Page 4 of The Prey
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.
1
Elyse
There is no one I hate more than Sebastian Arturo. I thought my father was the most loathsome person on the planet, but I learned fairly fast that it's that smug asshole with his icy personality…that beautiful man who I swear is broken inside and out who is the epitome of hate.
Who cares if he’s my boss? If he saved my life? If he provides me a place to live?
None of that matters or negates the fact that I absolutely loathe him. Considering the life I've had and how I've spent the last ten months since I was brutally beaten and shot by my own father, that's really saying something.
The sound of the door slamming in the foyer still rings in my ears. He always fucking slams the door, as if its presence and the fact that he had to open it at all is offensive to him. I guess I should be used to his crazy antics by now, but unfortunately, I’m not.
I inhale deeply through my nose and try to let it out slowly to release the anger that kindles the moment he comes near me, talks to me, or even looks at me.
Not that he's going to grace me with his presence today.
The second the thought flits through my mind, the door to the staff wing flies open and slams against the wall again, making me flinch. Shit. Apparently, we’re doing this again. I swear the guy is always one second away from losing his damn mind. I wonder what his vendetta against doors is and why he slams them to announce himself.
Having played this song and dance a time or two, I know I have only seconds before he comes stomping into the room. I’m tempted to cower in the corner, but I’ve learned cowering doesn’t stop the inevitable from happening. If someone wants to hurt you, they’ll do it no matter what.
Quickly, I move toward the dresser, gripping the edge of it to steady myself. My knees tremble, and a sheen of sweat forms against my brow, both telltale signs of fear. It’s been difficult to handle the anxiety that comes with living with someone like Sebastian. Fear has been the one thing that helped me survive this life, and I’m so used to living with it and letting it guide my every choice that even though part of me knows I have nothing to worry about when it comes to Sebastian, I can’t shake the lingering panic.
Yes, he's dangerous. I know anyone standing within ten feet of the man would assume he’s a menace, but instinctively, I feel safe with him. Which is strange, considering I want to stab him in the eye almost daily.
As I predicted, he comes powering through the door like an F5 tornado, hell-bent on destroying anything in his way. He barely manages to stop in time, but not before partially barreling into me, the toes of his expensive leather loafers scuffing against my worn Chuck Taylors. I fall back against the dresser with a breathless oomph as he straightens himself, too close for comfort.
Glancing down at my feet so I don’t have to meet his gaze, I’m reminded that we do not come from the same worlds.
The typical fear and anxiety that trickles into my veins any time he comes near me makes it hard for me to swallow, to think, to do anything but stand there looking like an idiot. I hate this feeling of helplessness. There’s no reason he should have this effect on me. He may be painfully good-looking, powerful, and filthy rich, but he’s just a man.
That’s all any of them are.
Swallowing my fear, I lick my lips and force myself to look up from my feet and into his dark green eyes.
Sebastian thinks he hides his scars well, but I know better. I know that beneath that soulless, annoyed expression he gives everyone lies a man who’s both damaged and hurt. A man haunted by his past and future. And it’s sad because maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole, I’d be willing to help him. Or I don’t know, at least try not to hate him. But not now, not ever.
He wears his usual irritated expression.
Is it really necessary to slam every door in the house?
The question sits on the tip of my tongue, but the thought hardens into concrete on my lips when his annoyance morphs into anger right before my eyes. Even knowing that I’m not truly afraid of him, I can’t make my body react differently. All I can do is stand here trembling.
Dammit.
I’m so disappointed in myself. I don’t know why I thought this time would be different, that I’d be able to stand up to him. I’m not really surprised; angry men have a habit of making me fear for my life. It doesn't help that my employer is perpetually angry at the world either.
His gaze rakes over my skin as he assesses my navy blue polo, khaki pants, and sneakers. He’s silently judging me…again.
I straighten my shoulders and tug the hem of my uniform shirt down. I’d really just love to have one day when I don’t feel self-conscious in my own skin.