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"I understand you're a jerk who won't let me leave to check on my sick grandfather." I give him a look filled with sass, somehow overly confident that he's past the option of killing me.

"That's getting old." He shakes his head. "I already told you, I hired a nurse. Find a new excuse."

"What about my bar?" I bite back. "Who do you expect to run it?"

"I can send someone over to take care of it for now," he answers, as if everything I mention has an easy solution.

"I don't want some random man managing my bar.Iwant to manage my bar. What do you not get about that?" With every word, I’m getting louder. For a moment, I wonder if there’s anyone else in this house and what they think about our arguing.

"That's not an option. The options are, I send someone or the bar stays closed. Choose, Olivia."

His voice isn't mean or angry, just stern. I feel like a child, kicking and screaming, while Sam is the calm adult laying out my choices.

I purse my lips together, not wanting to pick one of his options. I need to figure out how to get away from him.

"You're thinking too hard," he says, softer this time. One of his hands reaches forward, finding the piece of hair that fell out of place during the whole being tossed over his shoulder situation. He swipes it back behind my ear, his knuckles grazing against my skin. He pauses like that for a moment, his touch lingering, and I hold my breath.

"This doesn't have to be difficult," Sam adds. "You don't need to do anything, Olivia. All you need to do is listen to me and prove to me that I can trust you. I'll handle everything else. Do you think you can do that?"

Something about him is lulling me into a sense of comfort. I fight the urge to nod and promise to be good. Maybe it's the people pleaser in me that doesn't want to ever be in trouble. But there's another side of me that rages, the one that doesn't want to be told what to do, that refuses to let anyone else take care of me. I've always taken care of myself, and it's worked better that way. Relying on anyone else has always ended in disappointment, and I don't expect Sam to be any different. Especially not under the circumstances that led us here.

But if I keep fighting, he's just going to keep asserting his dominance, and I get the feeling that Sam doesn't lose.

I inhale deeply and nod.

"Words. I want to hear you say it, Olivia. Tell me you're going to be a good girl for me?"

My heart rate spikes. I don't know what it is about that phrase that sends a bolt of excitement mixed with panic through me. I don't want to be a good girl for him, but something about the words on his lips makes my body tingle.

Sam eyes me expectantly. My lips are still pressed together, and he's still hovering over me. I don't think he's ever going to let me out of this chair if I don't meet his demand. I close my eyes,gathering my strength. I can say what he wants me to and not mean it. I'll never actually yield to Sam Costello.

"I'll be a good girl," I mumble.

"Promise me," he demands, dragging out this torture.

"I promise."

Sam's eyebrow lifts, and it's clear he wants more. That my promise wasn't good enough.

Swallowing down my annoyance, I try again. "I promise to be a good girl."

That makes him smile, the grin stretching across his stupid perfect face.

"Atta girl," he praises, and even though I hate it, I can’t suppress the warm feeling that coats my body. "Now, let's get you settled in."

Finally, he steps back, putting much-needed space between us. Extending his hand, he helps me from the chair.

This is all an act,I remind myself. I just need to survive long enough to get out of here. And if I need to lie to Sam Costello to do so, then that's what I'll do.

THIRTEEN

Sam

She's getting under my skin.

What is it about this little brunette that makes me want to own her? Control her. I want her obedience, crave it even. She gave me a taste of it, back when she was in my warehouse, pleading for her life. And now that I've spared it, she's all bite.

I seem to like that too. Her constant fight has my dick hardening beneath my slacks.