Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
L ondyn
Londyn held the blanket tighter around her as he led her to the bathroom. It was a large space. Sleek and cold, with every amenity of a five-star hotel.
“You can take a shower if you like.” After pulling a few towels from the cabinet, he motioned to a hook where a clean, lush bathrobe hung. “Put that on when you get out.”
“I’d rather have some real clothes…” she began, but her words faltered when she saw his smirk.
“Sorry, Londyn. I won’t allow that at the moment. Be grateful for the robe. After all, I could require that you are nude at all times.” He stepped closer, tilting her chin using the knuckle of his index finger. The light in the bathroom was bright and unforgiving, finally revealing the letters inked onto his fingers.
MINE.
Londyn’s stomach flipped-flopped. It was hitting home just how fucked-up this situation was. This man had purchased her. To use. To rape. To possibly murder. She became lightheaded at the reality, her skin tone turning pale.
“Are you okay?” her captor asked. “You’re trembling.”
Was he that oblivious to the reasons for her current state? Of course, she was shaking like a leaf. She was terrified.
“I’m fine,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. From his expression, she knew he did not believe her, but he nodded and took a few steps toward the door.
“Come to the kitchen when you are done. It’s down the hall from the bedroom. You have fifteen minutes before I come and collect you.”
Londyn dipped her head in agreement, wrapping her arms around her midsection. One thing she must do was humanize herself to him. She needed to be more than just an object if she was going to survive this. They must have some sort of connection. A relationship she could exploit the moment an opportunity to escape presented itself.
“Thank you…um…Mister…”
He grinned, so charming and handsome that crazily enough, Londyn almost smiled back.
“My name is Oliver. Oliver Winter. And I can’t wait to hear you scream it.”
Londyn’s chin lifted. She knew her reaction was foolishly reckless, but she couldn’t help herself. “You’ll be waiting a long time, then.” Her glare should have blistered his flesh, but her fierceness only amused him.
Resting a hand on the door handle before exiting the room, Oliver swept her body with a look of absolute possessiveness. “You will scream for me, Londyn. The reason why is totally up to you.”
The minute he closed the door, Londyn ran to it and clicked the lock. Her gaze darted around the room, frantically searching for any type of weapon she could find.
Hopeless .
The vanity mirrors over the sink were large plates of glass attached to the wall. Smashing them to bits would bring her captor back immediately. He’d likely break the door down before she could find a piece suitable for use as a knife. The towel bars were heavy metal pipes. Tugging at one only revealed how securely they were attached to the wall.
No artwork decorated the smooth, white marble walls and a quick search of the vanity drawers revealed nothing but high-end toiletries and a blow dryer. Unless she planned on bashing his head in with a bottle of expensive shampoo, there was nothing that could inflict any kind of real damage.
She couldn’t even open a window, as they were a series of rectangle-shaped openings stacked on top of each other in a geometric pattern and placed along the length of one wall at ceiling level. The design allowed a ton of natural light to flood the room, but the windows were far too narrow for a body to pass through.
Defeated, Londyn sank onto the toilet seat, fighting back tears. Taking deep breaths once again staved off a panic attack, but her heart pounded as though she was once again running through the woods in fear for her life. She was trapped. Really trapped.
While she quickly showered, Londyn noticed the strange marks on the inside of her thighs. Their presence was mystifying since they almost appeared to be bite marks. There were also scrapes, as though something rough had rubbed against the tender skin. Multiple scratches and bruises covered her body along with scrapes from rocks and branches, but these were entirely different. Even the marks caused by the rough handling of her guards did not resemble the bruising.
With a towel wrapped tightly around her body, she stood in front of the enormous vanity mirror. Brushing her teeth with a new toothbrush discovered during the search for a weapon, Londyn examined her reflection.
The bruising under one eye was a bit darker, and there was a nasty abrasion on her chin, but the cut on her lip was already healing. Experimentally, she ran her tongue over the wound, wincing when the toothpaste stung.
The most noticeable of her injuries, apart from the unexplained marks on her inner thighs, was the mottled bruises around her neck. They had come from the collar and leash being forcibly jerked as a way of controlling her. Her body stiffened as she recalled that humiliation during the auction. When she’d been forced to her knees while cruel men salivated over her helplessness.
After rinsing her mouth, Londyn probed the sore area around her temple with gentle fingers, wondering how that particular injury might have occurred. Her last memory from the previous night was biting Carl, the guard, and his instant rage while shaking her off.
Everything else was blank until she woke that morning in a cage. Had the man struck her so hard that it knocked her out? Was that the explanation for the black hours that must have surely followed? What had the three men in that bedroom done to her last night?
Maybe they had raped her. Maybe they had held her lifeless body down on that huge bed and took turns violating her.
Londyn shuddered. She would surely be in agony if such a horrendous event hadtaken place. She would be torn and bloody from the battering of her body. Other than the marks on her legs and a strange sensitivity in her private area, there was no indication that an assault of that nature had occurred.
But something had happened. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. The situation was horrible enough without adding more trauma. Maybe it was a blessing she could not remember.
Tap, tap.
Londyn startled, clutching the towel closer as she whirled to look at the door.
Her captor rapped on the door again. Harder this time. Impatiently.
“Time’s up, Londyn. Open the door.”
She swallowed at the rough irritation his voice contained. There was no choice but to obey him. Instinct screamed that was the safer option. Defying him, or attempting to, was a dangerous gamble.
Grabbing the bathrobe robe, Londyn thrust her arms through the sleeves and tied the belt tightly around her waist.
“Just-just a minute,” she answered in a high, thin voice. Clearing her throat, she tried again in a stronger tone. “I’m coming.”
“Unless you want to see me when I’m angry, I suggest you unlock this door immediately.” There was a deceptive silkiness to his words now. As if he welcomed the opportunity for a violent display of force.
Londyn hated herself for the fear clawing its way up her throat. She ran to the door, fumbling with the lock and throwing it open.
Oliver leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed. His eyes, so icy blue with a darker, indigo-colored ring encircling the irises, darkened in appreciation at the sight of her in the robe.
“I’m sorry,” Londyn stuttered. “There’s no clock in here, so I didn’t know-”
“Be quiet,” he ordered softly.
Londyn’s explanation abruptly ended. She nervously shifted her feet as he examined her before his eyes quickly scanned the room behind her. He was checking to see if she’d managed to find a weapon and was just waiting to use it on him.
A smirk played across his lips as his gaze slid back to her. “Don’t ever lock a door on me again, Londyn. I’ve no patience for it. Do you understand?”
Londyn’s nod was terse.
His smile grew. “I want to hear you say it. Say you understand, Londyn.”
Her eyes closed briefly before she stared steadily ahead. “I understand.”
He watched her as if considering his next move while Londyn’s heart pounded. Then he reached out, hooking his fingers into the top of the robe and pulling until she had no choice but to go where he wanted.
Pressing her back against the door frame, Oliver braced an arm above her head and leaned in. His gaze flickered over her pale features. His firm lips quirked in amusement at her obvious fear.
“Jesus Christ, you are beautiful. I didn’t realize how much until just now,” he murmured almost to himself. Placing an index finger beneath her chin, he lifted it until she met his gaze. “And when your eyes flash at me like that, you’re fucking stunning. Such a pretty color, too. The same shade as the mourning doves my father had me use for target practice as a kid.” His jaw tightened, irritation evident in the clench of his teeth as he revealed more than he intended.
Londyn swallowed a whimper. What sort of parent encouraged a boy to shoot harmless birds for practice? It was barbaric and cruel. She flattened herself against the door frame. She didn’t want him to think she was beautiful. She didn’t want him to be attracted to her in any way, but that was a very foolish thing to hope for. Like other predators in her life, this one was drawn to her face and figure. And because she was smaller and weaker than him, he believed it was his right to take whatever he desired.
Standing like this, trapped by his muscular arms and the rock-hard solidness of his body, Londyn became aware of several things. First, he had to be at least six-four, which meant he towered over her measly five-three height. And his muscles… they rippled beneath the tight black T-shirt he wore. A faint scruff covered his chin, and the horrifying thought that this had caused the mysterious scrapes on her thighs sent panic scurrying along her veins.
“What are you thinking, little killer?” His head inclined until their foreheads were nearly touching. “How you might get away? You can’t . How to talk me out of taking what is mine? You won’t .”
Londyn tried to remember everything she’d learned so far about dealing with sociopaths and troubled individuals. But it all jumbled in her head, mixing like a deadly cocktail spiked with fear and recklessness.
“How did I get the marks on the inside of my legs?”
Her impulsive demand sent a genuine smile skating across his face.
“Marks?” he teased. “What marks? Let me see. Maybe I can tell you what caused them.”
“I don’t remember what happened last night. For all I know, the three of you took turns assaulting me.” Londyn’s mouth tightened in outrage.
“No one touched you in that way other than me, Londyn. And no one will as long as you live.”
“The one guard, Carl, he liked hurting me. Maybe he?—”
“Carl is dead. I snapped his neck,” Oliver stated with nonchalant coolness.
Londyn stared at him. Had she heard him right? “You did what?”
Oliver trailed his finger down from her chin until it landed in the hollow of her throat. “You heard me. He struck you hard enough to knock you out. So, I broke his neck. You are my property. No one hurts you unless it’s me.”
A wave of nausea swept her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Knowing another man had lost his life because of her was more than she could comprehend. Even if the two men were monsters, knowing she was the catalyst for their deaths was disturbing. “Did the three of you… There-there are scrapes and what I think are marks that weren’t there before. Like bite marks.”
“I told you, dove. No one touched you except me.” There was a smugness to his tone that could not be ignored. Londyn’s stomach dropped as his words sunk in.
“You touched me…” Her words came out in a breathy exhale of horror, too overwhelmed by his admission to pay much attention to the nickname.
Oliver brushed his nose along hers before softly pressing his mouth to her lips. He kissed her gently between words. “Silly little girl. Of course, I touched you. I kissed. I licked. I tasted. Fuck. I feasted until you nearly came on my tongue. Your body enjoyed it. It responds because it understands what your mind hasn’t yet grasped. You belong to me. Your body is mine. Your delicious cunt is mine. Your mouth. The air in your lungs…” He kissed her more forcefully then, curling his hand around her throat, his tongue stroking hers until Londyn moaned in panicked surrender, and he allowed her to take a breath. “That’s mine, too. Every piece of you is mine. Mine to play with. Mine to use. Mine to destroy.”