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

This may be hard to believe, but I don’t just go around killing people. Many perceive me to be this ruthless, coldhearted murderer, but much to their dismay, I don’t make a habit of homicide. Death is messy and the easy way out if you’re asking my opinion. I prefer to give my enemies the hardest path possible if they want to escape me.

As I stand here in my grandfather’s study, I realize there’s no blood on my hands—not physically, at least—and no indication that anything terrible has happened except for the echo of the gunshot ringing in my ears.

A glass of whiskey sits abandoned on the desk alongside a cigar, the tip still smoking faintly in its marble ashtray. A fire roars in the grate, the wood crackling and popping like it’s trying to escape.

I stand frozen in the center of the room, suspended in time, my entire body trembling. The rich scent of leather from the books and furniture mingles with the pungent odor of gunpowder, like metal and wood, filling my lungs with each shallow breath I take.

I blink, slowly returning to awareness, my gaze skittering around me. Papers litter the burgundy rug on the floor, and I sink to my knees, my free hand landing palm down on one of them.

At the top of it, in what might as well be flashing neon lights, is a single word: CONTRACT.

It’s unmistakable. Typed out in big, bold letters.

Fuck. Why would he do this? Take a girl—no, a woman—as payment for a debt? Even for him, it’s a new low.

Acid climbs up my throat. This is what started the fight. Me proclaiming that you can’t own another person, not in the way he proposed to, not with bars and cages and contracts. I was all about control, but not even I could stomach this.

My grandfather had laughed in my face, the sound almost bitter with the depths of his disappointment in me. The thing is—I’m not stupid. I know you can own someone, with fear…with love. Even with heartbreak and hope, but not with locks and windows with bars over them.

I own the fact that I am unwell—maybe insane, even—but I don’t come close to this level of depravity.

And I don’t want to.

Standing, I peruse the crumpled paper in my hand. I am fine with tormenting people. Fucking with those who deserve it, and hell, some who don’t. I am even fine with letting my dark side come out to play. I consider myself among the cruelest of the cruel, but I could not silently stand by and allow him to do this.

Even I have lines I don’t cross.

He never seemed to understand that about me. The harder he tried to mold me into something I wasn’t, the harder I would fight. That doesn’t matter now, though. Fighting was pointless. I’ve trapped myself in the cage and thrown away the key.

How had I let this happen?

Giving my head a slight shake, I snap myself back to reality and snatch my phone out of my pocket, letting the gun and the contract slip from my other hand as I do so. The paper flutters while the gun clatters to the floor loudly. I don’t care. I’ll dispose of it later. I scroll to my messages, my fingers hovering over the group text that I have with my friends, my most trusted allies.

They would be here without a second thought to help me if I called them.

I know this, but…

Do I really want to involve them?

To drag them into this twisted, dark mess I’ve created for myself? No. The answer is no, but I still hesitate. They’re my people, the closest thing to family I have.

Fuck. I’m selfish, but I can’t risk bringing them down with me in the event this goes sideways. I navigate back to my contacts and pace. Two steps to the right. Two steps back. I don’t have a lot of options available. I thought I could handle it myself, but I can’t, and now, I have to fix the problem.

How could I be so stupid?

Gritting my teeth, I tug at my hair above my temples. My gaze strays, drawn by blood and pale skin, and I pull my focus forcibly back to my phone. There’s only one other person I can call, but once I do this, there will be no going back. Saving her will intertwine our lives. The alternative is worse, though—another guilt stacked on the pile of others that will forever stain and tarnish my soul.

I could let her die, but then this will all have been for nothing…

Fucking hell. There’s no other option. Unsurprisingly, my subconscious chooses then to remind me of that. Swallowing my own frustration, I hit a number I’ve never needed to call before. It’s a mistake that I even have his number to begin with.

The sound of ringing fills the space as I put the phone on speaker. If he’s smart, he’ll answer the damn phone, or maybe he won’t, and both our fates will be sealed. Maybe it would be better if that happened. At least it would be out of my hands.

The ringing stops, and the line fills with static, but there’s no greeting. I clear my throat. “Dr. Brooks?”

A sleep-gruff voice answers, “What do you want?”

“I need you at the Arturo estate as soon as possible.”

There’s a pause. “You know the rules?”

I don’t have the energy to posture right now. “No.”

He releases a groan.”I won’t kill anyone. And my fee will be billed; payment is due in cash.”

I nod, then remember I’m on the phone, eyes squeezed shut. “That’s fine. They’re already dead, I think. I just need to have you confirm it. To do…whatever it is you do.”

He hangs up without another word, and I stumble back to sit on the couch under the window. Pressure builds in my chest, and all I want to do is cut the pain, my heart, my lungs—rip all of it out. Rip it all away until nothing is left. No reminder of the beast beating inside me. I can’t believe I did this. I can’t believe what he forced me to do. I stare at the papers covering the ground, blood seeping up over the edges.

What he’s going to force me to do.

I’m not sure how many minutes pass as I sit, my thoughts attacking me. Nothing more than a fucking disgrace. I catch sight of movement out of the corner of my eye, and it drags me back to the present.

A man kneels on the floor over my grandfather’s body. I blink a few times, trying to determine whether I’m seeing things. When he doesn’t disappear, I convince myself that he’s real. “You’re right, he’s dead.”

I swallow hard and let my features fall into the arrogant asshole mask I’ve perfected over the years. “Of course.”

He tips his head to the side and looks at the entryway, where the office door is cracked to reveal a slice of light. “I can’t do anything for him, but there is still hope for her.”

I blink. “Really?” Shit. I thought they were both dead.

I stare down at my hands, expecting them to be coated in blood, every sin visible for the world to see.

“Sebastian, right?”

I blink again, looking up from my hands to stare into the storm-gray eyes of the doctor. He shines his penlight across my face a couple of times. “Nod if you can hear me, Sebastian.”

“Of course I can hear you.” I jerk away and shift back onto the couch, putting ample space between us. If I snap again, all hell will break loose.

Fuck, man, get ahold of yourself.

“What’s the plan, Doc?”

He tilts his head to study me, and I force myself to return his scrutiny with a calm I don’t feel. I don’t have a clue what he’s thinking right now, but I need him to take care of…them. Not me. Finally, his eyes narrow, and he rises, seeming to arrive at a decision.

“Nothing. Sit here.”

He crosses the room to the bar and grabs a bottle of expensive whiskey, then walks it back over to me and shoves it into my hands. With a brief nod at the bottle, he turns and strides away, walking back to the foyer.

I swallow thickly around the knot in my throat. I can see her from here, her dark hair fanned out against the white marble like a raven in the snow.

And creeping beneath that, the blood.

Fuck. My stomach churns, and I wonder if I’m going to vomit. Pussy. This isn’t my first time seeing death and destruction, but seeing her blood spilled across the floor in my family’s name…I can’t bear it.

The doctor opens the door wider and kneels beside her unmoving body. The world around me spins, and I need something to hold me in place. Using my teeth, I uncork the whiskey bottle and toss the stopper to the side, then raise the bottle to my lips with a shaking grasp. I tip the bottle back, letting the liquid fill my mouth. It burns across my tongue and slides smoothly down my throat.

I ignore the burn and the nearly dead girl in the next room and chug that shit like it’s water until I have to take a breath; then I cradle the bottle against my thigh and slump farther into the couch, wishing it would swallow me whole.

Soft murmuring and a whimper carry in from the other room. The sound cuts through me like a knife, eliciting something close to an ache in my chest. My fist tightens around the bottle.

No. I can’t do this. I’m part of this world now, and a woman’s soft cry isn’t supposed to affect me this way. I need to be stronger, to close it all down, to shove it deep inside until all there is, all I am, is what’s best for me and my family name.

A tiny tendril of doubt snakes into my mind, working its way through my thoughts. If the doctor takes the girl away, then I can erase it all. I can disappear. Start a new life somewhere else and be free from the chains of this one.

You’ll never be free. As quickly as it surfaces, the hope burns out. There’s no going back. I’m man enough to admit I won’t survive without money, without my contacts and resources. All those things come with my name and my house. If I walk away, I’d lose everything, and who would get it all?

Fucking Tanya.

I’d rather die in agony, a painful, terrible death, than give that bitch one cent of my money or my inheritance.

I have only one choice, and it’s not even an actual fucking choice. I take another long draw from the bottle and stand. In the foyer, the doctor whispers softly. I exit the study, closing the door behind me. I’ll deal with all of that after I deal with her.

The doctor’s attention swings to me as he turns and surveys my features. “You better now?”

I let out a mirthless grunt. “Not even close.”

He slides his hands under the girl’s all-but-lifeless body, and I drag my gaze over her. Her white sundress is stained red, along with her fingers. I’m not sure how I manage it, but I force myself to look at her face. It’s battered and bruised like someone used her as their own personal punching bag. Did my grandfather do that to her?

The doctor eyes my hands, then my face again, his expression carefully neutral. “Did you do this to her?”

I shake my head, tilting my clean, unhurt fingers to the light. “No, I didn’t.”

Seeing these marks on her makes me want to fucking destroy someone on her behalf, and I don’t even know her. Inspecting her features a little closer, and even through the bruises and marks, I recognize her as someone I’ve seen on campus at Oakmount a time or two. Fuck me. Of course she attends Oakmount. Because nothing in my life can be complication-free.

“Help me lift her,” the doctor orders. He’s staring at me expectantly like he’s had to repeat himself while I wandered off mentally.

I nod once, crouch, and help him lift her slight weight. He probably could have lifted her by himself. She’s a tiny thing, fine-boned and fragile feeling in my arms. “We can take her to the staff wing. There’s no one back there right now, and she’ll have the space to herself.”

He nods, and I lead the way, both of us carrying her. We walk through the kitchen to the back of the house before turning down a long corridor. Once we reach the narrower hall, I shift the girl away from the doctor and more fully against my chest.

“I’ve got her. Just…keep going. Right through there.”

The doctor continues in front of me. The lighting is minimal, illuminating several doors farther down. I choose the first door we arrive at and adjust my hold while the doctor opens the door. Thankfully, fresh sheets are on the twin bed, tucked tight into the basic wooden frame. I gently place the girl on the gray wool blanket and take a wobbly step back.

Red. Blood.

It coats my fingers now, and I’m transported back in time.

My uncle’s drenched in blood, lying in the middle of the floor. The same floor covered in blood all over again. I blink, trying to make the memories fade, but that only intensifies them.

Tanya’s hands run over my shoulders and up my neck.

There’s so much blood.

“It’ll be okay, Sebastian.”

“Sebastian,” someone calls in the distance.

“Sebastian, are you with me? I need your help.” I snap back to reality with a shudder. Sweat beads on my brow, and a shiver courses through my body. I know the doctor needs me, but I can’t help him. I can’t even help myself at this point.

With fear and panic clinging to my bones, I leave the room to rush down the hall and up the stairs, stopping only once I find the haven of my own room. On the nightstand is a bottle of whiskey, the one constant in my life. It’s never let me down, never hurt me. I rush across the room, grab it, and clutch it to my chest, knowing it’s the only thing capable of keeping me afloat in these dark waters.

Releasing a sigh, I bring the bottle to my lips and chug down the brown liquid inside. It doesn’t even burn. It’s like I’m drinking water.

Am I numb to the pain, or am I just too far gone to care?

The answer is irrelevant. Soon enough, the alcohol will kick in, stopping the runaway train of memories threatening to take me back to that night when I was sixteen. Fuck me, that was only five years ago now. Back then, I thought I was happy. That I would one day run a legitimate company with my uncle, who had raised me as his son.

She ripped it all away, though, leaving me with a fist-sized hole in my chest and memories I’ll never be able to scrub from my mind.

In an instant, I became a Mafia prince. Heir to the Arturo family’s considerable wealth and privilege, but also their secrets and their corruption. Locked inside the family legacy with death as the only way out.

I guess my grandfather was right when he said you can own a person. Even though he’s gone now, his name owns me. His family—the Arturo family—owns me, and I’ll never be free of them.

A flash of dark hair soaked in blood appears in my mind. The girl—Elyse, according to the papers scattered on my grandfather’s floor—is right there with me. I almost pity her. If I was kinder I would’ve let her die, but I didn’t, and now she’s just as trapped in this darkness as I am.

A crazed laugh bubbles out of me.

At least I’m not alone.

I snicker to myself and continue drinking. I don’t stop until the bottle is empty, and all I’m left with is the warmth of the alcohol chasing away the memories and pain.

It’s funny how things can go from bad to worse in an instant. The next night, I get a phone call from the hospital. At first, I’m confused, but then I meet my real mother, and as if God hasn’t hurt me enough, He arranges things so I arrive just in time to witness her passing. Something inside me died that day, whether it was whatever remaining pieces of my heart existed or whatever juvenile thoughts about the life I might get to have now that I was free from my grandfather still lingered.

It all becomes grains of sand in an hourglass when I learn the truth about my sister, Maybel Jacobs. She needs me, needs my support and strength. It may appear that I’ve lost it all, but I’ve gained something in return, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything happen to her. My fate might be sealed, but if I have to choose between freedom and protecting the only remaining family I have left, I will always choose her.