Page 15

I watch her take in every one of my scars and tattoos. I wonder if she knows what they mean. She might be mafia, but she may not be well-versed in McCarthy tattoos.

“You’re Irish, and I don’t trust that.”

“No? What do you have against the Irish?”

Her face goes white, and her lips thin. “The fucking McCarthys held me hostage. I don’t trust them. They’re the reason I’m here.”

I pause, my hand on my belt, and bring my gaze to her slowly. “Come again? The McCarthys?”

She thinks it was us?

“You didn’t know?”

I can’t believe they had her convinced it was us. Of course they fucking did.

That might be useful… for now.

“No.” I shake my head. “The auction’s not affiliated with any mob family. They just have connections to move people fast.”

I unbuckle my belt. I hold her eyes as I draw it through the loops, double it in my fist, and snap it once before setting it on the table.

She pushes herself back on the sofa, as if to make herself smaller.

“I’m not going to take you. I didn’t buy you for that.”

She swallows hard. “Then why did you?”

“That’s complicated.” And she wouldn’t believe me if I told her, so I won’t waste my breath, not yet, not when she doesn’t even trust the food I’ll give her. She needs to believe the ruse for now.

Next, my trousers. I unbutton them, push them down my hips, and throw them on the table. Her shoulders rise a bit when she sees me wearing briefs. I'm not hard, not now, but her eyes find the shape of me.

“Did they hurt you?” I’ve got a laundry list of men I’m going to enjoy punishing painfully. What’s a few fucking more?

“Yes,” she says quietly. “Of course. They wanted to make sure they didn't leave visible bruises for the auction though.” She pauses, and for the first time since she became mine, something like fear flickers in her eyes. “Will you?” She eyes me, half naked in front of her.

I’ve got to hand it to her. She’s brave as fuck.

’Course I fucking won’t hurt her, but it’s better if she doesn’t know that. “Don't plan on it. But I wouldn't advise testing me.” She’ll find my palm across her arse, but nothing more.

I can see her jaw tighten from here. She didn’t like that.

“We'll get into the details later,” I say.

“What kind of accent is that? And why did you hide it?”

“Because I don't need anybody to know who I am.”

“Who are you?”

Bold question. I only smile at her. “The man who owns you.” I turn and walk to the shower before I see her reaction. “Now, no more questions. I need that fucking shower. You?”

I turn back to look at her. Her eyes widen, and she stares at me. “I’m fine.”

Is she? Or is she afraid of what I’ll do to her if she’s naked? Probably both. Don’t blame her, though, not really.

I can’t let myself get too soft, too sympathetic. Doesn’t matter that I haven’t been with a woman in years. Doesn’t matter that she’s beautiful and vulnerable, and that we’re all alone. I’ve been celibate for so long. What’s a little while longer?

I have to keep an eye on her. It’s a test.