Page 11 of Mutual Prey

I don’t have to search very long. There’s a long line of guys and girls waiting outside a door, and they all look either high or frustrated not to be. Stalking up with my head held high, I cut right to the front of the line.

“Hey, wait! You can’t do that! Oh, shit—it’s Cass.”

One withering glance, and they all shut up. I guess they know something is off about me. I’ve never had to do anything but blink my blue eyes for most kids at school to know not to mess with me.

“Okay, next!” calls out a deep, clearly bored voice, as two giggling girls stumble out.

I clench my jaw, and my stomach clenches, too—I don’t want to try to decipher what’s going on inside me, but it feels like an uncomfortable mix between jealousy and arousal, respectively. Sucking in a deep breath, I enter the room, closing the door behind me.

Finn Austen sits in the corner of the room on a chair, wearing a distressed leather jacket, his jeans tucked into combat boots. His dark hair hangs in his eyes, and he’s got stick-n-poke tattoos on the side of his face. He’s scruffy-looking, like he doesn’t bother to shave that often, and his eyes are adark, undetermined color that swirl as he counts a thick wad of bills.

He looks up at him with a bored expression that immediately grows interested when he takes me in.

“Cass.”

Goddammit, I hate how unsettled he makes me feel. I have to force myself not to fidget.

“I’m here for some drugs. What can you fix me up with?”

His lips part into a lopsided smirk. “That depends on what you want, baby.”

Anyone else calling me baby would be dead, or at least, severely injured. The idiot downstairs who referred to me as sexy is lucky he wasn’t alone, or he’d be minus that appendage he wanted me to kiss.

But the word, spoken by Finn, makes my core twist.

Damn it!

“Well, I have a twenty. What does that get me?”

His smirk deepens. “Nothing.”

“Really?” I lift a brow. “You don’t have anything in that bag—” I nod at the leather satchel that clearly contains his drugs, “for twenty bucks?”

“Hmm, well, I don’t know, baby. Why don’t you come over and find out?”

I try to find enough saliva to swallow. But my mouth is dry, and it feels uncomfortable. “Fine.” I walk over with a show of bravado. “So?”

“So…” He pats his lap. “Take a seat.”

I’m gritting my teeth so hard it feels like I’m two seconds away from grinding them into dust. “A seat? On you?Please,”I scoff.

He looks up at me, and the dangerous swirling in his eyes take on a pleading quality. “Yes, Cass… please.”

This time, I do manage to swallow. The way he looks atme… how much does he remember about the drug trials? About the way I stroke his arm every week as I inject him? I know one of the side effects of Valeron is memory loss. Does he… does he know about the softness I show only to him for about thirty seconds every week?

“I’m… I’m very drunk,” I mutter, stopping in front of him, and allowing him to guide me over his lap so I’m straddling him.

“Uh huh. Sure you are, baby.”

I shiver as he runs his hand through my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. I shiver even harder when his hands stroke down my sides, from my waist to my bottom. He digs into my cheeks, pushing me closer to him, so close I can feel the heat of his body against my skin.

And then… he starts grinding on me.

Oh, god. I can’t decide what I want—to be held by him, or used by him. Whatever it is, it needs to be him. Daddy has never been further from my mind. My core is on fire, and I rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes and letting him take the lead.

He smells so good. Like pine trees and freedom.

“I’m so… drunk,” I mumble, and this time, it’s more for myself than for him.