Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“What does that mean?”
He wipes his hands on a cloth napkin then drops it. “Those details aren’t for a young lady’s ears.”
What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s enjoying this, without a doubt, and I don’t know what’s going on.
“Is my father okay?” I ask, scared of the answer as soon as the words are out.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Mostly. He won’t hurt you again. That’s what counts.” He checks his watch. “You should eat something. We have a few minutes.”
Feeling a sudden chill, I hug my arms to my chest. “I want to talk to my brother.”
“Oh, he’s fine. Odin, right?”
I nod, relieved. Although he could be lying.
“I need to call him. He’s probably so worried. I fell asleep. Santos… The man he left, he wouldn’t even let me out to get my phone.”
“Val. He’s very loyal to my brother. Bit of a cement block up here,” he says, tapping his head, “but I guess that’s what you want in a soldier. All muscle, no brains.”
I get up and take a step toward the door because this conversation will go nowhere. Caius Augustine will play with me. That is all. But before I take another, he’s in front of me—blocking my path, standing too close.
“Hmm…” he trails off. “There’s been a change of plans.”
I try to sidestep him, but he matches my movement. “I want my phone.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not possible.” He checks his watch. “In fact, we should go. You sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, then, the car should be downstairs.”
“I don’t need a car. My brother can pick me up.” I do drive but we’d come to the charity together. I try once more to pass Caius, and this time, he catches my arm to stop me.
“He’s probably occupied,” he says.
That makes me stop. “I want to go home.” I need to see Odin. Talk to him. Make sure he’s really okay.
“Home where your dad beat you?” he asks, no joking in his tone or facial expression. “Home where you’re unprotected?”
“I…” I pull free of him, rub my temples because the headache is worse. “What’s happening? Where is Santos? I have two more years. I know I have two more years. It’s in the contract.”
“When your father beat you—”
“Can you not say it like that?” I say, taking a few steps away.
“How should I say it?” he asks, stalking toward me, any joking—even if it was fake— gone. “When he whipped you? When he turned your legs black and blue?” He gestures down, and I cover what he can see. The bruises on my inner thighs are exposed every time I move, and the dress splits now that the stockings are gone. “How else? Any other way to put it?”
I don’t respond and he sighs.
“Like I was saying, when your father beat you, he breached the contract. He attempted to damage what was not his. What is ours.”
I look up at him, very, very aware of the word he just used. I belong to Santos. I know that. My brain has had time to process the insanity of it.
But I do not belong to this man.
“We’re taking ownership now,” he says.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
His phone buzzes with a text and he lifts it out of his pocket. He types a reply, then puts it away and turns back to me. “Car’s ready. I’ll take you home to get a few things. We’ll have the rest packed up and sent. Your flight is in a little over an hour, so we won’t have much time.”
“What flight?” Panic has me going along with him when he takes my arm and walks me back into the room.
“You’ll want your shoes.”
I look down at the discarded stocking, the shoes lying on their sides. I slip them on absently, then follow along as he takes me out of the bedroom.
Evelyn is standing at the window, talking to someone on the phone. She turns her back to us as Caius leads me out the front door where a different soldier accompanies us on the elevator, down to the lobby.
“What flight?” I ask again as we cross it, only a few people milling about. The rest will be passed out in their beds. The ones who are here watch us go. “School starts—”
“I’ll explain it all on our way,” he says as we exit the building and a man opens the door of an SUV with tinted windows. I climb into the back seat, and Caius follows. The door closes, and the soldier settles into the passenger seat as the man who opened the door for us takes the driver’s side.
“Explain what?” I ask Caius, who makes a point of dragging my seatbelt across my chest in a move that feels much more oppressive, much more foreboding, than it should.