“I’m not sure about her face, but she has a truly unforgettable mouth.” Luther laughs. “Don’t you, baby girl?”
Humiliation burns holes in my chest as I smile and silently wish I had the power to slaughter them all. I picture myself grabbing Luther’s glass, smashing it against the coffee table, and stabbing the jagged remains into his neck.
I could do it, too.
I could kill him. I would kill him. If only I wasn’t scared of whatever new hell I’d be flung into when someone else claimed me as their possession.
I take a backward step, distancing myself from temptation.
“Where are you going?” He pats his lap. “Come here.”
My stomach twists.
I need to check on Lilly. I need these men to find another focus.
But I also need to remember I have no choice.
I reluctantly sulk forward, taking note of the strangers who track my movements.
“Come on.” Luther lashes out, grabbing my wrist to yank me down to him. “There’s no need to be shy.”
I stumble into his lap, my back ramrod as his calloused palm lands on my thigh to hold me in place. It’s a familiar scene—my ass against his crotch, his hand a tormenting reminder against my skin, his audience held captive.
He drags the material of my dress higher and higher with the slide of his palm toward the apex of my thighs.
My skin shudders with an outbreak of goosebumps as I brace myself for violation. Soon I’ll have to fight. To scream and kick and thrash because that’s all part of the performance.
As the seconds tick by to my opening act, I focus along the oceanic horizon. I try to make the picturesque scenery soothe me. But the hard stare of Cole’s companion from my periphery is a threat I can’t ignore.
He’s glowering at me, his nostrils flaring.
He wants me. I can see it in his eyes—the determination. The severity.
He barely blinks as he holds my gaze, not lowering his attention to the thigh Luther continues to expose.
Perhaps it’s because his lust is threadbare. Is he dying for a taste or a touch?
“I don’t mean to cock block,” he drawls, “but is that food still on the way?”
I stiffen, confused.
“I’m starving.” He turns his attention to Cole. “And you haven’t even eaten today.”
Luther’s hand pauses on my thigh. The filthy sense of approaching doom dissipates. I’m just not sure if I’m receiving a reprieve or merely being toyed with.
“Yes. Food.” Luther slaps my leg, the sting rushing through me as he shoves me from his lap. “We need to feed our guests.”
I stagger to my feet, baffled. The gift of my degradation has never been rejected before. My humiliation has always been a coveted prize.
I’m so completely caught off guard I have to force myself to snap out of the bewilderment and hustle to the door to slip inside.
But I don’t leave. I remain close to the glass, my heart in my throat as I listen to the disjointed conversation filtering through the barrier.
Their words are hard to hear over the rush of blood in my ears. There are references to a personal harem and I’m sure it’s Cole’s associate who announces he’d “part ways with a lot of money for just a taste.”
So why did he reject the full dose of my humiliation?
I nudge the door wider, hoping for clearer insight, only to panic at the soft footfalls approaching from behind me. I swing around, praying I don’t get caught snooping for a third time when Abigail creeps into the hall.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
I wither in relief and place a hand to my chest, hoping to soothe my ragged heartbeats. “Nothing. Where’s Lilly?”
“Chris got to her before we did.”
“And?” My turmoil returns faster than it receded.
She cringes. “He messed around with her a little but got frustrated with her tears. She doesn’t fight back anymore. She just lays there, playing dead. Now she won’t stop sobbing. What should we do?”
We should make him pay. Humiliate and violate. I could spend days—weeks—torturing him before I stole his final breath. But wishes are for those with luck and we have none.
“Get her out of bed. Make her shower. Then force her to eat. Keep her busy the best you can,” I explain. “If we occupy her mind we might be able to buy her more time.”
She nods and focuses outside. “Are you going to tell me what they’re talking about out there?”
“I don’t think we need to worry about Luther’s son.” I reach behind me and close the door. “Their focus seems to be food, not play.”
For the moment, at least.
“Are you sure?”
“For now.” I walk by her, heading for the kitchen. “I need to prepare them something to eat. Take care of Lilly until I can get to her.”
I don’t look back. I’m too busy rebuilding my walls. Creating strength. Locking down emotion. I need to focus to make sure I’m ready for the imminent threats.
Abi sighs. “But—”
“Go,” I grate. “Hurry up.”
I stalk into the kitchen and pull open the fridge, struggling to juggle all the roles expected of me. I’m the savior and the victim. The leader and the servant. The nurturer and also so badly in need of nurturing.
And above all else, I’m a mess. Just like everyone else.
I grab an assortment of cheeses, along with grapes and pâté, placing them all on the counter when the sound of the sliding door brushes my ears again.
I keep my focus on the food in front of me, taking my time to place them on a serving platter as I wait for Luther to hurl abuse at me for being an unaccommodating host.
“Penny…”
I freeze at the unexpected voice, the tone far younger than Luther’s.
I don’t turn. I already know the low, husky cadence comes from the man with the stubbled jaw. The one who stopped the progression of a monster’s hand along my thigh.
“My name is Luca,” he murmurs. “I work for Cole.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. My limbs tingle with the need to protect myself. His tone may be laced with kindness, but I hear it for the deception it is.
“I know who you are,” he whispers. “I know where you’re from.”
I stiffen as unwanted memories assail me, hitting like a slap across the face. I fight not to remember the long-forgotten place he speaks of—my childhood home. The friendly neighborhood I grew up in. The warmth. The love.
I place both hands on the counter, desperate for the smooth stability, and raise my attention to his. Up close I can make out the harsh hazel irises. They scrutinize me, trying to read my anxious thoughts.
“I know about your family.” He flicks a cautionary glance toward the entryway on the opposite side of the kitchen, then returns his gaze to mine as he steps forward. “I can help yo—”
“I think you’re confused.” I force a smile. “Luther won’t share me. So, whatever you’re playing at, whatever stunt you’re trying to pull, it won’t work. I’m not to be touched.”
His jaw tightens.
I’ve spoiled his plan. Or at least I’ve hit a sore spot. God only knows if this man is smart enough to listen to my caution.