Page 52 of The Boy I Loved
The large building loomed ahead. From the outside, it looked like a massive warehouse. Nobody would ever suspect a thing. Even if we were busted by the feds, Clay was a smart man. This wasn’t only a place that housed women against their will—it was also a manufacturing company that aided in the creation of mechanics. When I was a kid, Clay had me on the top floor, helping out withthe workload. Still, when I was a kid, he took me to the basement and introduced me to an entire new world of horrors.
I found a spot near the back and parked, reaching over and grabbing my few bags from the passenger seat. I hobbled out onto the gravel-filled ground, slammed my door closed, and locked the vehicle behind me before trudging toward the back door.
As usual, Tristan was seated at the bench, a cigarette between his fingers. He looked sated, but it wouldn’t last long. The guy was always sticking his dick where it didn’t belong.
He perked up when he saw me, a smile twisting his lips. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” he commented, flicking a few ashes from the cherry.
“I didn’t expect to be back so soon,” I grumbled, resentment settling deep within me.
He patted the seat beside him. “Come sit. Smoke with me.”
The last thing I wanted to do was hang out with him. We were on friendly terms, but I was nothing like him. There was a reason he and Mason got along so well, and there was a reason me and Mason weren’t as close as we used to be.
“Can’t. I’ve gotta check in with Clay.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Ididhave to check in with him, but I also needed to get some damn sleep, too.
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Maybe later then.” He paused, his shoulders straightening like he just remembered something. “Drea’s gone.”
I couldn’t say I was surprised. She’d been around for nearly a month, and she still hadn’t stopped bawling her damn eyes out. She was one of Tristan’s favorites, but he didn’t seem to be that torn over it. He knew this was the life we lived—nothing was permanent.
“Can’t sell a girl when she’s crying all over your cock,” I replied, swinging my gaze to the glass, backdoor. Breakfast musthave ended recently, because it was void of life from what I could see of it.
Here, I wasn’t free to be myself. I was Clay’s descendant, which meant that I had to play the part. Guys like Tristan … they’d snitch if it meant more power. It wasn’t a risk I could take.
“You’re not wrong there.” He nodded, taking another long drag before blowing the smoke back into the atmosphere. “Anyway, I think Clay’s in his office.”
“Thanks.”
I readjusted my grip on my bags and forced my legs toward the door, reaching out and tugging the handle until it opened. A gust of cool air greeted me instantly, chilling me to the bone for more than one reason.
I strode toward the door on the opposite side of the room and took the elevator to the third floor. Soft music blared from the speaker, a goddamn joke for what this place truly was. When I reached the top, I made my way toward my room in the second wing, typing in my code, and shoving the door open moments later.
This room housed the majority of my nightmares. For the last two years, I did nothing but toss and turn, vomit in the connected bathroom, tug at my hair, and even cry. This was a place for villains.
A ragged breath left me as I lowered my bags to the floor near the door, sweeping my gaze over the untouched interior. It was nothing special—a full-sized bed with dark blue comforter, thin black curtains covering a vertical window, and clothes draped over a few of the furnishings.
I didn’t bother closing the door. Instead, I slipped back out into the hallway and tugged it shut behind me. My shoulders were heavy with the weight of the world pressing down on me, but I forced myself forward despite it.
Clay’s office wasn’t far from here. It was positioned on the other side of the common area, between wings three and four.
When I reached my destination, I tapped my knuckles against the door and waited with the patience of a madman. My fingers twitched at my sides, my toes wiggling within the confines of my sneakers.
Finally, the door clicked open, and I didn’t wait any longer. I shoved it the rest of the way open. Clay looked at me with raised eyebrows as I shoved past him. He closed the door behind me, and slowly made his way back to his mahogany desk that took up a good portion of the small room.
“You took your time getting here,” he pointed out, lowering himself into the leather chair.
“I took a shower,” I admitted.
Clay motioned for me to sit in one of the two chairs adjacent to him, so I did, situating myself in the one on the right of the room.
As usual, there was a glass of whiskey resting on the desk beside him. His thick fingers slid together on the surface of the wood as he slightly scrutinized me through his dark, gray eyes—eyes he shared with my father and with me. Maybe that was why I’d trusted him so easily. Like Mason, Clay had a charming charisma to him, too. He knew how to turn it off and on within the blink of an eye.
“Why the sudden change of plans?” I asked, refusing to wait around for him to tell me of his own volition. If he had it his way, he’d keep me in the dark and I’d run around following him blindly, fulfilling his every wish without any knowledge as to why.
He shook his head, tsking in a mocking gesture. He was upset with me, but I had yet to find out why. “So impatient,” he reprimanded. “Just like your mother.”
My hackles rose, a fire sprouting deep within my abdomen. “My mother isn’t part of this,” I said through gritted teeth. “Do not bring her up again.”
Clay’s lips twitched in amusement. “So emotional, too. That’ll be your downfall, Boy.” He reached for his glass and took a long,slow sip. The same way he did anytime he wanted to prolong a conversation. He wasn’t Clayton Steel without the theatrics.
