Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“I should stay. I’d rather watch a movie here where it’s warm.”
“Not an option.” Hooking my arm through hers, I lead her downstairs. “I want to show you off.” Every man in Marseille and to the ends of the world needs to understand she’s mine. No one will ever stake a claim on her again, no man in the mob, and no man outside of the families. No one will be foolish enough.
Her spine stiffens. “I’m not a showpiece.”
“You are whatever I want you to be.”
She pulls to a stop. “I don’t want to be auctioned.”
“It’s for charity.”
“What happens after the bidding?”
“You dance with the highest bidder.”
“Just a dance?”
Unfortunately, no. Mostly not. The high society of Marseille enjoys a bit of swinging while raising money for a good cause.
She yanks on my sleeve. “Is the winner going to expect sex?”
“Most probably.”
Her nostrils flare. “Is this why you dressed me up like a slut?”
“Careful, Zoe. One, you look beautiful, and two, you should really remember to trust me.”
“To trust you to whore me out?”
A nerve pinches between my shoulder blades. We were doing so well with her obeying me blindly. I grip her arm. “You’re not a whore, and I’m not tempted to make one of you.”
Her words are spoken breathlessly. “You already have.”
My anger starts to simmer. A curl slips loose from her updo as I shake her. “Take that back.”
“I can’t.” Tears pool in her eyes, giving them that expressive edge I love so much. “I can’t take back my virginity.”
Bringing that up now makes me angrier, because I don’t like how she puts it. I don’t like how she sees it.
“We made a deal,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Exactly.” She stares up at me, fearless but wary. “For which I’m paying with my body. Tell me that doesn’t make me your whore.”
I shake her harder. More curls fall to her shoulders. “It’s nothing like that.”
“If that’s what you believe, you’re lying to yourself.”
I march her backward with a palm on her chest and slam her body against the wall. “When have I ever treated you like a whore?”
“Whores get paid.” Emotions swirl in her eyes, teardrops trapped behind a brilliant blue. “You’re paying me with my brother’s life.”
Grabbing her neck, I fold my fingers around the slender column. “You’ll be wise to shut up now, Zoe.”
Her chest heaves with breaths. Her palms are pressed flat on the wall next to her hips. She’s scared, but she doesn’t back off. She keeps on fucking pushing me. “Can’t face the truth? The diamonds, the clothes, the tutor, what are they if not payment?”
I squeeze harder. “Gifts. Fucking gifts, you unthankful little—”
She lifts her chin, defying the hold than can snap her neck. “Say it.”
Goddamn. My grip slackens.
“Go ahead,” she says. “Finish what you were going to say.”
“Bitch,” I grit out, my whole body shaking with anger. “You unthankful little bitch.”
Fuck dammit. It’s true. Every word she said is chiseled down to its naked, hurtful truth. I made her a whore, but a cherished one. Alexis would’ve done so much worse.
Her body sags against the wall, her tiny frame crumbling. “Is this what showing me off means?” She sweeps a hand over the dress. “I look pretty for your friends? You share me when the mood hits?”
Slamming a palm next to her face on the wall, I lean in. “You don’t know me, remember? If I’m ever inclined to share, you’ll do as I tell you, and you’ll do it with a smile on your face. If I tell you to swallow my best friend’s cock and take it in your pussy and up your ass, you’ll do that, too.”
I don’t have a best friend, and I’d rather saw off my dick than share her, but she doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t deserve the power of that kind of knowledge. What she does need to know by now is to fucking trust me. I guess we have a few more lessons to go.
Her blue eyes are awash with anger. “You’re an asshole.”
No arguing that fact. It’s the hurt in those pretty baby blues that hits me squarely in the chest.
“We’re going to be late.” I grip her wrist and drag her behind me, my earlier good mood down the drain.
She doesn’t say a word as we get into the car and drive to Marseille. She stares from her window at the dark landscape. I clench the wheel so hard the ring with our family crest, the same one my father wears, presses a groove into my finger. It’s the ring the head of the family wears, the man who makes the decisions. The weight of it leaves a mark on my soul. Of all the sins I’ve committed, Zoe is the biggest one, the stone that drags me under and drowns me. She consented, but I didn’t give her a choice. The only choice I gave her was how to look at the situation, how to see herself. I wanted to give her pretty, and she had to go choose the ugly truth.