Claimed And Marked By Her Stepbrother Mates novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21: 21-Even Selling Myself

Helanie:

While everyone unpacked their belongings, I sat and waited for Lamar to leave. He didn’t unpack his bags.

After a few seconds of silence, he rose from his mattress, slid his phone into his pants pocket, and glanced at everyone while walking toward the door. I only gave him a few seconds’ head start because I didn’t want to be left too far behind. Immediately, I made my way to the exit.

"Hey! If you’re going, check if the warriors are bringing food for us," I heard Sydney yell, but I didn’t respond to her. I was already out the door and didn’t plan to go back inside until I had this talk with Lamar.

As he had mentioned, he was waiting for me by the tree, a cigarette in one hand and some cards in the other.

"You said you could help me," I approached him, still carrying my bag over my shoulder. There was nothing in it worth unpacking—just a few items I preferred to keep close.

"You need money," he said again, this time only raising his eyes.

"I do," I replied.

"How old are you?" he scanned me from head to toe and asked.

"I am eighteen," I responded.

He nodded his head before chuckling softly. "You look much older than your age. You have quite a body to die for—and I’m not flirting." Before I could even take it as a compliment, he clarified that it wasn’t even that: "I just stated a fact. Anyway, I need to see your ID. I don’t want to get in trouble."

Luckily for me, I had made my ID the day I turned eighteen, the cursed day of my life. It was our pack’s rule that whenever someone turned eighteen, they had to register and obtain an ID right away.

I handed him my ID and watched him raise his brow, then smirk again. "You said you don’t belong to a pack."

The moment he said that, I felt my heart flip inside my chest and snatched the ID out of his hands.

"You are one year younger than me," he chuckled and shook his head.

"They will pay you good money, but remember, they might ask for some really unholy work," he uttered, unfazed by how quickly I took my ID back from him.

"What kind of work?" I asked, and by this point, I could tell he was ready to leave. He had tossed his bag over his shoulder and was striding away from the cabin.

"Um, sort of pleasure. But you get to decide if you want to do it or not. They have tiers: you can do the strip dance, lap dance, oral, hand job—stuff like that. You will get paid based on it." I suddenly stopped walking behind him when I heard the kind of work he was suggesting.

The problem wasn’t that I considered women who did that work to be of any less respect than others; the issue was my own trauma. I wasn’t sure I could even imagine myself getting close to someone, let alone giving them any kind of pleasure. _{freewёbnoνel.com}

"Is there no other work?" My voice came out like a faint cry for help.

He halted in his tracks and turned around to look me in the eye as he said, "Sorry! This is all I know. Unless you can sell drugs."