Page 71 of Toxic B!tch
The weight behind his words is clear. He knew what he was signing up for. But hearing him acknowledge it like this…
His lips press against the top of my head, warm and steady. I turn in his arms, looking up at him, searching his face for any trace of doubt.
“You can go home,” I say quietly. “Or stay here. Don’t be involved. I don’t want you hurt.”
His jaw tightens, dark eyes locking onto mine. “No, baby. I’m in it like you are. You told me to choose, and I did. I’m all in.” He exhales through his nose, his grip on me unshakable. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “But if I pass out, just let me lie there in embarrassment. Wake me when it’s over.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Deal.”
I glance toward the jacuzzi, steam rising from the bubbling water, and grin. “Now, how about we go test out that jacuzzi?”
“Indigo,” Malik groans, but I see the fire in his eyes.
“Come on, sexy. Me, you, naked, with bubbles and jets…” I trail my fingers down his chest, teasing.
His hand snaps out, landing a sharp slap on my ass that makes me yelp. “Get your sexy, crazy ass in that tub right now.”
I bite my lip, stepping backward toward the bathroom, a slow, deliberate retreat.
“Yes, sir.”
His growl follows me inside, and I know we won’t be leaving this suite anytime soon.
Elias fuckingSungshrew still has a job.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, I am.
Archway Financial must have no fucking morals. Then again, why would they? A company like that—deep in corporate greed and quiet scandals—probably doesn’t care that one of their senior investment analysts is a predator. As long as he brings in money, they’ll turn a blind eye.
I watch him from a distance as he exits the sleek glass doors of his office building, dressed in a crisp suit that costs more than most people’s rent. He looks confident, unbothered. A man who’s never had to face real consequences.
But that’s about to change.
Malik is holed up in a coffee shop a block away, probably stalking my location like an overprotective bloodhound. I refused to let him come with me. Told him—nicely—that he’s toodamn noticeable. He’s built like a linebacker and carries himself like one, too. Me? I’m small, fast, and programmed to move like a shadow. Blending in is second nature.
He agreed, begrudgingly, only if I let him track my phone. Like a fucking lost cat.
Elias crosses the street toward a bistro with an air of entitlement, the kind of man who expects the world to cater to him. I follow, slipping in just behind him.
He steps up to the counter and orders something unnecessarily pretentious. “Single-origin Ethiopian pour-over. No cream, no sugar.” His voice is smooth, dripping with fake charm. “And an avocado tartine with heirloom tomatoes and a six-minute egg. Extra microgreens.”
I grab a Reuben and black coffee, paying in cash, and casually take a seat at the table kitty-corner from him. I eat while watching him over the rim of my drink, pretending to scroll on my phone.
His own phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, smirks, and stands up. Without a second thought, he tosses his half-eaten tartine into the garbage before striding toward the door. I’m already moving, slipping behind him as he steps onto the sidewalk.
“No, no, no. We’re good. My lawyer got that shit tossed out. The slut won’t be a problem. She’s locked up in some looney bin.”
I freeze, fingers curling around my cup.
He pauses, listening. Then he chuckles. “I have a new, fresher piece on the line now. Name’s Natalie, and she just blossomed, if you catch my drift?”
The air in my lungs turns to ice.
“Yeah, I’m meeting her tonight at the Aria. You know these young whores love a good show of money. They get all ‘ooo ahhhh,’ and it’s easier to take what we want. What we deserve.”
I grip my phone so tightly my knuckles go white.
As I walk past him, I nod like I’m just another patron on a call, blending into the background.
