I raise my eyebrows. “You paid me thirty million dollars? Hmm…because my bank account says you’ve paid me far less. I guess I earned that money long before I ran into you.”
“You wouldn’t be alive without me. You owe me.”
I don’t argue. “Where is she?”
“She’s safe—locked up in a room in the basement with a dozen guards watching over her. They are under strict instructions to only tie her up and protect her with their lives. I know how much she’s worth to you. I won’t let any harm come to her. But my offer still stands, I’ll buy her from you. Name your price. From your reaction, I can tell the sex alone must be worth every penny.”
I growl again.
He smirks.
I’m still gripping his shirt.
But his eyes hold no fear. He’s in control. He’s the boss, not me. I’ve never been the boss, even when I worked for a good man, my life still wasn’t my own.
I could probably ask for sixty million, and Julian would pay it. He has the money. And he wants to take something from me, even if he pays for it.
But I’d never sell Siren. Even though she thinks differently—Julian will never touch her.
“Siren isn’t for sale. She’s mine,” my voice is throaty and low, deeper than a crack of thunder.
“We’ll see. I’m guessing you’ll be begging me to buy her soon.”
Julian’s eyes glance down at where I’m still gripping him. “Now our guests will be arriving shortly. It’s time to go make some money.”
I release him, hating this. I want Siren with me, not locked up somewhere. When I get her home, I’m going to pay for her being locked up. I’ll have to sleep with one eye open because Siren will certainly try something. This is definitely worthy of her cutting off my dick.
Julian wipes the blood from his mouth. The bruising won’t set in until tomorrow, so his guests will never know I hit him. Then he grabs his suit jacket and puts it on before I follow him downstairs to the dining room. His other guests have already arrived.
“Welcome, everyone. Sorry for the delay,” Julian says, walking up to the first man.
“So glad you could make it, Mr. Palmer,” Julian says.
“I would never miss a dinner of yours, Mr. Reed,” he answers.
“This is my right-hand man, Zeke,” Julian says.
I shake the man’s hand sternly, even though I’d rather rip it off. I can see his dark heart without knowing anything about him.
Julian introduces me to a short, balding man and his wife next—a Mr. and Mrs. Gibson. Bile rises in my throat, realizing a woman is involved in buying other women. Somehow it seems worse that she would betray her own sex.
The last man I’m introduced to is younger, closer to my age. He, like me, doesn’t like to be called by his last name. Instead, he goes by Rafael.
Julian motions for us all to take a seat. Julian sits on the end of the table, and I’m seated on his right with everyone else filed around.
Servants stream in, pouring everyone a drink, and bringing out appetizers. I force myself to eat calamari even though I’m not the least bit hungry.
“So tell us, when will the next shipment be in?” Mr. Palmer asks.
Julian shovels food into his mouth. Apparently, he wants me to answer the mundane questions.
“Two weeks,” I say.
Mr. Palmer sounds surprised, “So long?”
“Yes, we want to ensure we get the highest quality for you to choose from.”
“Hmm,” his wife, Mrs. Gibson, murmurs, not believing me.
“We also hand-deliver your selection to ensure your order gets there swiftly and without any complications,” I say, like I’m talking about a shipment of drugs instead of women.
Everyone nods.
“Tell me, what type of women and how many each of you might be interested in? We’d like to make the best selections for you,” Julian says.
We go around the room listening to each of Julian’s guests describe in vivid detail the kind and quantity of women they want to buy. It’s clear we won’t be able to get rid of any more than twenty to this group of buyers, but they have connections who would be happy to take more if the quality is high, according to Mr. Gibson. And these four would pay fifty million dollars a piece for a high-quality woman.
“Again, you still haven’t convinced us of the quality of your women.” Mr. Palmer says, shoving half a lobster into his mouth after drowning it in butter.
Julian smiles. He snaps his fingers.
My next sight hits me down to my bones.
Siren is dragged into the room, tied up with ropes and three men guarding her. Her mouth is gagged, and she fights hard against the ropes.
Julian nods to one of the guards, and he rips the sweater from her body. The look in her eyes is one meant to kill.
She fights harder, and I have no doubt if she fought for long enough, she’d find a way to free herself. You can see it in all her body language. And everyone in the room witnesses it too. I quickly look around and see how much every person in the room wants her—my woman.
My blood boils red. I can’t make a scene here. It would ruin everything. I need Julian to think I’m as bad as him, so when I leave this damn island, he will have no reason to follow. I’ll have paid my debt.
But after this, after what he did to Siren, I can’t just bounce. Julian will pay for this.
21
Siren
I’m not a woman who asks for help often. But today—I’m asking for help. Because I already know how this ends.
I have rope burn all over my body. My agitated skin will have marks and welts for at least a week where the rope digs into my skin. At least the physical marks won’t be permanent. But the emotional scars, they will stay with me forever.
This isn’t my first time in Julian’s house. I know what he has planned next. And being tied up, dragged out in front of a group of people enjoying dinner, while embarrassing, is nothing compared to what comes next.
I try to get free, but I’m not strong enough to take on three grown men, much less the ropes binding my arms and legs. I shake my head, trying to get the gag to loosen from my mouth. I manage enough for my cries to start sounding less like moans and more like real words. But I can’t get the gag off, and my cries for help sound like I’m enjoying myself, not afraid for my life. So eventually, I force myself to remain silent. These people don’t deserve to hear me.
My eyes defy every person in the room. The single old man. The gross couple. The young man. Julian snickering at the head of the table. And finally—Zeke.
I shouldn’t have looked at Zeke. I know it immediately when our eyes lock. He can’t help me, and that devastates me. Because he’s the only one who can…
Once I look at him, I can’t look away. I plead for him to help with my eyes. And his eyes respond with I can’t.
Everything else in his body screams a different promise. I’ll burn this fucking island down for you.
His face is red, his nostrils flare like a bucking bull, and his jaw ticks with the full force of his anger. The veins in his neck bulge as blood circulates faster, flooded with adrenaline. He’s suffering under the stress of a decision—saving me and ruining his relationship with Julian, or doing nothing to save face.