Page 14 of Darkest Sin

Shit. I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. I’m his to do with as he pleases. The only light in this darkness is the knowledge he wouldn’t have personally hand-delivered these clothes to my room and spent time sorting and folding them into my drawers. No, he would have had one of his hired helpers take care of that, and all I can hope is that it was the little old lady who I’d thought was his housekeeper.

In the grand scheme of things, having clothes to wear is minuscule in comparison to the fact I’ve been trafficked and sold, so I try not to dwell on it. I suppose my owner likes his prisoners well-fed, well-dressed, and squeaky clean. Maybe the dirty, starving sex doll in the basement isn’t his thing after all.

Going for comfort, I find a pair of high-waisted workout shorts and a matching crop before scanning through the array of shoes. Grabbing a pair of white sneakers, I hastily put them on and pull my hair into a messy bun.

Survival 101 kicks in, and after my Romanian jailer promised I’d have free rein of this property, I leave my room, determined to explore every inch of this place to find out where I can hide, and where I can run if need be. My hand hovers on my door handle and nerves spike deep in my gut. The second I step out of my room, I’m opening myself up to his world. Allowing myself to be ridiculed and used at his will. But if I don’t leave this room or take this opportunity to learn and memorize my surroundings, I’m setting myself up to fail.

Shaking off the nerves, I forge ahead, opening the door into the silence of the hallway. Creeping out, I peer left and right and come up empty, not even a whisper of the staff who are no doubt roaming the pristine property.

I’m on the second floor. During my tour last night, all I saw up here were more bedroom suites, open sitting areas, and bathrooms. Nothing special apart from the master bedroom, which naturally, I wasn’t offered a peek into, which is honestly a shame. I was curious to see if that massive balcony overlooking the front of the property really was attached to the main bedroom.

Anything worth exploring is going to be on the ground floor, so I grip the banister and make my way down the grand staircase. The subtle padding of my sneakers against the marble tiles somehow sounds like an airhorn in this silence.

Reaching the bottom, I find myself hovering in the foyer, coming face-to-face with the doorman. He looks at me before reaching for the door handle. “Out for a run, Ma’am?” he asks in a thick accent I didn’t notice last night.

“I . . . uhhmmmm,” I say a little too awkwardly while glancing around the foyer, waiting for my world to crash down around me. “Am I allowed to go out for a run?”

“Why would you not?” he questions, his brows furrowed as he watches me with suspicion.

Not knowing how to respond or what fresh hell I’d be in if I were to step outside that door, I shuffle to the side. “I think I’ll grab something to eat first,” I say. “Can you tell me where I can find the kitchen?”

“Of course, Ma’am,” he says with a polite nod before raising his arm toward the right. “Follow the hall past the formal dining area. You’ll find a sitting area to your left. Turn there and you’ll find the kitchen. It is a lovely day, perhaps you would enjoy a sandwich out by the pool.”

“Yes,” I say with a smile, wondering just how much this guy knows. “That does sound nice. Thank you.”

With that, I turn on my heel, following his instructions toward the kitchen, taking my time while trying to take in as much as possible. I pass living spaces, the formal dining area, and what I can only guess is an office dedicated solely to security. Peeking in, I see many screens across the wall showing a live security feed that captures every inch of the property.

Shit. I suppose that takes a daring escape out of the equation. Besides, where the hell would I go where he wouldn’t find me? He knows my name, and a man like him would do his research. I’m sure by now he knows everything there is to know about me. My full name, address, and social security number. The school I went to. What I passed and failed. What dance school I attended as a kid. Which asshole I gave up my virginity to, and which piece of shit Mustang it happened in the back of.

Finding the kitchen, I stop and gape at it. It’s huge. Unnecessarily huge. But damn, it’s gorgeous.

A woman is busy in the butler’s pantry, and I shuffle toward her, unsure if I’m supposed to help myself or if she’s supposed to organize something for me. Either way, I’m a do-it-myself kind of girl. “Hi,” I say in a small voice.

Her gaze whips toward me, startled by my appearance in her kitchen. “Oh, goodness,” she says, her hand flying to her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” I say, a soft smile playing on my lips. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just getting a bit hungry and thought—”

“Oh yes,” she says, stepping back and welcoming me in. “You must be our new house guest. I was told to keep an eye out for you. I’m Krista.”

“Chiara,” I say with a small smile.

“Lovely to meet you, Chiara,” she says, something lighting up in her pale green eyes. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to go through any hassle,” I tell her. “I’m used to scavenging for myself.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Krista says. “In fact, I insist. It’ll save me from organizing this pantry for the hundredth time.”

“Okay, sure,” I say, not wanting to ruffle any feathers on day one. “The doorman suggested a sandwich out by the pool, and honestly, ever since the idea entered my head, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

Krista laughs. “One sandwich coming right up.”

She motions for me to take a seat at the kitchen island bench as she goes about fetching everything for one hell of a good sandwich, and I watch in awe as she works. I was thinking a few slices of cheese, maybe tomato and cucumber slapped between two pieces of bread would be sufficient, but she’s giving me the royal treatment. “So, what brings you to live here?” she questions absently, her attention focused solely on the sandwich, as if trying really hard not to meet my eye.

Not sure of what I can and can’t say, I offer her a tight smile. “I, uhhh . . . don’t think I got a choice in the matter,” I tell her in a light tone, trying not to suggest any wrongdoing on her boss’s part. Not that he deserves the kindness.

“Oh, I can imagine,” she laughs as though extremely fond of the man, making me wonder where he is. “That man is a force to be reckoned with.”

My brows bounce involuntarily, and I mutter under my breath. “Ain’t that the truth.”

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