Page 28 of Mine

Instead of wallowing in victimhood, I’ve decided to use my rage to cut through the plastic ties that bind my wrists. Having tried every sharp edge in the bedroom (and failed), I’ve moved to the bathroom, where I’m using the corner of the marble vanity.

According to the crystal clock on the armoire, it’s now four in the morning. I am sick with exhaustion. My skin is clammy, my pulse fast, my head swimmy, my stomach turning. I need food, water, and sleep, but know none of that will come until I get out of these restraints.

With every passing hour, I grow more and more angry at the men who took me—and at the one who let me go. Clearly, Carlos is not the man I thought he was. It stings to admit that he threw me away so easily. What a fool I am. I’m both embarrassed and ashamed for being so naive.

I’m close to going into full-on rage mode when the click of the bedroom door lock pulls my attention. I straighten and freeze.

Swift, heavy footsteps cross the hardwood floor.

I expected Cillian. Instead, Astor Stone appears in the bathroom doorway, still wearing his suit and looking as irresistible and smug as ever.

I lunge away from the sink and rush him, my face beet-red from the fury simmering in my veins.

“Get this gag off me,” I shout through the fabric, though the demand is slurred and garbled.

Unaffected by my outburst, Astor regards me closely, sweeping me from head to toe like I’m some rare, newly discovered species he’s trying to figure out. It’s a different look from the one I received when he first saw me at the bar. That one could be summed up in one word: heat. This one is more ... cautious interest.

Under the harsh light of the bathroom, the difference in our ages is even more apparent. In the ballroom, I didn’t notice the silver streaks of gray at his temples or the thin lines around his eyes. Astor Stone is all man—all ego and money and the kind of confidence that only comes from life experience. While I, on the other hand, could very easily pass for his daughter. I wonder if he notices this too.

He pulls a switchblade from his pocket, and with jarring speed and accuracy, slices the gag from my face.

The fabric tumbles down the front of my red dress, and it’s then that I see the hem has ridden all the way up my thighs, stopping just below my ass. God, I hate this dress.

“How dare you.” My lips are dry and numb, my voice like sandpaper. “Who the hell do you think you are? I have done nothing to you—and cut my damn wrists free.”

“I will after you answer a few questions.”

“I’m not answering anything. I don’t deserve any of this. I want no part in whatever’s going on here.”

“You should’ve chosen a better lover then.”

“Lover?” I squeak.

His jaw twitches.

“Lover? You’re talking about Carlos?” A crazed, maniacal laugh bubbles out of me (mildly embarrassing). “Are you serious? I’m his business partner, you idiot—not his lover.”

A perfectly sculpted brow arches, and I get the sense Astor’s not used to being called an idiot. Well, that’s too damn bad. I am a woman who has been pushed an ocean’s length past her limit.

“His business partner?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of business do you two exchange, Miss Hart?”

Hart. He knows my last name. Of course he does.

“That’s another thing.” I want to jab him in the chest with my finger, but my hands are still bound. “How dare you go through my personal things right in front of me. I want my purse and my cell phone back immediately.”

“Not possible, but I can assure you both are safe.”

“If you don’t let me out of here, I’ll escape.”

“Also not possible. Every interior room in this house locks from the outside. Same with the windows.”

Who else has he kept prisoner inside this house?

“Answer my question,” he says. “What kind of business do you and Carlos exchange?”

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