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Tomorrow.

Tonight, Ophelia is still mine.

4

JAMES

At the sound of the lock flipping, Ophelia wakes up. She snaps into a sitting position, staring right at me.

Fuck me. She’s a sight.

Wild hair. Wilder eyes.

Both duvets have dropped to her waist, showing the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress.

Curious.

It isn’t particularly cold in her cell.

“James?” Her voice is hoarse from sleep. From crying.

Her suffering has my skin burning up. I’ll never let it show.

“Yes.” The duffel bag I’ve brought down here makes a loudthunkas it hits the floor.

Then I turn around and flip the lock on the cell’s door.

When I look up at her, her brow furrows. Lips curling into a sneer.

I ready myself for the attack I know is coming in three…two…

“Motherfucker.” Ophelia launches herself at me. She doesn’t get very far.

The duvets drop to the floor as she stands up, tangling between her legs. She stumbles into my arms, still screaming profanities.

“Stay away!” Her fists go to my chest, punching against my white dress shirt. “Don’t touch me!”

“Who’s touching who?” As I steady her, I grab her shoulders harder than necessary. If this is the only chance I get to have her, I’ll handle her as rough as I like. “You’re the one who threw yourself into my arms.”

The dim light does nothing to hide the crimson on her cheeks. “Fuck you.”

“As appealing as the idea is,” I say it because it’s the truth. I also say it to terrify her. I could be kinder. Could pacify her. Tell her that, after tomorrow, she’ll be safe. But I’m a bastard. The fear in her eyes gets me hard as a rock. “I’m here for a completely different reason.”

“Oh God. Oh God. Let me go.” She’s relentless in her efforts to punch my chest. As much as this scenario entertains me, I warn her by digging my fingers deeper into her shoulders. “You’re not high anymore. You—you finally get it. You see how crazy this is now, but you can’t release me. That’s fine. You can. Mr. Hawthorne, please. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“I meant what I said earlier. We weren’t high, Ophelia.”Sonnet. The name won’t leave my lips. Not just yet. Maybe never. “You won’t die here. Tomorrow, you’ll be transferred to the auction house. From there, your buyer will take you to your new home. It’s an honor to be selected for this part. You shouldn’t be fighting me. You should be excited. Grateful. Tomorrow is a big day for you.”

Honored. Grateful. What a joke.

But she has to believe that I’m this person. This unhinged man who gets off on selling unwilling, innocent women like her.

I sure as fuck am not excited about this or her.

Nothing excites me anymore. I’m incapable of either happiness or love. That’s who I am. Born and raised to be a monster.

Her eyebrows scrunch. Her lips curve down. “What happens tomorrow?”

Poor thing. She heard me. She heard Topher.