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The phone won’t stop ringing. Motherfucker.

I can’t leave her like this. I can’t leave her at all. My heart is about to pound out of my chest. If I stop now, if I take her down and walk away, I’ll lose my nerve. I’ll take her in my arms. Try to be human for her.

She growls when I shake her head.

“Why, then?” Her voice is louder than the incessant ringing of the phone.

“Be quiet.” I take my phone out. Her eyes light up. “Ophelia, I’m warning you. The smallest sound. Any cry for help. So help me, I will kill you on the spot. It’ll be so easy to snap your neck. So. Easy.”

I won’t kill her. Wouldn’t dream of it.

Ophelia, however, believes me. She pretends to be brave. The quickening of her breaths gives her away. “Will you untie me if I promise to be quiet?”

Fuck no. “I won’t end your life. Good enough incentive?”

Her teeth sink into her plump bottom lip. Eyes flaring. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” Damn it. I shouldn’t praise her, though I keep doing it every single time I’m here. Her taunting smile proves to me how wrong it is. I ignore her, taking the call without looking at the screen. “What?”

“Mr. Hawthorne?” Griffith’s timid voice comes on. “You asked me to call back when I completed the…uh…assignment you gave me. Your specific orders were to call you until you picked up?”

Sure as fuck they were. Because of her.

Another prime example of how Ophelia messes with my head just by existing. Why I’m being cruel so I could stop wanting her this bad.

“Is he happy with her?”

He. Alessandro.

While he looked genuinely pleased at the auction, I refused to leave anything to chance. Preferring to remain anonymous, I told Griffith—who’s still scared shitless of me—to call Starlee.

The anonymous buyer had another order from the auction house. A gift to Alessandro. Her best woman, no matter the cost.

Whoever she was, she should’ve wiped out the memory of Ophelia from his head.

I can’t risk having him search for her.

My girl and her deepest dark eyes. The woman who watches me as if she can’t decide whether she wishes me dead or if she needs my head between her legs.

My temptation. My ruination.

Mine.

“Very much, Mr. Hawthorne, sir.” A baby cries in the background. Griffith shushes him as if the sound alone would summon the boogeyman into his living room. “Your men are keeping watch, as per protocol. The woman is unharmed. Anything else I can help you with?”

“Report back to me if anything changes.” If Alessandro gets bored with the woman I sent him. If he sniffs around, looking for Ophelia. “Understood?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Good.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Haw?—”

I end the call. Shove my phone into my back pocket.

“Let me down.” Her pulse continues to beat wildly. I can tell, now that I have my hand wrapped around her throat. Her voice, though, is even. “Let me the fuck down.”

I ignore her. Ignore my throbbing cock. The need that’s burning me alive.