As if to prove my point, as I step out of the car, two guards suddenly bracket me, one reaching for my arm.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap, backing away and nearly tripping over a crack in the concrete. The guards look at the man who bought me, who nods slightly. They don’t try to grab me again, more or less herding me instead, away from the Maserati and toward the shiny silver lift.
I don’t want to get into that thing. I don’t want to know where he’ll take me. Will he rape me? Will he let his men hurt me?
“No- I just-” My steps slow to a standstill and one of the guards bumps into me. The monster who bought me is already at the open doors of the lift, and he raises a brow at my defiance. My face is wet with sweat and I’m shaking, a metallic taste flooding my mouth. “I’m not getting in there,” I babble, “let me go. I won’t tell my brothers who you are. We’ll just forget this happened.” I dig my feet into the concrete, trying to keep away from that door.
He’s silent, head tilted as he examines my little meltdown. I was so brave earlier. I cursed and fought but now I can’t think past the blind terror swamping me.
If I go in there, I won’t come out alive.
“My brothers- our clan- they’ll pay you back,” I gasp, “every pound.”
He suddenly chuckles, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling toward me. “I don’t want MacTavish money.” Up close, the smile that spreads across his full lips - teeth flashing white in the dark of his beard - is horrifying, sadistic. “I want MacTavish blood.”
His guards grip my upper arms, hefting me up as I kick and scream and pull me into the lift.
Chapter Seven
In which Sorcha becomes the World’s Most Unwilling Houseguest.
Alastair…
The girl picked an odd time to dissolve into hysterics.
Sorcha kicks and thrashes, screaming her lungs out while fighting the hold my guards have on her. When she kicks at the lift’s mirrored door, she leaves a streak of blood behind.
Frowning, I grab her ankle, ignoring her efforts to pull it loose. There are several little cuts littering the sole of her foot and her big toe is streaming blood.
“Stop screaming.”
I tighten my grip on her ankle until she stops, panting and glaring at me with tear-glazed eyes. Sheshouldcry and beg for her life, but I’m not in the mood to hear it.
“If you can control yourself, I will take off your handcuffs and have your feet bandaged. If you continue to scream, I will lock you in an empty room and keep you there without food and water for days. Make your choice.”
She stills for a moment, chest heaving as she tries to drag in enough oxygen. I’d forced myself to not look at her in a sexual light at that pathetic auction, unlike the rest of the beasts. Butthere’s no denying the girl is beautiful. Even with her hair in a wild tangle and smeared mascara, Sorcha MacTavish is a vision.
“I can…” she pauses, clearly swallowing back all the epithets that she wants to call me. “I can calm down.”
“Good.” The door opens and I bend slightly, sliding my arm under her legs and swinging her up as she yelps, grabbing a fistful of my jacket. She’s stiff as a board as I carry her into a guest room, putting her on the bed. It’s the one directly across from my master suite and has the added distinction of being built with several restraint points on the huge canopy bed. I rarely play my games at home, but when I do, this room is equipped for it. If the girl goes exploring, it should give her a healthy dose of fear.
Fear as a motivator can be effective and thorough. Keeping her terrified and less likely to cause trouble is the smartest option until I decide how she’ll be the most useful to me.
Callum stands in the doorway. “Boss? Dr. Fujimoto is here.” The private doctor we keep on call is just behind him, holding his black bag.
“Excellent timing, doctor.” I shake his hand. He’s a kindly-looking older man, black hair turning silver, which he jokingly attributes to working with us.
Well, perhaps he’s not joking. But he’s committed his medical career to us until he retires.
“Good to see you, Alastair, who is our patient?”
He’s looking the girl over, likely expecting a bullet hole or stab wound.
“I purchased her from a slave auction,” I say, ignoring his look of shock. “She was drugged and she’s still unsteady. Her feet arecut up and bloody. Check her over and see if there’s anything else, and look for any injection sites, I want to be sure a tracker wasn’t inserted.”
The doctor is eyeing me, brows drawn together. He’s trying to determine why I bought the girl, given my stance on human trafficking. I’m not inclined to enlighten him.
“Very well,” he sighs, heading over to her. “Young lady, I’m Dr. Fujimoto, can I ask your name?” He’s holding his hand out for her to shake it, and after a long moment and a glance at me, she does so.
