Page 14 of Tower

“If you run again, Azalea, I’ll take my belt to your ass before you go to sleep. Go up one more floor,” he said as they reached the landing.

She didn’t respond to his threat. Although, she knew it was more of a promise—a hope even. She’d seen him whipping the woman at Tower. She’d seen his thrill as the whip landed and the woman cried out. If she ran again, it would give him a reason to take the leather strap to her. An idea that once made her reach into her panties and ease the ache, but facing his dark glare and set jaw, she didn’t think the reality would match the fantasy.

When she reached the next floor, he moved past her and walked down the hall. She glanced back down the steps, but decided to follow him instead. He stopped outside a door and pulled a key from his pocket.

“The entire floor is mine.” He slipped the key inside. “You’ll stay in my bedroom for now.” The lock clicked as it unlatched, and he pushed the door open.

He gestured for her to enter, but she couldn’t quite make her feet move. Inside was a prison. Santos had barely argued about him taking her. He’d seemed fearful of Peter and his men, and she’d never seen Santos fear anything.

If she went in, he could lock her away. He could sell her to a monster who would beat her, rape her, and worse. Tears burned her eyes, but she took a deep breath and blinked them back. She wouldn’t let him see her fear.

“Azalea, there’s no decision to make here. Go in.” His voice was velvety, his touch, when he placed his hand on her back, warm and almost soothing.

She nodded, straightened her back, and stepped inside.

Whatever was coming next, she would deal with it. She’d always learned how to cope, how to manage, and she would do it again.

She would not be sold.

She would not be owned.

She would be free.

? ? ?

Peter lefther to stew all alone in his bedroom. At first, relief had rushed through her when he hadn’t entered with her before closing the door. But the reprieve quickly turned into a chokehold of uncertainty.

What if he came back with more men? What if he already had someone who wanted to buy her? She hadn’t formed a plan yet. She hadn’t had time.

She stared at the door, the intricately carved wooden door that under any other circumstance would appeal to her artistic side, both fearing and hoping it would open.

“Get a damn grip,” she chastised herself, and sat on the hope chest at the foot of the king-sized four-poster bed. She noticed the woodwork on the bed matched that of the door. But she couldn’t focus on things like design patterns. She needed to get her heart to stop trying to escape her chest.

The room held a more menacing feel than the outside of the mansion. All dark wood furniture with sharp angles and edges. All very masculine. Tall candlesticks lined the nearby dresser, and three candle sconces hung on the wall over the bed.

The furniture in the corner opposite the bed caught her attention. A black leather spanking bench in one corner, and a dark cherrywood cross in the opposite corner. Cuffs dangled from the cross.

She left the bed and inspected the cross. She’d seen it before in pictures and understood how it was used, but she’d never been so close to one. Running her hand over the thick beam, she closed her eyes, letting the smooth surface run along her palm.

“That’s called a St. Andrew’s Cross,” Peter’s deep voice announced. She hadn’t heard him come in. Losing herself in a damn fantasy again, she hadn’t noticed the door opening.

She dropped her hand from the beam and spun around. “I know what it is.”

He arched his right brow. “I was hoping a few minutes alone would help you calm down.” He stepped closer. “I suppose not.”

“Calm down?” She fisted her hands at her sides. “You kidnapped me and are going to sell me to some monster who will do who knows what to me, and I’m supposed to calm down because you left me alone in a room with your torture equipment?” Years of maintaining her voice at an even level for her mother kept her from yelling at him, but if he lifted that eyebrow another centimeter, she wasn’t sure she could stop herself.

“Torture?” He looked at the cross then made a pointed gesture of looking at the spanking bench. “I suppose, but it’s the most delicious kind of torture, I assure you.”

She stared at him. Was he making a joke? Did he think lightening the mood was going to help make her pliable?

“Where did you get the idea that you’re being sold?” He unbuttoned his jacket with one hand.

“You brought me here. This is the Annex, right? Women are sold here.” Did he think she was that ignorant to not know where he’d brought her?

“You have things twisted a bit there. You aren’t here to be sold. I meant what I said to Santos. You’re mine now.”

“Yours?” She huffed a laugh. “Like I’m some toy on a shelf in the store?”

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