Page 20

“When you're done.”

He pushes off the doorframe and picks up the rest of my sandwich. I watch him eat it in two bites.

I cross my arms. “I want a shower.”

He nods. “Take one, then. And mind how you speak to me, lass.” He takes a pull from his own bottle. “Try that again.”

I’m humbled after the spanking, after the vivid reminder of how much stronger he is and how much power he holds over me. So I don’t snap back. I already know that won’t end well.

I try again. “I’d like a shower, please.”

He nods, approving, and takes a second sandwich from the bag. “Go on, then.”

I wait to see if he’ll tell me to keep the door open or insist I undress in front of him, but he doesn’t. A minute later, I see why.

The bathroom door doesn’t have a lock. Rather, it has the housing for one, but the pin’s been removed. Brilliant. Useful information about how much he expected he’d have to barricade me. Either that, or he’s done this before. I wouldn’t be surprised.

I step into the steaming-hot water, and god, it feels so damn good. I hiss when the water hits my ass, shifting quickly. It stings, a specific, sharp reminder in case I’d managed to forget. Bet he’d like that.

The thought arrives before the anger does. That’s the problem.

I’d give anything for a razor, but for now, I take solace in the thick lather of the shampoo, the soft silk of the conditioner, and the vanilla-lavender scent of the soap. Luxuries I haven’t had in so long and won’t ever take for granted again.

I turn the water as hot as it can get. I want to burn the residue from tonight off my skin.

But I’m tired. So after I’m clean enough, I shut the water off and wrap myself in a towel. When I come out, I find he’s made his way to the bed, legs propped up, scrolling on his phone.

If he were planning to rape me, he would have by now. That's not what this is.

What this is, I don't understand yet.

Why pay as much as he did, spend as aggressively as he did, only to take me to a hotel room and feed me?

He had me over his lap with nothing but a towel between us, and his hands stayed where he said they would. That's interesting. I don't know what to do with data points that make him less dangerous and more something else entirely. Then he put me on my feet almost chastely, and he hasn’t tried to touch me at all.

When I showered, he didn’t let me lock the door, but he stayed a good distance away and didn’t snoop.

Maybe it feels like the least he can do. I hope he still feels guilty for spanking me, and I’m going to milk that guilt for as long as I possibly can.

It’s interesting to me that he apologized. He doesn’t strike me as the type who would. He’s not of the same register as my captors.

“Clothes are on the bed.”

He brought a small pair of shorts and a tank top, both good quality, made of soft, silky material. I like them. I take them to the bathroom to change.

It feels like a momentary reprieve from what I’ve been through and whatever else comes next.

When I come out, he’s moved. The phone is face down on the nightstand, and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, with his elbows on his knees, staring at the wall with a frown. I wish I didn’t know that feeling, the introspection that takes you nowhere, but I do. I wish it didn’t make me feel almost sympathetic toward him.

I hate him. I hate his family. I hate what they did, what they stand for, and where I am as a result. But it’s easier to hate the family as a whole than it is to hate the one man sitting in front of me now.

He looks over at me. His eyes move to what I’m wearing, to my damp hair, then back to my face. Standing, he nods toward the bed. “Bed’s yours. I’m out on the sofa.”

I almost want to tell him thank you.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Is this just a prelude to taking me to a second auction?

“Your assessment of what it means to be nice to you is shite, love,” he says with a mirthless laugh. He looks at me with those blue eyes. “I imagine you haven’t had a comfortable bed for ages. I haven’t either, but I’ve got one waiting at home.” Then his eyes go glacial cold and his face stern. “And you can’t leave the bedroom without coming through the living room, so I can watch you best this way.”