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Nuzzling my nose with his, he arched back to look into my eyes. "Am I hot enough yet,corderito?"
"Yeah, Trig." Nodding eagerly, I hooked my arm around his neck. "You're off the charts," I breathed before crashing my lips to his…
Dragging myself from my reverie, I watched from my perch on my cot as Patrice rolled a trolley laden down with supplies into my latest sleeping quarters – a room in the underground level of the compound, alongside the working whores.
A temporary rush of relief flooded my veins at the sight of my former bodyguard, before my outrage quickly sniffed that out.
I was too pissed to be relieved.
I was in trouble.
I broke the rules.
I defiled the sacred Crellid code by stepping foot outside of the estate without Fabio's permission.
And now I was being punished for my crimes, being taught a hard lesson on where a woman ranked in the grand scheme of things.
At the bottom.
Lower than the dogs.
Upon my return from my little excursion to the church, I had been seized by Fabio's guards and snatched away from my glorified owner – who, I presumed, received a glorious scolding for not controlling his unruly whore.
Worst of all, Trigger didn’t put up a fight when they dragged me, kicking and screaming, off his cock.
He let them take me.
He didn’t even bat an eyelid.
With his seed still dripping from my thighs, he let those men carry me away, not bothering to remove his Ray Bans while he watched them take me.
He didn’t even flinch.
He was a cold-hearted, emotionless bastard, with a stone in place of a heart.
The guards had taken me to the underground level of the compound, where I was left completely unprotected and vulnerable.
Beaten until I was black and blue and stripped naked, Fabio's guards had then hosed me down with frigid water, washing the fight out of my body, right along with the tiny scrap of dignity I'd been wrestling to hold onto.
Degraded and numb, I had curled up in a ball on the floor and waited for Trigger to burst into the room and gun the bastards down.
He never came.
Instead, I was forced to dress in the standard uniform for the working whores, a lace bra and thong, before being dragged down a narrow, stone corridor and tossed into this very windowless, cage-like room.
Every night, my door was opened and the guards presented me to potential clients, who, along with the guards, enjoyed terrorizing me until my sanity threatened to snap, before being informed that I was still a claimed whore.
Apparently, I was still the property of the bastard prince and, until Fabio and Trigger came to an agreement on how to deal with my unacceptable disobedience, I could not be rented or bought.
Six long days and even longer nights had passed by without so much as a glimpse of Trigger.
Not once had he come down to see if I was alive or dead, starving or raped, and not once had I stopped plotting my revenge.
"Jefesend book," Patrice explained in that deep, Latino drawl of his. "Food, water, and blanket."
"How generous," I hissed, hands balling into fists at my side as I sat in my bra and panties on the rubber mattress. "You can tell yourjefethat I'm going to kick his ass."
A ghost of a smile teased his lips and my fury soared.
