Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
No secrets would shield me.
This was real.
Real men watched me being fucked.
And I didn’t care. I threw myself into elixir, preparing to give in until I could be free. I embraced the sensation of voyeurism because I had no choice. I needed this. I let forth the hidden sins that whispered they enjoyed being watched—enjoyed being hungered after, all while the only man I ever wanted grabbed my hips and jerked me back into his power.
I spread my legs.
I bit my lip.
I moaned as Sully mounted me.
Men groaned.
Sully snarled.
The mercenaries feasted their gazes on every sordid, swollen part of me.
Sully speared deeper, claiming me for his own.
An orgasm appeared with brisk haste.
Digging my nails into the bed, I gave in to it.
I let it consume me, splaying my legs, arching my back.
Sully’s pace increased, mean and maddening.
And I gave in to him too.
I turned submissive and pliant.
I was no longer Eleanor.
I was theirs.
I was mine.
I was elixir’s.
Chapter Thirty-One
DAWN HAD BECOME DAYBREAK, and daybreak had become early morning.
Eleanor had almost died in my arms.
I’d heard the sickness in her breath, listened to the jangle of her heart.
But now...finally, she slept peacefully. Flopped on her side, her skin full of fingerprint bruises, her hair knotted and tangled.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, doing my best to stay awake and not give in to my overwhelming need to rest.
The three men had watched their fill and left when Eleanor collapsed in my arms from her tenth or twelfth orgasm. They’d wiped away their spent pleasure, zipped up their pants, grabbed the duffel, and walked out the door as if our arrangement had been perfectly acceptable—a common transaction between a scientist who’d found a way to revert women into deranged goddesses and the infidels there to steal his creation.
The ironic thing was, I’d been prepared to kill Drake yesterday to protect what I’d designed, to keep my business, my girls, and my elixir for myself.
Today, I wanted to kill Drake so he’d never make the same mistakes I had. So no other girl would have to suffer the same way Eleanor had suffered last night.
That was the final straw.
I would never allow her to be so close to death again.
I wouldn’t survive the powerlessness of not being unable to help her, the fear of losing her, the guilt of being the cause of it all.
With a tortured groan, I slipped out of bed and stumbled to the walk-in wardrobe. As all our guests’ villas, it was fully stocked with complimentary island attire in case the client arrived with inappropriate clothing.
Pika darted in from the bedroom, his small body descending onto my bare shoulder. “Sully!”
I sighed, snagging a pair of black slacks and black polo. “You watched too, huh?”
He squeaked, his tone full of disapproval.
“I know. It wasn’t what I wanted either.” Carrying the clothes back to the bathroom, I opened the vanity cupboard as Pika flew from my shoulder and scratched around in the cotton buds.
Grabbing the medical kit, I unzipped the case and inspected the bandages, antiseptic gear, and painkillers.
I had enough pharmaceuticals to treat myself, but I didn’t have the time.
Tossing the painkillers on the counter, I braced myself and looked up.
I dared look into the mirror and study my broken appearance.
Thanks to Eleanor, I was drained to the point of death myself. My eyes were lined, and mouth bracketed with failure. The blue of my gaze muted, and the whites of my eyes still red and raw from Drake’s lenses.
My vision operated below par, outlines still fuzzy and distance still muddy.
The first few layers of skin on my chest had been sloughed off thanks to the acid in the oil, but new flesh had covered the injury, shiny and vulnerable from the serum Campbell smeared on me. My wrists and ankles had suffered after Eleanor’s refusal to swim to Lebah, and my stitched-together leg had once again stained my bandage with rust.
And the shitty thing was? I felt so much worse than I looked.
I still had so much to do, so many fights to win, and all my body was fit for was a crematorium and century-long siesta.
I sighed.
Fuck.
For all my improvements in the lab, I hadn’t figured out how to make a reset button. A way to remove all trauma and leave the body fit and able.
Only time could do that.
Rest and nutrition.
All things I did not have.
Drake would’ve finished in Euphoria by now.
Jealousy would be free from the hallucination.
I hadn’t forgotten what I owed her, nor could I stop the worry that she might not have survived another dose of elixir. After witnessing first-hand what’d happened to Eleanor, the guilt to help Jessica was a ruthless ruler.
If Drake was on his own, I would happily send him to death with a knife to his throat. But if he had guards...well, I’ll deal with that later.