Page 26 of Sinful
“Don’t worry, we put all your shit in storage. We didn’t even see the fucking huge array of sex toys and weird shit you have in there. Hell, it’s no wonder you carry such a big bag around with you when you go to bitches’ houses.”
I hear a snort from the bedroom and I try to control my own lips. “I mean, you think you know a guy?”
“Ha, fucking ha. Just cos you’re vanilla as fuck in the sack doesn’t mean we all are.”
“I always knew you were a kinky bitch, but my eyes watered when they brought out a giant black dong.”
Dacre doesn’t even hide the fact he’s laughing now, and it’s getting harder to keep a straight face. “Now tell me, is that for the ladies, or is it for you?” It feels good to laugh after such an unbelievable shitty week. I need the relief. Mercier looks like it’s anything but relief as he spins on the spot, another weird thing he likes to do when he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. Crazy fucker.
He sidles up to me and I know I’m going to get an earful. “Your pretty princess in there. She’s a fucking virgin.”
The laughter dies in my throat. “How do you know that?”
“Let’s just say, she was tight as fuck when I fingered her pussy this evening. I’ll bet all the ransom money we get that she’s never taken a cock.”
I roar, ready to lunge at him, but Dacre runs out of the bedroom and stops, creating a barrier between us.
“Whatever you are about to say or do, think about the big picture here,” he says, giving me a steely glare of warning.
Anger percolates through my veins, but he’s right. If Mercier says she’s a virgin, then at least that means he hasn’t fucked her. At least with nothing but his fingers. I take a step back to show I’m not going to punch anyone, no matter how tightly coiled my fists. “She’s not a virgin. So she’s got a tight pussy. Doesn’t mean anything.”
Mercier just shrugs, like he knows everything. I regret leaving her alone with him. With Dacre too. I got us into this mess. I should have ridden it out.
Dacre sighs. “It doesn’t matter if she’s a virgin or if she’s fucked half of Manhattan...”
“She fuckinghasfucked half of Manhattan,” I cut in. “And that’s an underestimate.”
Dacre scoffs. “Whatever. Her sexual exploits don’t matter. What does matter is getting through this next ten days until we get our hands on the ransom. Sit down, the pair of you. I’m going to tell you how we can fuck over both the cunts who destroyed us.”
“Which cunts are we talking about now?” Mercier says, “because that could be just about anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not talking about some bitch who did us over or professor Cockwomble who failed you twice because you decided fucking his wife was more important than revising,” Dacre spits out.
“Totally worth it.”
Dacre rolls his eyes. I’m beginning to get frustrated at how this conversation is going. Dacre told me hours ago he knew how to solve all our problems, but until now he’s yet to enlighten me.
“Dacre Senior and Waldgrave,” I spit out. “Now shut the fuck up and let’s hear it.”
While Dacre runs though his plan, which is nothing short of insane and right up Mercier’s street, my thoughts return to what Mercier said earlier. There is no way on this earth that Sin is a virgin. It’s not possible. She’s well known for putting out. It’s almost impossible to pick up a salacious gossip rag these days without tales of her fucking some famous actor in the back of a limo, or on a private jet, or pretty much anywhere with anyone. I’ve spent years trying to ignore the articles, but they are like a disease, popping up everywhere. She’s no virgin. She’s a fucking whore. Case in point. Mercier has spent two days with her and she’s already given him full access to her pussy. I’m not even shocked. Hell, I should be surprised she hasn’t fucked Dacre and the bell boy already too.
Fucking whore.
“What do you think?” Dacre asks, taking me out of my own mind.
I stand and pull out a pack of cigarettes, which Dacre’s eyes are immediately drawn to.
“It’s fucking insane. We’ll most likely end up buried under a bush somewhere with Waldgrave and your dad dancing a jig on our graves, but in the absence of any sane option, let’s just fucking get it over and done with.”
“What about you?” I hear him ask Mercier as I slide open the French doors to the terrace. I close them before I hear Mercier’s answer. I don’t need to. It’s a fucking insane plan. Of course he’s in.
22
LUCINDA
My heart pounds the entire evening and my body cannot relax no matter what I try. Pressing my thumb to my palm isn’t doing anything and I know that if any one of them comes into my room to check up on me, I’ll probably mess up my plan by panicking so much it’s obvious. Josh is here. I can hear him talking to the others. I can’t hear what they are saying, but I don’t need to. I’m not safe here. Either they’ll try to collect the reward which I know my father has no intention of paying for me, or they’ll attempt to carry on the kidnapping charade and aim for the thirty million. If they do, they are more stupid than they act. My father wouldn’t pay thirty cents for me. Not when he has other, more important things to spend his money on. When it all goes quiet, I wait for an hour, then put my plan into action. The three of them have made a vital error. They’ve taken my blindness as weakness and, because of that, they’ve underestimated me. There’s a window in the room. I know because I’ve checked the room from top to bottom. I also know that it’s unlocked. I didn’t think they would be stupid enough to leave it unlocked, but it seems they have. If I’m going to make my escape, it’s now or never. I feel along the wall until my fingers hit the frame of the window. I feel around until my fingers hit the catch. It takes me a couple of attempts, but I figure out how to pull it back. The window opens easily, but the sound of traffic increases suddenly. My heart pounds with the sudden onslaught of sounds and the dirty smelling air that hits me. It’s nighttime. I thought it would be quieter than this. New York, the town that never sleeps, is living up to its name. As long as Mercier, Dacre, and Josh are asleep, I don’t care about the rest of Manhattan.
Terror grips me as I slide my legs out through the window, planting my ass on the sill. I’m not on the ground floor. The sound of the traffic is way below me and the elevator ride up here took a while. If I jump, I’ll fall to my death. Gripping onto the frame, I gingerly lower my foot, hoping for a balcony or fire escape.
