Read Selling Scarlett for Free Online Page B

head of security, had been out with the flu, and with Rach away at her sister's funeral and March chasing his dick, Loveless had volunteered. I know Loveless well—I used to be one of her regulars—and I can vouch for her trustworthiness. She wouldn't hurt Sarabelle, and she sure as hell wouldn't have let someone rig the camera system.
It's always possible that Sarabelle got up and walked away on her own, but Bella, who roomed next door to her in the manor where the escorts live, confirmed that Sarabelle never returned to her room that night. She didn't even have her purse when she was in the room with me. She didn't have her phone or her car keys, so she couldn't have left. Clearly, someone took her. Who—and why?
I spent the two weeks after that night trying to track down Priscilla. When she finally surfaced, the shit really hit the fan.
I check my watch and stroll into my bedroom, remembering the night Priscilla surprised me here. I had stepped out of the bathroom, near naked from my shower and planning to hit the hay. I sensed company before I saw her, and I stepped toward the cabinet beside my bed. I keep a loaded
.45 inside. I don’t think she knew that, but she must have guessed, based on the way I moved.
“It’s just me, Hunter.”
I turned to find her in a form-fitting trench coat and high-heels. "What the hell are you doing here?"
I can still see the determination on her Botox'd face as she smiled. “How many people know about your mother?"
My gut clenched, but I held my poker face. "Rita?"
"No. Roxanne. The escort who worked for Lotti Bleaufont at the Hartland Casino in the early '80s. She died in child birth. Some big-headed boy." She grinned wickedly, and I felt my heart constrict.
She held out a folder, and I looked inside. It was mine. It came from my safe—or from my financial planner's office. Inside were all the papers. My birth certificate. The certificate of adoption, when my father's high school sweetheart and second wife, Rita, adopted me. This shit was kept under lock and key—mainly because no one knew my upstanding paps had once been head over heels for a Vegas escort.
"This would be such a lovely story for Page Six, don't you think? Your father would be known for something besides pissing off North Africa."
"What do you want, Priscilla?"
She'd smiled coyly. "I just want to get into your bed. I think you’d enjoy it." She shrugged. "If you disagree, I think you will agree that your story is just too salacious, given what's happened lately. Mother was a prostitute. A prostitute disappears after you fuck her. Sounds kind of creepy, kind of kinky, doesn't it?"
I feel a tingle down my spine. “Sounds like you know a lot of things you shouldn’t.”
Her eyes widened, and she smiled widely. “Of course it sounds that way to you, silly man…”
I inhale deeply, returning to the here and now. I hear the sound of fabric swishing on the other side of my bedroom door, and seconds later, Priscilla strolls in.
“Hunter.”
I hate the way she says my name. Like she's talking to a puppy. Like she owns me, for a secret I don’t give a shit about, personally. It’s other things I need kept quiet—things more likely to come to light if people start snooping around my family's past—but I know Priscilla doesn't know those things. Almost no one does.
Priscilla reaches behind her back and the long, suede robe she's wearing tonight falls dramatically to the floor, revealing...only skin. She's on me, has me stripped and on my mattress in seconds. Her hand slides around my cock, and I can't help but respond. I grit my molars as I harden and throb, forced along by nimble fingers and a warm, damp palm.
“Cum for me, Hunter. Cum for Mommy.”
I slit my eyes open, and the glare of the bathroom light on her face causes them to shut again. I'm having trouble finishing. I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly, think of another face instead. I'm done in no time, cumming into Priscilla's hands.
"What a good man. If you