Page 52 of Soul Of A Villain

Londyn’s eyes flashed silver, her tone bitter. “I expected you to say that.”

“Then you should have known better than to ask me.”

“I keep hoping a heart will grow inside that empty chest of yours,” Londyn retorted; all hints of deference disappearing. “That you will realize how wrong and depraved this is and set me free.”

“It’s a foolish thing to wish for, dove. Foolish and pointless.”

Releasing her, Oliver turned to the trail as Londyn followed, her footsteps much slower than his.

ChapterThirty

Londyn

Londyn gingerly sankonto the dining room chair Oliver held out for her.

Her bottom was on fire. Although she had carefully examined herself in the bathroom mirror, there were no visible bruises from that awful spanking. Only the five tally marks on her back spoke to her captor’s obsession with her body, along with the bruises on her hips where he’d gripped her so tightly while fucking her that first time. But no evidence of abuse existed on her backside—just the lingering heat caused by his palm.

He said he owes me five more cuts for the orgasms he gave me. Will I feel them this time? Will I even notice the sting of the knife if I’m coming at the same time? Will I feel it when he slices my throat? Or will it, too, be painless and wrapped in pleasure?

Londyn shook those thoughts out of her mind. She was angry—at him, at herself, and at the world for allowing this to happen. And she was angry that she wasn’t fighting harder to escape. It was stupid to feel this way, but Londyn could not help the unsettled turmoil rolling through her. How could she get away when being near Oliver only made her feel safer? It did not make sense, but it was the truth. Even his punishments made her feel as though this was where she belonged. And when he calmly tended her afterward, carefully setting her to rights, straightening her clothes, and feeding her; she could not deny the attachment and dependency that was slowly but surely developing.

Stockholm Syndrome… I got an A on a paper regarding that same subject in Psychology 101 duringmy first semester at Vandy. How could I know I’d have firsthand experience in a debunked theory. And prove that it truly existed?

Oliver recognized her agitation. After ensuring she was seated, he took the chair at the head of the table, watching closely as she downed the glass of wine in a couple of gulps.

“You’re upset,” he murmured, leaning across the table to refill her glass.

“You’re very perceptive,” Londyn mocked. She sipped the wine much slower this time, studying him over the crystal. “Maybe it’s because I cannot sit comfortably on my own ass, thanks to you. Or maybe it’s because a monstrous tyrant is holding me prisoner.”

Oliver smiled at her display of temper, which only infuriated Londyn more. Her palm itched to slap his handsomely sculpted cheek. To see what kind of punishment that sort of behavior would earn her.

Stop dreaming up reasons for Oliver to punish me!

“Stop laughing at me,” she demanded, irritated with her train of thoughts.

“But you’re so damn adorable when you are mad.”

Londyn’s mouth thinned into a hard line. There was no talking sense to this man. He was cruel. Stubborn. And powerful. Sparring with him was exhausting, and if she could bring herself to face the truth, pointless. He’d been very clear from the beginning that he wouldn’t let her go. He might take excellent care of her after using her body, but he truly didn’t care about her. It was a fact she must accept.

She glanced down at the elegant gown she wore. It was one of many packages that had arrived while he was gone. She wasn’t sure how he managed to get so many things for her, things that all seemed crafted specifically for her.

Oliver dished up the pasta Miss Miller had prepared for their dinner, his lips still curving upward with a grin. “Miss Miller’s an excellent cook. Not gourmet, of course, but still, her dishes are among my favorites.”

“I’ve never had gourmet food, so I wouldn’t know what I’m missing.” Londyn picked up her fork, testing the tines with her forefinger. “I’m glad I met her. She’s very kind.”

“She is. She takes excellent care of the house during my extended absences and spoils me when I’m here.”

His casual statement was a reminder of their impending departure. Oliver had not given her any details about the trip. She had no idea when they would leave or the exact location of where they were going other than to his brother’s estate. She didn’t even know if she was expected to pack the items he’d given her or leave them behind for future disposal. And the question lingered—why would he buy these things for her, wasting that money, if he was going to dispose of her soon?

“Does your brother know we are coming?” she asked in an attempt to glean even a small bit of information from him.

“Oh, he knows. It’s bad timing, but he knows,” Oliver said, swirling his glass and watching the Pinot Grigio catch the light from the iron chandelier overhead.

“Bad timing?”

For a split second, he looked as though he would not respond. A muscle ticked along the steel cut line of his jaw before he shrugged. “He’s getting married in a month.”

Londyn’s eyes widened. “Married?”

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