Bending Bethany (10 page)

Without turning on a light, I darted through the main room to the small coffee maker perched next to the circulation desk. The dark aroma lured me in as I approached, thankful for the timer I’d started setting a few weeks ago once I realized another cup of coffee before work had become a routine.

I turned and spun on one bare heel before a shadow out the front door caught my eye. Nestled on one cement step was my dark-haired beauty, an old paperback tucked into her lap as she sat hunched and reading in the morning light. I caught just a glimpse of her elegant profile, the sun casting shadows across her cheeks and glinting off the shiny strands of her hair. She was like an angel perched on my doorstep, ready to fill my life up with sweetness and love. Without thinking twice, I crossed the room and unlatched the door, the cool morning air blasting my chest and reminding me that I stood there, nearly naked.

Elle’s head turned in one quick move and her eyes hovered at my waist, where I imagined she saw two dark slashes of rigid muscle jutting into my waistband. I worked out. A lot. It’s what I did in my free time to burn off the excess energy. I was determined to stay big, remain a formidable force. I liked dominating a room when I entered it. I didn't want anyone to think I was weak.

Elle’s eyes crawled up my waist and my broad pectorals before her gaze settled on my own, returning the intensity I felt pulsing between us.

“Like what you see?” I winked. I was flirting with this girl and enjoying every minute of her cute little reactions.

“I guess I’m early.” She shot up, her eyes landing at her feet and the same scuffed boots she’d worn yesterday. Where had this girl come from anyway? She’d seemed to waltz in like a stranger, and while I had no right to question anyone’s past, I was curious nonetheless. Especially after her panic attack on my floor. She was so broken, I remember thinking how I longed to destroy those who hurt her. How dare anyone clip the wings of something so beautiful?

“Look at me,” I ordered, feeling my heart thud as I watched her dark chestnut waves slowly whisper in the wind before her round eyes met mine.

“W-what?” she said on a soft wave of air. I clutched the mug of hot coffee in my hand, my cock no longer sated from my early morning incident with the strawberry-scented scarf. What the fuck was this girl doing to me?

“You like coffee?” I gestured, unsure of anything else more meaningful to say.

“No. Thank you.”

“Well, you’re here.” I flashed her a meaningful smile. “I’ll go up and put some clothes on, then we’ll get started early, I guess.” I hated breaking the routine. I never opened the doors a minute earlier than posted, but I liked the excitement of Elle eager to please on my steps this morning.

I liked her very much.

“Should I stay?”

I turned halfway up the steps to my flat to find her gesturing into the library or up the stairs with me. “You’re already this far.” I shrugged and then continued up the steps. She followed me up. I could feel her eyes checking out my ass. If only she knew I’d had my cock in my hands just twenty minutes ago, coming to her pretty face and intoxicating scent.

“You left this last night.” I handed the scarf to her with the hint of a smile, thinking of it around my fist minutes ago, the ecstasy I’d gained. The thought of what it’d be like once I finally owned her, sheathing my cock in her deep depths. Would she taste like strawberry too?

“Thanks.” She pulled the scarf from my hands and our skin brushed, alerting my senses to the constant smell of sex and strawberries that wafted off her. Or was I making that up? Just a simple case of pheromones? I’d never dreamed about love at first sight before, but no one had ever taken the air straight from my lungs on first sight before either, so anything was possible.

“So now you’ve seen the lair.” I caught her arm. “Not so scary?” I leaned in, desperate for another scent of her. I inhaled and felt her shudder as goose bumps rippled across her skin in uniform salute. I heard the soft swallow of her delicate little throat before she nodded sweetly.

“So precious,” I hummed and then darted my tongue out beneath her ear for a taste.

“What are you doing?” She shivered, fear and arousal rippling through her voice.

“Tasting you.” I pressed my palm at her throat in a move that shocked her. Shocked her and turned her on, if I was reading the shifting thighs and tightening nipples right. I could tweak them right now, maybe even find out what shade of pink they were. She’d let me. I could see it in the lusty hooded eyelids, feel it gaining momentum, readying to crash between us.

“You’re turned on, beautiful,” I teased and released. “But we’ve got training to do.” I ripped myself from her intoxicating gaze, ruffling through a file I’d pulled out last night. “Fill these out,” I said before walking down the long hallway, leaving her reeling and trying to make sense of my actions. Keeping her on her toes, that would be the game of the day. After last night, I needed to keep her in a playful mood. Something deep inside me wanted her to open up. To trust me.

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Aria Cole

one

Eve

I shuddered, pulling the blanket around my shoulders, feeling my knees quake in the impossibly high heels that felt awkward and numbed my feet.
 

“I’m so sorry, Evie.” My foster brother and the oldest of the boys, Julian, wrapped his hand around my neck and squeezed—a comforting gesture he’d been doing since I was six and him seven.
 

“It’s all right. I knew it was coming.” I wiped at a stubborn tear and pushed my hands down the minuscule piece of sequined fabric that tickled the tops of my thighs. I hated this getup. Hated that I was being forced to do this. Hated my life.
 

I grew up in a world few could fathom and none should ever have to. It was dark, cold, ruthless. It was sex, drugs, and violence in all its extremes. I was raised in a foster family with three boys, also misplaced, and without them, I couldn’t stand tall for today.
 

For tonight.
 

For the moment I would be sold to the highest bidder.
 

“You’ve got this, Eve.” Mason tugged at my hair and then popped a kiss on the apple of my cheek before he fell onto the couch and picked up a game controller, his eyes immediately focused on the screen. He was the youngest, and helplessly addicted to the escape he’d found in online gaming just like every other teenage boy, but when other boys were sleeping, Mason was working, head down and hood up, trying to sell his stash before the dawn. None of us had been blessed with a silver spoon; we all had our burdens.
 

I shook my head. I loved these boys, and the worst part about tonight would be leaving them. Saying goodbye when all I really wanted to do was cuddle up in pajamas and watch another action movie like we’d done on so many other occasions.
 

But instead, tonight I would be sold by my foster mother. The woman who had been collecting a measly income for the majority of my childhood years to take care of me. It went to fueling her drinking habit and paying for the occasional young man to warm her bed. I knew she hated me. She hated how these men would look at me with lust in their eyes. But from the outside, we were the picture-perfect, home-schooled foster family.
 

From the moment I was placed in this house, Momma Judy, as she preferred to be called despite the fact that she was certainly no relation of mine, had always been into shady business, drug dealers and petty criminals with rotten teeth and the stench of cigarettes on their breath always stopping by. We’d never been sheltered from the darker side of their business, and the boys were sent out to make money under the table doing whatever was required to meet their weekly quota. Yes, a quota. Instead of being given an allowance like most kids, the boys were given a weekly quota—an amount of money they had to contribute, by any means necessary, to keep the family accounts balanced. Essentially, Momma Judy required them to pay their way while she blew the stipend given to us as fostered dependents. We wore rags while she wore designer labels, we ate rations while she dined on steak and champagne.
 

The boys mostly sold weed on the street, sometimes shrooms or pills on a good day. I’d fought and cried and begged Judy to not send them out that first night a few years ago. Collapsed on the floor and begged on their behalf for some shred of innocence or dignity, but she had only smiled at my desperate display before kicking them out of the house for the night. When they each returned the next morning, the light had gone out in all their eyes, and Julian had returned with a crimson and purple bruise across the side of one cheekbone and eye socket. He’d encroached on gang territory. Judy hadn’t cared, only said that lessons on the street don’t come easy. My heart cracked wide open for my boys, but we’d each had to slowly mend it in order to survive. We’d each become hardened in our own way, the boys losing hope quickly, but not me. I’d hardened my heart to Judy’s callous disregard for our innocence, but I still held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut tightly at night in fervent prayer for a miracle. I wholeheartedly believed that we were each put on this earth for something, and my thing was my boys. Us. Fighting for our lives and freedom was my sole purpose in life, the thing that drove me, even when reality more resembled a much darker side of hell than it did a childhood.
 

So how did I become exempt from the harsh treatment and financial quotas the boys were expected to maintain? I, the innocent young daughter, was the cash cow. Soon after my fifteenth birthday, when my God-given curves and full lips began to develop, I was expected to sell my body to men. At first, only kinky pictures, then pre-recorded cam shows, and by my seventeenth birthday I was doing one-on-one Skype appointments with the highest bidder. The only thing that saved my dignity in those moments was that I was clothed. Completely clothed. Fitted tank tops and short shorts, yes, all suggestive to the men that paid top dollar for an hour of my uninterrupted time, but the funny thing was, I didn’t even have to talk to them.
 

They just watched me. A shiver ran through me at the memory, and while the short dress and high heels made me uncomfortable and used, they also made me feel like a woman. With every cam show and photo session, I felt steel strengthening my backbone, my heart filling with more confidence and hope. I would beat them all at their own game. Just wait and see, I told myself.
 

To Judy I may still be a pawn to be sold to the highest bidder, but that’s not how I saw myself. This was my coming out party, the moment I could finally do something to help us. We would soon finally be free.
 

I had three boys to take care of. The price would be high, but as I inflated myself with the inner strength I’d been saving for this day, I would rescue us all. Each of our young lives depended on it.

In the twelve years I’d been with Judy, she’d consistently tried to break my spirit. With the cash flowing in and regular appointments at the wax bar to keep me sweet and virginal looking, life was great for everyone in the house, except the four kids who had been forced to survive in that prison. But without those boys, I doubt I’d be alive to tell the tale.
 

The four of us split two bedrooms. I came into the house after Grant, Mason, and Julian. Julian had his own room then, but being the gentleman he is, he forfeited his room instantly for me. From that day forward, I became their sister, mother, and companion, while they bunked in one small bedroom, arguing and laughing like boys do. I had a special relationship with each of them. We were a crew of kids who relied on each other. Like kids at an orphanage mistreated, we supported, connived, cried, and cheered.
 

They would do anything for me, and I would for them.
 

But lately…

Lately I’d been sadder than usual. My recent eighteenth birthday should have been a cause for occasion, but instead I was to be sold exactly a week later. This would do two things: prevent me from finally escaping the terror I’d been fostered into, and turn me into someone’s property. I would be owned by someone. A man. A man I’d never met before, for whom I would cater to his every whim. Would he be mean? Abusive? Old? Married? I knew none of those things, but it didn’t matter. This would be temporary, even if I had to slip money out of his wallet a twenty-dollar bill at a time, I would save every cent until I could afford a place for all of us to live. Somewhere far, far away from Newark’s gritty underground.

I could only hope this man would have some small shred of compassion. And if he didn’t, I would find the nearest crowbar and batter his skull with it before running for my life. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was still a plan. It made me feel better, hopeful.

I’d had over a decade to come to terms with the reality of my life. But I knew I could get us out. I saw it coming.
 

It had to be coming.
 

“I wish you could come with me.” I finally composed myself and muttered to Julian, as he strummed on his guitar across the room. An old beat-up instrument that Julian clung to as if it was his saving grace. We often did this, congregated together in the room the boys shared. Julian ran a hand through his long threads, some falling over this thick lashes before he glanced up. “I’ll get you out of there, Evie. I promise. If it’s the last thing I do.” His hand clutched the neck of the guitar.
 

“No, don’t do that.” I dropped to my knees at his feet. My hands gripped the frayed denim at his stonewashed knees when I saw the pain in his eyes.
 

Julian and I had always been close. He was the oldest, been the first to be placed in this house. I would miss him the most, and I think this would be the hardest on him. He wasn’t ready for this separation any more than I was ready to be traded and sold like a whore.