Endgame (Voluntary Eradicators) Read Free

quite pretty — but all cats are gray in the dark. And I like a woman who can hold her own.” If he moves any closer they will be kissing. “If you ever want to make a little extra on top of whatever it is that you do, come find me, and we'll see if the rest of you is as wild as your tongue.”
    She can barely breathe. This cannot be happening , she thinks. He can't mean what I think he means . Nobody says things like that .
    “ I have a job,” she says coldly, but her voice trembles. She is not certain where to look. He has the sinful mouth and deadly eyes of a cobra, magnetic, repellant, and beautiful. When his teeth close down lightly on his full lower lip, Vol flushes as if she has just caught him pleasuring himself. “I — I work in the entertainment industry.”
    “ And I'm offering to pay you to entertain me.” Another smile. “Should be right up your alley.”
    “ I — ” She can't tell if he's teasing her, or if he's genuinely soliciting her for sex. Both bother her, but the second bothers her more — because she feels that it speaks more about her than him. Vol refuses to let her eyes drop to her dress. “I think you're making a mistake,” she says at last, quietly.
    “ Oh?”
    Vol jerks her chin out of his loose hold and feels the burn of his fingers on her skin like a brand. “Yes. We don't provide that kind of entertainment here.”
    “ I don't recall specifying a time or a place for our arrangement,” he says, “let alone the cost. How much do you want? Six tokens for an evening — seven if you spend the night?”
    That's enough money to buy several days' worth of food. She wonders who she reminds him of — a girlfriend? An ex-girlfriend? An ex-wife? — and why he's willing to pay her so much. He's certainly good-looking enough to hold his own. The scruff on his chin and cheeks suggests he's old enough to be married, maybe even several times over.
    He probably has been, if he talks to all women like that . Though, looking at his hand now, she doesn't see a wedding ring. Maybe he's between wives at the moment .
    She would be lying to herself if she said the offer wasn't at all tempting — that's what disgusts her the most about this situation. She has always thought of herself as a reasonably moral person and he has just made her feel like a cockroach scrounging around in a back alley. “My answer is no.”
    He looks amused now, but that desire — that need to acquire — still hasn't left his eyes. With a sigh, he says, “Oh, very well. I suppose I could spare ten. But you'll have to work for them.”
    When it comes down to it, Vol would do anything to keep from starving. Anything to survive.
    Even that.
    But she isn't starving, so she slaps him instead. The sound rings out like a gunshot in the otherwise silent elevator. She can't believe what she has just done — only her stinging hand convinces her of the outcome. “Get away from me.”
    The imprint of her palm is etched in red on his swarthy skin. He retreats a step back. She stares at him with blatant dislike. At his expensive suit and his proprietary stare. She can't imagine what it must be like to just walk up to someone and assume you can buy them, like so much else. But she knows how it makes her feel: it makes her feel cheap, and she knows that she will never be able to wear this dress again without remembering this encounter and that look, and those mocking eyes.
    At her side, her hand forms a fist. I liked this dress .
    He raises his own hand and she tenses with wary readiness, but it is only to rub the cheek she hit. She hopes it hurts — and that the mark lasts long enough to serve as a badge proclaiming what an utter prick he is. But no, it is already fading. His kind doesn't scar.
    The elevator reaches the first floor. The doors slide open, but neither of them moves. “I never want to see you in here again.” He smiles lazily in response, prompting her to add, “Consider yourself blacklisted.”
    He sidesteps her