Page 89 of The Auction
I pull her closer, my arm banding around her waist, and let the rhythm of her breathing pull me under.
The phone’s on speaker beside me while I lean over my drafting table, but my brother’s voice feels like it’s right in my ear.
“What the fuck were you thinking, getting Jaxon involved with the horses?” Jonathan’s tone is sharp enough to cut skin.
My stomach’s already tight, my jaw locked. “What the hell was I supposed to do? They?—”
“You should’ve stayed out of it. Christ, Cassidy, you make everything worse.”
I hate that I can feel the burn behind my eyes already. I hate trying to talk to him while I’m crying. My voice comes out strained, like I’m choking on glass. “Well, maybeyoushouldn’t have told him to keep an eye on things.”
There’s a pause on his end, heavy and cold. “Don’t fucking push me, Cassidy. I’ll be coming back soon, and you won’t be so fucking brave then. Will you? You piece of shit.”
I flinch like he slapped me.
“And stay away from Jaxon. The last thing I need is to come home and find out my little sister’s been throwing herself at him like some desperate schoolgirl.Again.” His voice sharpens to a sneer. “You think he’ll fuck you like it means something? He’s fucked half the pussy in Manhattan. You think you’d be special?”
His chuckle is nothing less than a cold shiver down my spine.
“You’d just be another faceless whore he slid his cock into so keep your goddamn legs closed.”
My throat closes because that stings more than anything he’s ever said to me.
He hangs up. Just like that. No chance for me to say anything back. No chance to defend myself or tell him I hate him or that I’m going to let his best friend fuck me until I can’t walk anymore.
The silence in the studio roars.
I stare down at my drafting table. I’ve already made a mess—pencils scattered, eraser crumbs everywhere—but isn’t that what artists are supposed to do? Make a mess?
But maybe I can do something to clean this mess up. I have so much money left from Jaxon and the second half isn’t even in my account yet. Won’t be until the contract is over.
I could have enough now to set up a different future for us. Mom and me. Find better medicine, better treatments to help her. Find a way to cut the bindings Jonathan has placed around me.
I grab a fresh sheet of paper from the oversized pad and pick up my graphite pencils, but the lines come out too soft. Too… polite. It doesn’t match what’s boiling in my chest.
I drop the pencil and reach for a thick stick of charcoal instead. It’s heavy, unforgiving. The black smudges bite into the paper with every stroke—harsh, ugly lines, just like Jonathan’s words. My hand moves fast, almost frantic, sketching shadows and walls, blending with my fingers until my skin’s stained gray.
The picture takes shape before I’ve even thought it through. A little girl, crouched in the corner of a dark room, knees tucked to her chest, her hands clamped over her ears.
When I stop, my breathing’s hard, my tears dry and tight on my cheeks.
I set the charcoal down and pick up my graphite again. Slowly, carefully, I draw one last detail—a single tear sliding down the little girl’s face.
My mind won’t stop replaying Jonathan’s voice, over and over, spitting words meant to stick like burrs under my skin.Stay away from Jaxon.Desperate schoolgirl.Whore.
Except the reality doesn’t match the picture he’s painting. Jaxon’s been nothing but careful with me—almosttoocareful. He’s made sure my firsts were on my terms, that I wasn’t just… swept along. My first time beingproperlyfingered, my first time grinding in someone’s lap until I came—he could’ve taken more, but he didn’t.
And yet… I’ve seen the photos. The women on his arm at every event. A different face each time. Glossy hair, expensive dresses, perfect smiles. Like they’re accessories to the suit and the watch.
Jonathan’s wrong about a lot, but he’s not wrong about this—Jaxon isn’t mine, and I can’t forget it.
I can’t forget what I’m hiding from him. I have to keep my distance. I have to walk away at the end of this month with my heart intact, and he needs to let me.
Except… it’s hard to keep your distance when someone keeps pulling you closer.
I push away from the drafting table and wander down the hall, more to get out of my own head than anything else.
I peek in Jaxon’s office and he’s on a call. I hear words that tell me shit is hitting the binary code fan.
