“The… pillow on the couch is green and blue,” she says, her voice a little stronger.
“Good girl,” I repeat, “you did well. I will carry you to the bathroom.”
“My feet feel a lot better, I could walk,” she mumbles, and I ignore her. When I’ve seated her on the toilet, she stares at me, wide-eyed. “Can you please give me some privacy?”
Folding my arms, I lean against the shower. “I could,” I agree pleasantly, “but I won’t.”
“Why?” she asks plaintively.
“Because you’re still shaking and unsteady.” Why am I bothering to explain anything to her? She should obey me without question. Checking my watch, I eye her sternly. “Move this along, I have a busy day ahead.”
“I can’t just pee on demand,” she says crossly, her nightmare forgotten as her chin juts out.
“It will be less pleasant if I have to pull down your panties,” I warn, but I turn on the water and she breathes a little sigh of relief.
After she washes her hands and face, I bring her back into the bedroom, settling her on the mattress while I pick out a dress. I’d called a personal shopper and ordered a closet full of clothes last night, and they were delivered within the hour. I would prefer to keep the girl in lingerie during her stay with me, but I can admit that it is impractical. Remembering her nightmare, I pull out a soft sweater with sleeves that end at the tips of her fingers and a hem that drops midway on her thighs. She gratefully wraps her arms around her chest and stares up at me.
“What now?”
It’s so easy to pick her up, lighter than a sparrow, she is. “I’m taking you down to breakfast.”
I choose not to examine why I am not keeping her locked in her room.
It’s just breakfast.
Chapter Ten
In which Sorcha begins to strategize.
Sorcha…
“All the same rules apply. You do not speak unless I allow it.”
Here’sthe mean son of a bitch who bought me, not the man who showed me that odd kindness upstairs. My face flushes with the realization that he’s seen me at my worst; sweating, crying, and screaming, begging for help that never comes in my nightmares.
When he moves to put me down on the chair in the giant, bleak dining room, I look longingly outside. The windows in my room are bolted shut. Aside from the race to the car after that horrible auction, I haven't been outside for days.
“Do you think-” Oh, shite. His rules.
“Did you forget that rule between your bedroom and this chair?” he snaps.
I hate this so much. Staring up at him, I wait for permission, or to be thrown back in that room, or… I don’t know what this man is capable of doing to me.
His lips press together before he gives the slightest sigh. “You may speak.”
“Do you think we could eat outside? On the terrace?” Examining his chilly expression, my hope fades. “It’s such a nice day?” I hate that it comes out as a question.
He’s still holding me as easily as he would his coffee mug, with no apparent strain, his casual strength reminding me that he can kill me in an instant if he wants to.
“Eileen,” he says, eyes still on me, “we’ll take breakfast out on the terrace today.”
“Very well, Mr.-” She shuts her mouth, going pale.
So, he’s told her not to say his name? He’s going to a lot of trouble to keep me from learning his identity. She opens the French doors to the terrace and he carries me out. His chest is wide and firm, and even under his suit, I can feel his biceps flex as he lowers me onto one of the wicker seats around the outside table. I hate that he smells good, my captor, like the forest, aged leather, and the mint on his breath.
Eileen serves us freshly baked almond croissants, sliced fruit, and scrambled eggs in silence. He eats while scrolling on his phone, most likely looking at porn.
Or piles of money. Or piles of dead bodies, I don’t know. This is a man who buys human beings. It could be something even more horrific than dead bodies. Shuddering, I try to push the thought away but he notices with that uncanny ability to spot my slightest twitch.
