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She was a fighter.
I leaned down until my lips touched her ear. “Do that again, and I’ll take you over my knee, and paint your ass a beautiful shade of red, Stellina,” I whispered, then inhaled her scent. She didn’t wear any perfume. But her smell was bewitching—light, female, and utterly irresistible.
The American slave.
My obsession.
Stellina—little star because it fit her.
When she turned quiet and softened in my arms, I released her mouth. “Where are you going?”
“Escape.”
The word was almost inaudible. A silent sound floating on one long exhale.
Fuck.
“Who are you?”
She shrugged.
Why wouldn’t she tell me her name? “How long have you been here?”
She shrugged again.
I clenched my jaw. “If you want my help,” I growled into her ear, “you better start talking.”
I could feel her vibrating with angry energy in my arms.
“You should help me because I helped you,” she said defiantly.
“You did what?” I couldn’t hide the amusement in my voice. Didn’t even try. In what world could a powerless slave like her have helped me?
“I saved your life. The drink the Ape offered you had poison in it. If I hadn’t stepped in, you would be dead by now.”
Poison? Was she serious? I hadn’t seen anything. And who the fuck was the Ape? Uncle Fausto? “Who put poison in my drink?”
“Not your drink, his drink, the one he gave you after his lackey spilled yours.”
I replayed the situation in my head. Uncle Fausto handed me his wine after the spill. Would he be crazy enough to poison his own drink and then hand it to me?
“Wouldn’t he be dead by now? I gave him back the drink. I saw him sip.”
She shrugged.
Fuck.
I didn’t know what to believe, had no evidence of her claims.
“You can always check the tapes.”
“Tapes?”
“There are surveillance cameras everywhere. He’s deranged; he gets off on watching.”
“Watching what?”
She snapped her mouth shut.
