Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Oblivious, he flips through a thick binder of year-end financial projections, wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose. Spreadsheets, budgets, numbers, he said. Something about the accounting coming due for Zodiac Corporation.
Not that I care. I’m filled with the kind of acidic emotion that seeps into everything, even the walls.
A harsh exhale escapes me as I drag my attention to Sebastian’s paintings. His style is unmistakable, defined by brooding texture and signature shadowplay. The woman from Oliver’s past haunts the room from those portraits, her presence chaperoning our every move.
How can Oliver stand it, the constant reminder of what he lost? Is the visual something he needs? Does the ache dull when he curates it, hanging his grief in frames for all to see?
I’m nowhere near that kind of acceptance.
I’m not ready to let go of my anger either.
Because after this morning’s trip to the dungeon, sympathy for Oliver Whitney eludes me. Maybe it’s buried under the shock somewhere, hiding in a place I can’t reach—not while my wrists still remember the threat of shackles.
He shifts in his seat, turns a page, and even the quiet brush of his fingertips on paper makes me cringe.
An hour ago, he dangled me in front of the Brotherhood, using my body to make a point before turning it into leverage, and now he’s going about work like it’s any other day? He’s too calm for someone who lit such a dangerous match.
And I’m too scorched to keep pretending I’m okay. “Where are you planning to take me?”
“You always do ask the right questions.” He sets the binder aside. “I like that about you.”
“Don’t.” My hands curl into fists. “Don’t act like this is a game. You were going to hand me over to Pax.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.” He tilts his head, chin in hand. “Or did you believe what I wanted you to believe?”
“That vote wasn’t some test! It was real.”
“And yet, here you are, untouched.”
I count to five, trying to weaken the storm inside me. “I want to know where you’re taking me.”
Rather than answering right away, he unfastens his cuffs and rolls the sleeves to his elbows. Then he lifts his glass, takes a leisurely sip, and says, “We’re going to the States.”
My heart jumps into my throat. “Why?”
“For an initiation.”
I don’t realize I’m clutching the edge of the chair until my knuckles turn white.
“Initiation into what?” I demand.
“A private circle.” His eyes stay on mine, unblinking. “Invitation-only.”
“Private as in…a secret society?”
“Yes, but secrecy isn’t the only thing that binds them. These men have particular tastes, and they’re very interested in meeting you.”
My insides contract, something vital recoiling from the threat he hasn’t yet spelled out. “What do they want with me?”
“Your virginity.”
“No! You can’t do that. It’s a breach of contract.” I’m desperate enough to use the rules as a shield. “The Brotherhood will kick you out of the auction.”
“What makes you think I want to marry you?”
That stops me cold. Unwittingly, I glance at the woman in the paintings, shrinking under the display of her bondage.
“So you want to ruin me for whoever wins, is that it?”
“I’m not taking your virginity, Novalee. I’m only using it as my way-in. The men in this group appreciate rare commodities.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You and I will give them an exclusive show, leaving your virginity intact.”
“But…what do they get out of that?”
“Poetic irony. The act of defiling something so innocent while preserving your maidenhead.”
“Maidenhead?” I scoff. “What is this, the sixteenth century?”
“I don’t think they had Vance’s elixir back then.” His mouth curves into a sly grin. “You’ll be under the influence again. The virgin doesn’t get to climax at this event.”
My eyes widen. “I’m not going.”
“It’s not a request. After my favorable vote today, you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing! You voted to punish me.”
“And then I saved you.” Rising from his seat, he stalks to where I’m sitting, amber liquid sloshing in his glass. Slowly, he sets the tumbler aside and invades my space, arms braced on the back of the chair.
He lowers his head, attention dipping to my cleavage. It’s a brief moment, but I feel that glance everywhere. Heat creeps up my neck, and the memory of him loitering in my doorway last night floats through my head.
The darkened room.
The soft light in the hall.
The weight of his stare.
The slide of my fingers through velvety flesh, every movement soaked with arousal.
The release that never came.
That same restless energy throbs at my core now, and I smash my thighs together. He’s stirring things I don’t want to feel, each spiral of need dragging me back to Liam.
Back to Sebastian, whose paintings suffocate me, every brushstroke a silent judgment.
Grief and anger collide in my chest, threatening to steal the air from my lungs. I grab hold of my anger with the last of my mental strength, and something long overdue snaps inside me.