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

What the fuck am I doing?

Exactly what I fucking shouldn’t be doing, that’s what. Ely is nothing to me—less than nothing. Her existence in my life is a reminder of how trapped I am.

If that’s true, why do you always have to remind yourself that you hate her?

My subconscious is playing Russian roulette today, and I’m considering killing the fucker. Elyse’s only real fault in all of this is that she happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and that’s only because her father manipulated her presence there in the first place. It’s not like she wandered in of her own accord. I have no other reason to hate her outside of that, but it’s because of her and those circumstances that I’m now trapped in the family business.

A victim of the very same shit I always said I’d never succumb to.

For one fleeting moment, I consider leaving her at the mansion to take care of herself while I take care of my business. Or I could ship her off somewhere so that I don’t have to look at her face anymore. As soon as the thoughts pop in my head, I dismiss them.

Both are very appealing ideas, but I could never go through with either. As much as I despise what she represents, I need to make sure she doesn’t spill my secrets to the world, and I can’t keep her in line if she’s on another continent. Combine that with my desire to own her, and well, it’s not looking good.

Her body goes completely slack beneath my grasp, her eyes fluttering closed. I exhale and slowly lift myself off her, removing my hands from her soft skin. If I don’t stop touching her, I might do something I’ll regret.

Still, even as I tell myself to walk away, my feet refuse to move. I remain there, planted like a fucking creep, hovering over her and watching her breasts swell with every slight rise and fall of her chest. Fuck, the things I could do to her right now. And the knowledge that there isn’t a damn thing she could do to stop me—it’s intoxicating.

I lift my thumb, wiping at the moisture forming at the corner of my mouth. I could fuck her, take her however I want, and she would never even fucking know. It wouldn’t matter, even if she did know. She’s mine to do with as I please.

The temptation is so fierce, I reach for her without further thought, my fingers flicking at the top buttons on her shirt to reveal a small peek at what’s beneath.

Smooth, porcelain skin reflects back at me in the lamplight, and I stroke a single finger down the center line of her chest, starting at the pulse that beats frantically in the hollow of her throat, ending at the last button, just beneath her breasts. Her skin is silky smooth, against the rough pad of my finger.

I want to trace it with my tongue. Discover its flavor.

For some reason I hesitate. All I would have to do to see more is twitch my finger a bit to the right or the left, pulling back the fabric, and all of one little tit would be revealed. I bet I could swallow it whole. Shit. My throbbing cock presses against the zipper of my pants, reminding me that even if she pisses me the fuck off she still has the power to awaken me with need.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to relieve myself. While she’s lying so perfectly still, so vulnerable and helpless. The perfect prey.

It wouldn’t take long for me to come. I could rub it into her skin, coat her with my seed. Mark her. Make her even more mine than she already is. Would she be confused when she woke up and found the dried residue of my cum? Disgusted?

Or turned on? My fingers brush against the button of my slacks like they’ve already made their choice.

Don’t let her win. Don’t let her gain control of you.

A tiny voice rings in my mind, an annoying reminder that snaps me out of the hazy fog of lust and back to reality. Disgust coats my insides. She’s the enemy, the very thing I need to stay away from. Touching her, even if she would never know, would only complicate things. I’d know what I did, and that would fuck me up enough in itself.

Fighting against every impulse in my body, I force myself to take a step back. I curl my fingers into my palms to alleviate the temptation to touch her.

But goddamn, she’s beautiful. Her features are delicate, tiny, and breakable.

I look away from her still body and back to the ravaged closet. Anger simmers in my blood, demanding an outlet. One that I do not have at the moment. It’s easier to allow myself to feel anger than lust for my little prey. If I lean into the anger, maybe I can forget how much I desire her in other ways.

My gaze catches on the suitcase that’s sitting on the floor, and I move to inspect the contents. At least she packed adequately. I let out a sigh and grab the pile of clothes I set aside for her earlier off the bed.

I cast her still body one last lingering glance and trudge into the closest to grab another suitcase. I toss the clothes inside, along with a few toiletries I stole from her room while I was gone, and because you can never be too prepared, I add a gun, a couple of knives, and some spare clips. I don’t anticipate trouble, but that doesn’t mean it won’t find me on its own.

Once I’ve gathered everything I need, I call for the driver to come grab the bags while I remain standing at the edge of the bed staring down at Elyse’s unconscious form. She’ll wake up in about twelve hours with a hangover from hell. Not that it matters. It’s worth it knowing I don’t have to spend eight hours in a steel box thirty-five-thousand feet in the air listening to her whine about her animals, trivial life, and how I’ve ruined it all. In reality, she hasn’t said much about it to me or how much I’ve destroyed her future, but I’m waiting for the day she blames me for the choices her father made.

Crouching by the bed, I prepare myself for what I need to do. Touching her both disgusts me and intrigues me. I grab her by the arms and lift her, tossing her over my shoulder so I can carry her out to the car. She’s as light as a feather, too light for my liking honestly, but her eating habits haven’t been my priority.

I might have to change that.

The driver averts his gaze as I bend and load her inside the back seat before sliding in behind her. I straighten in my seat and stare down at her sleeping body, slumped against the door.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath and then lean forward, yanking the seat belt around her. It gets caught on her pants, and I jerk at the fabric in frustration, jarring her small frame to the side. Thankfully, it gives way, tearing her pants a little in the process.

Not like it matters. She doesn’t pay for the uniform.

I click the buckle back into place and ease back in the seat, glancing her way only once more. She looks uncomfortable as hell, and if we got into an accident, there’s no saying she wouldn’t break her neck anyway, but at least I won’t have to listen to the fucking annoying ding of the car. It’s the only reason I buckled her in.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway

It only takes a few minutes to get to the airport. In a college town chock-full of rich criminals, there’s always quick access to a safe exit.

The jet is prepared and waiting for our arrival. My agent took care of the paperwork for both of us, and it should only take about forty minutes to reach the hotel once we arrive in London, giving us just enough time to get ready for the event.

I calculate the timeframe again and again in the car as we drive to the airport. She stirs a few times, and I wonder if I should double down on the pill with a shot, but I decide against it. I know her medical history from Dr. Brooks, but I don’t want her to be drugged up and drowsy during the event tonight. I don’t trust her enough to leave her in the hotel by herself, and I might need to use her to get the attention of the man I seek.

The driver opens my door, and I walk around the car to grab Ely out of her side. The lone flight attendant helps with the bags and completely ignores both Ely and me until we are sitting and buckled in.

These are the kinds of advantages to being wealthy. I’ll accept—the ability to get away with murder, figuratively speaking.

Literally speaking, too.

The flight attendant brings me a whiskey and takes her own seat near the cockpit door. I eye her down the aisle. Long brown hair bound up in a braid at her crown and a carefully pressed uniform I want to shred just for the sake of it.

What would Ely do if she woke to me fucking the pretty flight attendant with my knife to the woman’s throat? Would she be scared? I give the idea some thought. It would benefit me to scare her, scare her enough that she runs away for good and leaves me the hell alone. But then it would make my job ten times harder because I’d have to chase her around, stalk her, and ensure she doesn’t tell anyone anything.

I sip the whiskey and stare out the window while we taxi down the tarmac. Money ensures we get out of here fast, and I amend my time calculations as we take off. Still on schedule at least, even with Ely trying her best to fuck everything up.

I drag my attention back to her across the small polished table between our chairs. She’s slumped in the seat, the belt cutting hard across her thin hip bones. She’s still in the house uniform, but that’s fine. No one important will see her until I’m ready for them to.

Once the pilot turns off the discreet seat belt sign by the entry door I lean my chair back as far as it will go and settle in for the eight-hour flight. A little fuck with the flight attendant might help my mood, but I don’t want to have to hire a new one before the trip home, so I leave it for now and just stare out the window until I drift off to sleep.

When I wake, the sky is dark outside the iced-over window. The lights are dim. My gaze catches on Ely, who is still slumped and sleeping in the opposite seat. Something eases in my chest like she might have managed to escape at thirty thousand feet, but she’s still out, as I expected when I calculated how much of the medication to give her.

The flight attendant saunters down the aisle toward me with an exaggerated swish in her hips.

“Mr. Arturo.” Her voice is low and soft as she crouches next to my chair, her skirt riding high up on her thighs. “We’ll be landing shortly. Your agent has confirmed the customs details are already handled.” I watch as she trails her manicured hand up my thigh. “Is there anything else I can do for you before we arrive?”

I shake my head, still a bit groggy. “No, thank you.”

She has no idea what kind of monster she’s inviting to her bed right now. If I had more time, I’d show her, just to teach her the lesson. Fortunately for her, I don’t.

“Just make sure everything is quickly deplaned once we arrive. We are in a bit of a hurry.”

She nods once and gives me a last, lingering look. “As you wish, sir.”

It only takes about a half hour to deplane and carry Ely to the already waiting sedan. The traffic from the airport eats the time, though, and we arrive according to the original calculations I made.

It’s fine because we are still on schedule. I throw Ely over my shoulder again and carry her through the posh London hotel lobby. This is a frequently used hotel for Pound of Flesh members, so no one bats an eye at my fireman carry as we move onto the elevator. I punch the button for the floor and stare straight ahead. The ride up is smooth, and when I step off the elevator, our room is right around the corner.

The door key card is in my luggage, courtesy of the travel agent. I grab it from the front pocket and get us into the room, our bags following us. Once situated, I wave the bellman off and shut the door, leaving him with a hefty tip in his hand.

The room is perfect, with sleek modern lines and glass from one end of the bedroom into the en suite bathroom. Even the small sitting room is glassed-in on one side, the better for seeing the London skyline in the distance. It’s dark now, but lights dance along the buildings, shining off the River Thames.

I breathe a sigh of relief now that we are here. So much is riding on this event—getting to Mondrake and convincing him to take over the Arturo holdings, all while hopefully leaving Bel out of it, of course, so I can cut ties and finally escape.

He’s the only one with the power, the influence, and the interest to take over my family’s holdings, and he can’t say no. Even more so if I dangle Ely in front of his face. Rumor has it he has a thing for pretty, petite brunettes. It’s why he attends the Pound of Flesh gathering every year. He likes them young and unattached to anything, or so I hear.

Ely, beholden to me and with her bastard family out of the picture, is the perfect bait.