A Wifey for the Bad Boy(4)

By: Olivia Hill

“I’m not a virgin—”

“But you’re not a whore.”

Samantha was too embarrassed by the subject matter to admit it out loud, so she simply turned her head away and nodded.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said kindly. “But I’m sure you can see why I won’t simply squander away twelve thousand on one unexperienced girl, for one evening.”

Samantha closed her eyes in a frown. Any minute now, she was sure that the man would walk out the door and order for her brother to be kidnapped or worse, never to be seen again. And there was nothing that she could do about it.

“Of course,” the man said suddenly, and she snapped her head up to look at him. “I could buy you for more than one night.” At the look on her face, he smirked and reached out a hand. Samantha steeled herself for his fierce grip, but he just cupped her cheek, the callouses on his hand rough against her skin. “Or, perhaps not a night at all; maybe a day. Tell me, Miss Smith, how do you feel about marriage?”

Samantha’s eyes had never grown so wide. “Marriage?” she repeated.

“Oh, right, your brother said that your parents were married,” he said, pulling back his hand as he snapped his fingers. “A wedding, then.”

As he started walking back towards the door, Samantha felt that she must’ve missed something. “Sorry,” she called, her legs too weak to walk after him. “Wedding?”

“Yes,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the door before he grabbed the handle. “Yours and mine.”

Chapter 2

Samantha was too numb to protest as the man led her back towards the elevator. She stood there beside him, his hand on her lower back, and blinked as the piano played through the speakers. She tried to figure out what’d happened back there, and, more importantly, what was happening now, but her mind was muddled.

She didn’t even know his name.

“Abel Wood,” he chuckled, and she jumped at his voice. Had she asked that out loud? “Your brother called you ‘Sam,’” he continued. “I take it that’s short for something?”

“S-Samantha,” she nodded. Her hair felt weird against her own neck – tangled, and restrained. She wondered if she was sweating again.

“Oh, like the actress,” he said, nodding to himself. Samantha just looked up at him through her eyelashes, unsure if he was joking or not.

The elevator dinged as it reached the main floor, and the old man straightened up as he caught sight of his boss. What was his name again? Earl, Samantha reminded herself.

“Boss!” Earl looked between them.

“Earl,” Abel greeted him warmly. “Meet my new fiancé,” he said casually, wrapping his arm fully around Samantha’s side to pull her up against him. “Spread the word, would you? I don’t want this one hurt.”

“Y-yes, sir!” Earl nodded eagerly, apparently honored to have gotten a job from the boss himself. Samantha glanced up at him again. Abel looked thirty, maybe mid-thirties, thought that was pushing it. She herself was only twenty-seven, and still working as an assistant. What had he done to inspire such loyalty from a man twice his age?

“C’mon,” Abel whispered, turning her down the hall away from Earl and, more importantly, towards the exit. Unfortunately, it seemed that Abel wasn’t going to pull any punches, and he kept a firm grip on her as he walked them outside.

Samantha couldn’t help but glance to her car, an escape that was so close yet so far away.

Except, the bug wasn’t there.

“Where’s my car?” she accused, pushing at Abel’s arm as she looked up and down the street.

“Oh, that little green contraption you pulled up in? One of my men drove it to my house already. But don’t worry, darling,” he said, guiding her towards a black four door parked on the corner. “Our ride is right over here.”

He urged her inside first, and she couldn’t help but feel like a pig being packed up and led off to the slaughter house. Scooting all the way down, she leaned as close to the other door as she could, her eyes on her lap as Abel’s long legs stepped inside after her. She subtly tried the handle, but it was locked.

Pulling the other door closed behind him, Abel seemed to sag into the leather seat and breathed out a sigh. “All right, Ben. Take us home.”

“You got it,” a scratchy voice sounded from the front. Samantha glanced up, catching a pierced eyebrow in the rearview mirror. Another biker from the gang, she guessed.

“So,” Abel said, turning his head to pin her under his stare. “Do you want to keep your last name?”

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