He has me right where he wants, caught in a trap, just like prey.
The Prey, an all-new forced proximity, enemies to lovers, dark romance and the third book in the Oakmount Elite Series from USA Today bestselling author J.L. Beck is now available!
Filthy rich. Monstrous. Vile.
He calls me prey.
I call him a bully.
Sebastian Arturo isn’t just cruel, he’s downright terrifying.
With piercing green eyes, a body made for doing very bad things, and a charming demeanor, it’s no wonder everyone thinks the world of him… everyone except me.
When I wake up with pieces of my memory missing he’s the only one who can give me answers.
But he doesn’t give me answers, instead he tells me to stop asking questions, or else…
I heed his warning and do my best to avoid him but since he’s my boss and I live in his house that’s kinda difficult.
Then one night his hate for me reaches its breaking point…and the lines blur.
Hate twists into lustful obsession.
His cruel words become seductive praises.
One touch sparks a raging inferno of desire, and I find myself burned to ash beneath his fingertips.
Just when I think I’ll finally find happiness my memories return bringing with them a vicious truth.
Turns out the man I’m falling for isn’t who I thought he was… and escape isn”t an option.
He has me right where he wants, caught in a trap, just like prey.
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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, 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 is still ringing 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 again, slams against the wall, 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 uses slamming them as a way 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 towards 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.
Damn it.
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 where I don’t feel self-conscious in my own skin.
“Wh-what do you want?” The words don’t come out half as strong as I want them to.
His full lips twist into a scowl as he drags his gaze back up my body, stopping once he reaches my face. “Did you really just ask me that?” He shakes his head at me like I asked him to buy me a new car or something. “What do I want? How about, how can I help you, Mr. Arturo, or can I get you something, Mr. Arturo? Now if you’re done wasting my time, you can start packing your bag.”
Huh? Packing my bag. What on earth is he talking about? I stare at him, hoping to convey my confusion without using words, but it doesn’t seem to work. He doesn’t explain, and after a moment I blurt out my question.
What do you mean, pack my bags? I don’t understand.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls, then turns his attention to my dresser. The same one I’m gripping the edge of. Without care, he rips open the top drawer. Shock morphs into embarrassment when he starts rifling around inside.
What the fuck?
“What are you doing? Stop that!” I place my hand flat on the drawer and attempt to push it back in so I don’t have to see his long graceful fingers clutching the lace and cotton of my underwear, but it’s useless.
He doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t even spare me a glance as he brushes my hand away and continues his assault on my underwear. After tossing a handful onto the top of the dresser, he moves to the next drawer down where my shirts are neatly folded.
“Why are these all uniform shirts?”
If I had more balls I’d probably say what’s on my mind at this very moment and ask him if he’s stupid or just oblivious. He has to know I do nothing but attend classes and work for him. I have no time for a social life. I refrain, though. There’s no point in instigating the beast.
Instead, I say mildly, “Because you paid for them, and all my wages go to attending school.”
I watch as his forehead wrinkles and he shoves his sandy blonde hair out of his face to crouch down, continuing to dig through my equally sparse pants drawer.
“What the fuck, Ely?”
I flinch at the stupid nickname, the one he adopted and keeps using simply because he knows how much I hate it. It’s the same name my father used to call me while he beat me. I don’t bother telling him the real reason I hate being called it; he’d only use it against me, and he doesn’t need anymore ammunition.
“Please stop calling me that!”
His features sharpen, and he freezes at my protest, and I swallow it hastily. “Nevermind. I—I don’t know what you expect.” His lips settle into a thin line. I know that look. When you’ve spent a good portion of your life making sure you don’t piss others off so you don’t have to deal with another beating, you learn to read other people’s facial expressions. And that expression tells me he’s on the cusp of full-blown rage.
“All you have is the employee-issued uniform; is that what you’re telling me?”
I swallow hard, my own anger and fear clogging my throat in a tight knot. I can barely squeeze out the words. “Clothes aren’t important. Not as important as other things.”
He stands in one smooth motion, his frame towering above me. “You mean not as important as school, and say, the menagerie of pets you’ve been housing and feeding gourmet food to in the old groundskeeper’s cottage?”
Shit. Heat blooms in my cheeks. I was certain no one saw me sneaking in there. “It’s not a menagerie. Just, like, one cat and a dog. Plus, they were sick.” I wave a hand, trying to distract him. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to argue with you about it.”
He takes a calculated step towards me, eating up the very small amount of space separating us, and I keep my feet rooted into the ground. Even after months of being around him, there are still instances when he surprises me. You can never be too sure with him.
“The animals don’t matter. What matters is the clothing you don’t have, the clothing that I need you to have.”
“Why?” I try to strip the anger out of my voice, but by the way his eyes narrow I know I’ve failed.
“Why must you always ask a million questions?” He snarls. “Because I have places to be, and you’re coming with me.” His annoyance makes a mockery of me, like it’s so inconvenient for him to be here rummaging through my meager possessions.
My chin lifts as my own annoyance flares to life, and I forget for a single blessed moment to be afraid.
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