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Property.
I fixed my gaze on the sheer curtains, pulled aside enough for me to glimpse the darkness outside…again.
Again.
The word resounded. Three days they'd held me here. Three days to pace the floor and come up with every vile thing I wanted to do to that man…andhis fucking sons, the moment I could escape. I was London St. James’s prisoner. There were no two ways around that. I’d tried the locks on the windows, but the plastic cutlery he left me with proved useless.
Still, I'd managed to get one of the locks bent enough to look like I could escape. That would piss him off and ruin his perfect bedroom…one he'd set up for me.
Did he think the darkened, moody tone was sexy? I lifted my gaze to the black felt headboard on the king size bed and the soft pink Egyptian cotton sheets. Did he think I’d likeanythinghe bought me? The perfect sheets drew my gaze. Sheets that felt like satin as I slid between them.
Right now, only the fitted bottom sheet was there. I looked down to the same dusty pink wrapped around my body. Because the other one was occupied. I tucked the corner back in place around my hips and checked the knot at my back. It seemed like his expensive sheets weren’t only good for sleeping on, they also came in handy to wear.
Black, paired with blood red, and soft pinks filled the expansive room. No, I hated this room and everything in it.
Ward.
That’s what he called me. But that was just a pretty name for a captive. His…own personal slave. Only he hadn’t forced me. Not yet, at least. I pressed my palm against the door, then tried the handle. The lock caught, the steel, unforgiving.“Let me the fuck out!”
I slammed my fist against the wood.
Outside, there was a whisper of sound.
A scrape of something on the other side.
Terror pricked at the nape of my neck, standing my hair on end. “I know you’re there.” I pressed my palm against the painted wood. “I can hear you breathing.”
“Can you?”
I flinched at the voice and pulled away. But the voice wasn’t London’s. It was the son, only which one was it? Their identical faces filled me, only everything else was a blur. “Your name.” I stared at the door. “What is it again?”
Silence. Before a tiny chuff.
That sound pissed me off. “I say something funny to you?”
Still there was nothing.
The corner of my lip twitched. “You can’t keep me here forever. I’ll get free. I might even killdaddywhile I’m at it, what do you think about that, asshole?”
I knew he heard me, but still, he said nothing. That only incited my rage.
“Answer me!”I screamed, beating the door until it shuddered.“Answer MEEE!”
But he didn’t. Because he wasn’t there, not anymore. There was an emptiness he'd left behind. It was a vacuum of silence. Just like this fucking place. A crushing weight…a heaviness in my gut. Because I'd disappeared, again…hadn’t I?
Just like the first time, when my family got rid of me the first opportunity they had. I'd fought and kicked when they'd tried to drag me to some fucking convent. I'd lashed out, begging to stay when they realized their threats to me were nothing more than words.
To be fair, they'd never loved me.
Hell, they'd barely even tolerated me.
Because they weren’t my blood. No one was.
I should consider myself lucky that I hadn’t been in the foster care system. No, instead I’d been raised by parents who had the emotional connections of fucking robots.
All I had was me. My wits. My strength.My cunning.
That had to be enough to get me out of this.
