Page 15 of Dark Surrender

Two can play at this game.

“Be down in a minute, babe,” I call before heading back into our room, where I rummage through the side of my bag for the bottle of pills. In the bathroom, I slam them on the counter, ya know, just in case I need them, even though I won’t. Then I pause to look at myself in the mirror above the sink.

“You’ve got this,” I growl and lean in to get up close and personal with the bags under my eyes. They’re soft when I poke them. Grumbling under my breath at my dark, graying stubble and my abs too cut from not eating enough, I slap the wall of muscle. The hollow noise echoes through the all-white room, making me cringe. “It’s just the weekend. You’ve done this before. You can sleep next week after you eat an entire cow. Now go act your ass off.”

The pep talk does fuck all to get me back on track. Though a thick, juicy steak sure sounds amazing. Come Monday, when we’re back in New York City, away from this hell, I gotta figure out a plan to get home. Not Penelope’s apartment. Home. Home. If that means I gotta grovel on my hands and knees, I will. I’ll do whatever I gotta do to get outta this life and back with my family, and I don’t mean my wife or Abby. Kali’s happy, and Abby deserves happiness, too. Which sure as shit ain’t with me. But they’re the mothers of my children, and that means something. I know it means something to them, too.

It’s time to eat crow.

But first…

I slide the bottle of pills into my pocket, just in case.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dark

Hey, I’ve got a joke for you…What do you get when you mix four men and five women, an endless supply of alcohol, and a naked waitstaff?

Hell.

Absolute Hell.

Sure, dinner was top-notch, fully catered with all the bells and whistles. It always is when Harold’s around. The women he hired for the weekend are big-breasted, smooth-snatched goddesses with grabby hands. I’ve had my cock stroked no less than a dozen times since dinner.

My dick can’t decide if he’s supposed to come out and play and show these women what he can do, or curl into my body and play dead. I’m on board with the latter, but given I’m the only sober fucker here, he’s grown more concerned.

Yeah.

Grown.

Against my will.

I adjust the towel around my waist to hide the evidence as Penelope chats with her father’s friends and Poppy decides it’s now a good time to join me.

We haven’t left the poolside all day.

The stars are out, and the ocean breeze is chilly, but Harold has that covered with the heat lamps scattered around.

The guy’s a professional. He’s thought of everything. Even if I hate the asshole, I respect his attention to detail.

Poppy, now topless, sits at the foot of my lounger and lays her hand on my knee.

“Mr. Drake,” she half-ass purrs with the help of all the wine Penelope plied her and every other woman with.

I dip my head in greeting. “Poppy.”

“Do you wanna swim?” She eyes the dark pool water, shimmering under the moonlight.

“No, thanks.”

“You haven’t gotten in the pool all day,” Poppy notes like she’s been paying attention to my every move. Then again, that’s why she’s here, is it not?

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Swimmin’ ain’t my thing.” Unless it’s with my kids. But there’s no use in sharing personal information with her. Besides Pen, nobody in this world knows I even have kids. It’s safer for them that way. Safer for the people, too. Given I’d end them if they so much as looked at my kids the wrong way or said the wrong thing. I don’t play when it comes to them.

Poppy peeks at my groin covered by the towel and licks her lips. “Mrs. Drake said I⁠—”

“Don’t listen to anything she said.”