Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The man takes me below deck and down a long, narrow hallway to a closed door. There’s a glass bubble set in the door at eye level. I catch a glimpse of movement inside the room and a muffled scream, “Let me out!”
The sound brings out the predator in me.
“Your purchase, sir,” the man says.
“Thank you,” I reply, and the man returns to the upper level, leaving me alone with my prize.
I can’t wait to let my eyes feast on her up close. To let my hands roam all over her naked body and force her down on her knees.
I rest my hand on the doorknob and pause for a second. Closing my eyes, I force myself to take a deep breath so I don’t show her how eager I am to own her. To take another look into those beautiful green eyes and make her my plaything.
All the power lies with me, and it makes me feel as if I’m on a high. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And even though I don’t fucking know her yet, this woman has an addictive mixture of innocence and sex appeal, and it’s weaving a spell around me.
Enough to make me want to know all there is to know about that sinful looking body of hers.
Lifting my chin, the corner of my mouth lifts as I go into predatory mode, ready to pounce on the prey that’s been haunting my thoughts since I laid eyes on her in that club.
Ready or not, kitten. Here I come.
Harper
The wait seems to last forever, every second gnawing at my already frail nerves.
I was just sold. Like a goddamn piece of meat. What the fuck?
And it was Marcello who bid on me. A million fucking dollars? Am I worth that much?
Of course you are, Harper! Don’t fucking think like that.
I take a deep breath before I slap myself. I’m not the one who deserves the slap here. It’s those men out there thinking they can just buy women like goods.
Fuck them and the high horses they rode in on.
I sigh to myself and look around, but there’s not much to see. I’m in a small bunker room down below deck. There’s a soft, red leather sofa in the back with a wooden table right next to it and a glass filled with whiskey situated on top. I haven’t touched it, and I refuse to sit down.
The place is damp, barely lit, and it reeks of sex. All the previous girls were probably brought here, too, including Melanie. The thought makes a repulsed shiver ripple down my spine. Everyone’s been sold to fuck knows who and taken to only God knows where. At least a few of those filthy men sitting in that room had their hands on them, I’m sure. My fist balls at the thought of that poor crying girl having to sit here and be subjected to some suited bastard’s mercilessness and grubby paws.
All the girls from the club snatched and sold off like their lives meant nothing.
Including me. Bile churns in my stomach, and my muscles tense painfully.
But out of all the men who were there, I never expected Marcello to buy me.
I don’t remember many faces, but him … I clearly remember him. He’s that guy from the club, the dangerous-looking one who snuck into the VIP room where I was hiding to seduce me. Or try to, at least. Every word, every touch made me yearn for him against my better instinct.
And then he disappeared.
Only to show up here. Out of all the places he could be, he’s right where I am while I’m being sold by a bunch of Russian mobsters? The same guys who attacked the club he was at?
Nothing about this feels right.
A cold draft flutters into the room from underneath the door, and I wrap my arms around my chest while shivering. It doesn’t help one bit to warm up. I’m scantily clad, and I don’t think I’ll get my clothes back. Not that those were modest, seeing as they were the clothes I received at the club, but they were better than what I’m wearing now.
Still, I refuse to use the blanket draped over the couch. Maybe they’re watching me, and if they are, I don’t want to appear weak.
I am not fucking weak. And fuck them for making me even consider it.
Approaching the door, I bang hard on it with a fist. “Let me out!”
Whoever comes in next is going to pay for what they’ve done to me. I don’t care what kind of weapon they carry or how much they threaten me. They’ve hurt enough people, and I won’t be next.
When I hear footsteps, I inch back from the door, searching around for something to grab, but the place is empty. Except for that one damn glass.