Page 13 of Wicked Auction

I can't help but wonder—who is this man? And why was he so intent on having me?

“You know,” he says casually, “I don't think we'll go home yet.” Home, as if it will be our permanent place to go. When I don’t respond, he frowns. “Cat got your tongue?”

There's something about the way he talks that isn't quite right. I still can't place his accent. He sounds American, maybe, but definitely not from Boston, New York, or anywhere I'm familiar with.

I shrug. “Not much to say. You bought me, and I don't understand why or what you're going to do with me.” Something dark crosses his eyes. Something I don't think I like.

“Right,” he says quietly. “Yes. For your information, I know who you are.” He says it with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“I figured that when you glared at me.”

“I wasn’t glaring.”

I don’t respond because I’ve already said more than I planned to.

We’ve reached an exit, and he hasn’t broken a sweat or even slowed his pace. He sets me down and pushes the door open. Even the guards at the door stand back to let us through.

A stunning navy car idles at the exit, the shadow of a person in the driver’s seat.

I wonder if my chances of escape are better now that I'm in the open, not in a dank cell with no windows. It's only me versus one man, but I have just as much of a chance of overpowering this guy as I do of lifting a semi with one hand.

“First thing we need to do is get you fed,” he says quietly.

I'm not eating anything he gives me unless I can trust it. I've learned that lesson.

“Are you hungry?” he says, and there's a twitch to his voice again. I shrug. The less I say to him, the better. He doesn’t seem bothered, scowling as he taps away on his mobile with thick fingers.

The drugs are still in my system, but I try not to fall asleep.

Thankfully, he doesn’t make me talk while we drive in silence.

We pull up to a large, gleaming hotel, the lights outside bright against the night sky. I’ve lost track of the days and weeks, never mind the time of day.

“Here we are,” he says.

The car door opens, and I realize we're not at the hotel’s front entrance but at a private one. Of course. I guess you don't exactly march your spoils of auction out in the open, no matter who you are.

He presses a button on the side of the building, and multiple armed men in uniforms come out. He hands each one cash.

Then we're in an elevator, and as we pass a floor, the scent of steak, tomatoes, and garlic drifts from somewhere in the hotel. My mouth waters, and my stomach growls with hunger. His brow quirks, but he doesn’t say anything.

I’m weak with hunger. I do need to eat. How will I run if I don't have any energy? It's essential at this point.

The elevator doors slide open to a penthouse suite. “Welcome to our home away from home,” he says with a smile.

Home away from home. What does that mean? And why does it fill me with total dread?

For weeks, or however long I’ve been trying to escape my capture, I’ve been trying to find a way out, and I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake.

I’ve been planning my escape since the day I was taken. Every cell, every transport, every guard location. I had plans. I had contingencies. Now I look at the man who bought me and understand, for the first time, that I’m completely out of options.

Chapter Five

TORIN

Declan told me what to expect at the auction. He told me what to wear to avoid notice, how to bid, and how much to pay in cash so I could take her before anyone else could get to her. Seamus made sure a car was waiting at the curb.

So obviously, Seamus and Declan planned this in vivid detail, but even Seamus’s warning that she was gorgeous didn’t prepare me for how beautiful she really is.