she was caught on the run, Angelica could disappear into another slaver’s house and never be seen again.
Runaways were fair game.
He wished to hell he could tell her the truth, but he’d be risking too much, which meant he had to make her believe that she truly was his slave and her survival depended on doing his bidding.
Which meant he had to break her will and do it fast. Most of the time, it took very little to make a human submit—a threat of pain coupled with the taste of great pleasure beneath his fangs if she obeyed. Angelica wasn’t the typical human female, however, and he worried that if he started down this road he’d be forced to do things to her that would make him as bad as Engles.
A cold shudder went through him, but he really didn’t have a choice.
As he started up the stairs, he heard her bare feet slapping against the slate floor. She called out, “This isn’t right and you need to let me go. I don’t care that you bought me at some kind of freak-ass auction. I’m not a slave and you can’t make me one.”
Pausing on the third step and gripping the handrail, he turned to stare down at her as he considered his next move. He’d intended only to retrieve the outfit she’d need for the party and bring it to her, and afterward make her a couple of serious threats that he hoped might bring her in line. But she’d just proved yet again that breaking her will would be no simple thing.
Two of his guards arrived and took up positions on either side of the massive wood front door.
She watched them, her brows raised. He thought their arrival could work in his favor because the men were one more signal her brain clearly needed to help clarify her present reality.
He held a hand out to her. “Come with me. I think it’s time we had a heart-to-heart.”
She looked wary and didn’t move for a long moment. But after glancing once more at the guards, she finally put her feet in motion.
He led her up the stairs, then to the east wing that housed his private quarters, recently renovated to enhance his slaver identity.
He threw the doors wide, then passed by his bedroom, taking his time so she could see the level of his wealth. Money was power, another piece of information she clearly needed to figure out.
He had a sitting room on the right, then his exercise and massage rooms, and finally an expansive bathroom with a deep soaking tub in addition to a walk-in shower.
She didn’t say anything, but she’d slowed her movements to look around, which he took as a good sign.
The last room had cost him over a million, having required the dredging out of tons of rock. But the investment had speeded up his Starlin membership since the room had met the approval of several Starlin men who’d come to make an inspection.
As he grasped the door handle, he looked back at her. Most of her makeup was long gone, and her hair had come down to hang about her shoulders. She was in a state of disarray and looked ridiculously vulnerable as she held her head high. Even like this, with reddened eyes, she was damn beautiful. How he hated that fate had somehow put her in this heinous position.
She met his gaze. “So what’s beyond the door? What is it you need to show me? I’m guessing it’s some kind of oversized closet for your billionaire wardrobe.”
“See for yourself.”
He pushed the door wide, flipped on the lights that dotted the wood ceiling, then stepped aside to make way for her. “This is the game room, a place you and I will be spending a lot of time, starting now, actually.”
She moved in slowly, then gasped. “Oh, God. What is this?”
He’d designed the space based on one of the rooms Sweet Dove had kept in her sprawling home. She’d taken him there on an almost nightly basis. The result was essentially a padded torture chamber full of masks, whips, a variety of implements for cutting, two different kinds of tables with straps and stirrups, and a wall of chains and manacles.
Taking hold
Runaways were fair game.
He wished to hell he could tell her the truth, but he’d be risking too much, which meant he had to make her believe that she truly was his slave and her survival depended on doing his bidding.
Which meant he had to break her will and do it fast. Most of the time, it took very little to make a human submit—a threat of pain coupled with the taste of great pleasure beneath his fangs if she obeyed. Angelica wasn’t the typical human female, however, and he worried that if he started down this road he’d be forced to do things to her that would make him as bad as Engles.
A cold shudder went through him, but he really didn’t have a choice.
As he started up the stairs, he heard her bare feet slapping against the slate floor. She called out, “This isn’t right and you need to let me go. I don’t care that you bought me at some kind of freak-ass auction. I’m not a slave and you can’t make me one.”
Pausing on the third step and gripping the handrail, he turned to stare down at her as he considered his next move. He’d intended only to retrieve the outfit she’d need for the party and bring it to her, and afterward make her a couple of serious threats that he hoped might bring her in line. But she’d just proved yet again that breaking her will would be no simple thing.
Two of his guards arrived and took up positions on either side of the massive wood front door.
She watched them, her brows raised. He thought their arrival could work in his favor because the men were one more signal her brain clearly needed to help clarify her present reality.
He held a hand out to her. “Come with me. I think it’s time we had a heart-to-heart.”
She looked wary and didn’t move for a long moment. But after glancing once more at the guards, she finally put her feet in motion.
He led her up the stairs, then to the east wing that housed his private quarters, recently renovated to enhance his slaver identity.
He threw the doors wide, then passed by his bedroom, taking his time so she could see the level of his wealth. Money was power, another piece of information she clearly needed to figure out.
He had a sitting room on the right, then his exercise and massage rooms, and finally an expansive bathroom with a deep soaking tub in addition to a walk-in shower.
She didn’t say anything, but she’d slowed her movements to look around, which he took as a good sign.
The last room had cost him over a million, having required the dredging out of tons of rock. But the investment had speeded up his Starlin membership since the room had met the approval of several Starlin men who’d come to make an inspection.
As he grasped the door handle, he looked back at her. Most of her makeup was long gone, and her hair had come down to hang about her shoulders. She was in a state of disarray and looked ridiculously vulnerable as she held her head high. Even like this, with reddened eyes, she was damn beautiful. How he hated that fate had somehow put her in this heinous position.
She met his gaze. “So what’s beyond the door? What is it you need to show me? I’m guessing it’s some kind of oversized closet for your billionaire wardrobe.”
“See for yourself.”
He pushed the door wide, flipped on the lights that dotted the wood ceiling, then stepped aside to make way for her. “This is the game room, a place you and I will be spending a lot of time, starting now, actually.”
She moved in slowly, then gasped. “Oh, God. What is this?”
He’d designed the space based on one of the rooms Sweet Dove had kept in her sprawling home. She’d taken him there on an almost nightly basis. The result was essentially a padded torture chamber full of masks, whips, a variety of implements for cutting, two different kinds of tables with straps and stirrups, and a wall of chains and manacles.
Taking hold
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