, then turns his attention to my dresser. The same one I’m gripping the edge of. Without care, he rips open the top drawer. Shock morphs into embarrassment when he starts rifling around inside.

What the fuck?

“What are you doing? Stop that!” I place my hand flat on the drawer and attempt to push it back in so I don’t have to see his long, graceful fingers clutching the lace and cotton of my underwear, but it’s useless.

He doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t even spare me a glance as he brushes my hand away and continues his assault on my underwear. After tossing a handful onto the top of the dresser, he moves to the next drawer down, where my shirts are neatly folded.

“Why are these all uniform shirts?”

If I had more balls, I’d probably say what’s on my mind at this very moment and ask him if he’s stupid or just oblivious. He has to know I do nothing but attend classes and work for him. I have no time for a social life. I refrain, though. There’s no point in instigating the beast.

Instead, I say mildly, “Because you paid for them, and all my wages go to attending school.”

I watch his forehead wrinkle, and he shoves his sandy-blond hair out of his face to crouch down, continuing to dig through my sparse pants drawer.

“What the fuck, Ely?”

I flinch at the stupid nickname, the one he adopted and keeps using simply because he knows how much I hate it. It’s the same name my father used to call me while he beat me. I don’t bother telling him the real reason I hate being called it; he’d only use it against me, and he doesn’t need more ammunition.

“Please stop calling me that!”

His features sharpen, and he freezes at my protest, and I swallow it hastily. “Never mind. I-I don’t know what you expect.” His lips settle into a thin line. I know that look. When you’ve spent a good portion of your life making sure you don’t piss others off so you don’t have to deal with another beating, you learn to read other people’s facial expressions. And that expression tells me he’s on the cusp of full-blown rage.

“All you have is the employee-issued uniform; is that what you’re telling me?”

I swallow hard, my own anger and fear clogging my throat in a tight knot. I can barely squeeze out the words. “Clothes aren’t important. Not as important as other things.”

He stands in one smooth motion, his frame towering above me. “You mean not as important as school and, say, the menagerie of pets you’ve been housing and feeding gourmet food to in the old groundskeeper’s cottage?”

Shit. Heat blooms in my cheeks. I was certain no one saw me sneaking in there. “It’s not a menagerie. Just, like, one cat and a dog. Plus, they were sick.” I wave a hand, trying to distract him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to argue with you about it.”

He takes a calculated step toward me, eating up the tiny amount of space separating us, and I keep my feet rooted into the ground. Even after months of being around him, there are still instances when he surprises me. You can never be too sure with him.

“The animals don’t matter. What matters is the clothing you don’t have, the clothing that I need you to have.”

“Why?” I try to strip the anger out of my voice, but by the way his eyes narrow, I know I’ve failed.

“Why must you always ask a million questions?” He snarls. “Because I have places to be, and you’re coming with me.” His annoyance makes a mockery of me, as if it’s so inconvenient for him to be here rummaging through my meager possessions.

My chin lifts as my own annoyance flares to life, and I forget for a single blessed moment to be afraid.

“Well, this is what I have. If you don’t like it, I suggest you provide me with something else. Maybe Bel has something I can borrow?”

He cocks his head to the side and purses his lips, his full bottom lip poking out invitingly. Nope. Not even going to let my thoughts go there. I bet he’s a terrible kisser. No one in their right mind would take that invitation and saddle themselves with his emotional trauma or the repercussions of crawling into bed with him.

I’ve been around long enough to hear what happens in his bedroom. Thinking about it sends an involuntary shudder down my spine. I’ve had to listen to the screams and the moans; I’ve had to wash blood from his sheets. Sebastian isn’t the gentleman the world thinks he is, I’ll tell you that much.

I hold my head high while the urge to look down at my shoes and crumple at his feet tempts me. With nothing more than a nod, and in a deceptively calm tone, he says, “Let’s go see what she has in her closet. There should be something suitable, and considering I bought most of it, she won’t mind sharing.”

He gives me no time to react as he snags me by the bicep. I fight against his grip, but all I end up doing is tripping over my own feet as he hauls me behind him. I have to put in twice the effort to keep up with him since his legs are so long.

“I can walk by myself, you know.”

“I know that, but ask me if I care?”

He doesn’t even turn to look at me as he speaks, pulling me along behind him as he stalks down the long hall of the staff wing and up the stairs to the kitchen. I barely catch a flash of stainless steel and granite before we’re in the foyer.

My head spins, and I stumble, a wave of dizziness slamming into me. Stay on your feet, E. The last thing I need is to fall to my knees in front of this man. By sheer willpower, I remain upright until, thankfully, Bel’s bedroom door is only a few feet away. He stops directly in front of it, and even with his back to me, I know he wears an expression of annoyance. The closed door is nothing more than another hurdle.

I don’t want him ambushing her on my behalf; then again, it’s really his problem that he wants me to wear something I don’t own.

Releasing a sigh that might be frustration, he raises his fist and knocks. The sound of his fist on the wood vibrates through me, and a shudder ripples down my spine. A moment passes, and when there is no response on the other side, he grabs the doorknob and twists it, shoving it open.

Without blinking, he steps into the room, dragging me behind him as he makes a beeline for the closet. Jesus. I nearly sigh when he finally releases me, apparently needing both hands so he can open the closet and turn on the light.

I blink a few times to adjust to the light, and then I notice the clothes. Rows of sumptuous wools, creamy cottons, and gorgeous leather, all perfectly pressed and lined up on hangers. I should know…I’m the main person who does the laundry around here.

I skim my fingers over some of the soft taupe fabrics. She doesn’t wear much of this, preferring her old hoodies and sweaters to most of the luxury outerwear and slacks. What I wouldn’t give for a closet like this. Everything is so pretty and well-tended. Nothing like my threadbare wardrobe with pieces I’ve had to mend too many times.

My father never had money for new clothes. And when I got dumped on Sebastian, I’d only had the one old sundress I’d been wearing. That’s long since been discarded for the blood spatter, and you know, the prominent bullet hole.

Thinking about it makes my arm ache, and I shake it out while focusing on Sebastian. “I could help if I knew what I was looking for.”

He doesn’t even spare me a glance, sifting through the hangers like a competent secretary flicks through files. The hangers make soft shushing noises on the metal rod above our heads, almost lulling with their constant motion as he searches for some great unknown. After a few minutes, he stops, clearly finding something he likes. With a flick of the wrist, he grabs it from the hanger and holds it out to me.

I take it so it doesn’t fall to the floor since he releases it almost immediately, holding the green satin dress against my body. I don’t have Bel’s full curves or voluptuous chest. I’ve always felt more shaped like a box than anything else. This dress will look awful on my somewhat flat chest and shapeless body.

I clear my throat, thinking to warn him of this, but he shoves another couple of outfits at me, then turns to look at the shoes. “What size do you wear?”

I squeak out an answer. “Um…seven.” Bel and I happen to be the same size. I know because I might have tried on a few pairs of the beautiful heels she absolutely refuses to wear unless Drew asks her to.

A slight shift in the air and a soft noise alerts me to the presence of someone else. I glance back to find Bel braced in the doorway taking in the scene, a smile on her lips. “So…uh…what’s going on here?”