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“My grand accommodation?” Annie protests. “I want a nicer room!” She yells as she is dragged out of the door.
Light-headedness threatens to darken my world if I don't breathe soon. Death is my only escape.
“Breathe.” The voice is now an order.
All that registers is the pounding of my heart.
“Just breathe slowly.”
I do, heaven only knows why.
“There we are, precious.”
I try to sit up, and strong hands help me. Then I try to open my eyes.
I'm lying on the dining room floor, leaning against Knox's broad chest.
“Please don’t rent me out to your men,” I beg.
My hand shoots to my mouth as I realise I can speak.
“It helps with breathing.” Knox explains softly, his hand running through my hair. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“Yes it is. You said I'm your toy. You're going to tie me up and let everyone have a turn with me and- and y... you cut me.” My voice is cut short by sobs. Why am I being punished?
“My men aren't getting anywhere near you. No one is going anywhere near you.” Knox holds me tight. “I don't share my toys.”
“But you…” I run my fingers through the blood. Trying to stop myself from crying like a child again.
“It won't scar, they are just shallow cuts. Just enough to get your sister's protective side up.” His fingers gently wipe the blood away with a napkin leaving nothing but a faint line behind. “And get you up.”
“Didn't seem to work with Annie.” I need to just accept my fate and the first chance I get to off myself I'm taking it. I can't trust him anymore than I could trust my sister.
“I just wanted you to hear her words yourself. To realise your sister isn't going to do shit for you.”
“Well thanks for that.” I shouldn't be sarcastic with the man who just cut me but fuck him.
“Nothing bad will happen to you.”
“Some would say it already did.” I lift my hand to my throat on the off chance, but the leather collar still claims me as a slave. I try to stand up so I can go clean myself up. I hate him. My attempt at standing is thwarted when he grabs my chin, tipping my head up.
“You want to know why I tied you down and not her, why I showed you how good it could be and not her.”
“Why?”
“Because she wouldn't like it, and I knew you would.”
“I didn't.”
“Didn't you?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to make you feel good again, treasure?”
“Yes.” My own confession destroys me. I'm so weak, I shouldn't tell him that, but I feel drained and empty, and I want to feel full again.
“I'm going to take you upstairs to get cleaned up and make you feel better.”
