Page 11 of Soul Of A Villain

“You’re finally awake.”

The low, husky timbre of a man’s voice drew her attention. He sat in a low-slung chair just outside the elaborate cage. Londyn scrambled back as far as she could, pressing against the farthest point of the enclosure.

Images flashed through her mind. Memories of everything she’d gone through over the past few days. The plane ride. The attack by the guard. Being starved before the auction and those horrible hours when strange hands held her down and prepared her for sale. She’d been waxed, plucked, bathed, her hair shampooed until every inch of her was clean. And then there was the examination by the house doctor…confirming her innocence. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. All of that paled in comparison to that terrifying hunt through the woods and the moment she was claimed by the victor.

Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the massive bed and the elegant rustic furnishings. Her chin wobbled when she remembered being tossed upon that bed and held down by cruel hands. She remembered biting one of them and then… blankness.

Her gaze flew back to the man, waiting patiently for her attention to refocus on him. His mouth curved in a smile.

“Do you know who I am?” His voice was calm and assured, as if he had all the time in the world. Londyn shook her head, not trusting herself to say anything. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would begin screaming and never stop.

He chuckled a little and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied her. “You don’t remember last night? That chase through the woods? I paid a fortune for the right to hunt you. To catch you. I’m your new owner.”

She pulled the blanket closer, the soft fur tickling her nose. She wanted to forget those moments in the woods. Wanted to forget how brightly hope flared only to be stomped out under a heavy heel. Another man had assaulted her, then was clubbed for his trouble by the one now watching her so intently.

The guards who delivered her into this man’s possession last night called him ‘Mister Winter.’

Despite her resolve to stay strong, to continue fighting until she escaped this nightmare, tears tracked down Londyn’s cheeks.

The man made atskingsympathetic noise. He had a beautiful smile with straight, white teeth and the sharply cut jawline of a Greek god. “Oh, baby. Do you think your tears make a difference?”

Londyn shivered at the unabashed cruelty in his tone but said nothing. Instead, she calmed herself with a deep breath.

He was frowning when her eyes lifted to meet his. Her unwillingness to play his games annoyed him, but even in a pissed-off state, he was probably, and unfairly, the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Thick, dark-brown hair tumbled over his forehead, and his eyes, an unearthly shade of ice blue, were fringed with eyelashes so lush they’d make any girl jealous. He wore a fitted black T-shirt and black jeans, the muscles in his forearms on full display. Several tattoos decorated his lightly tanned skin—from letters inked across his fingers to a band of barbed wire that encircled one powerful bicep.

He couldn’t be much older than herself, although a hard edge added years to his demeanor.

With a sigh, he reached beside the chair and picked up a bottle of water she’d not noticed before. Then he dug something out of his pocket, leaning closer to the cage and offering the items to her.

“Are you thirsty?” His voice was that same husky softness. He was trying to soothe her with it. Lull her into thinking she was in no danger. She didn’t move from the back panel of the cage, remaining pressed against the bars.

He waved the bottle in her direction. “You should drink something. You’re dehydrated.” Setting the bottle just inside the bars of the cage, he also placed two pills beside it, his lips quirking upward when he saw her glare full of suspicion. “It’s just ibuprofen. It will help with the pain.”

He was right about the pain, but why he was concerned was a mystery. Her face was sore, and when Londyn gingerly touched her temple, it ached. Her mouth was so dry it felt like it had been packed with cotton. She wanted that water, but how could she trust a man who had locked her in a cage?

“Are you going to kill me?” Londyn blurted out suddenly.

“Not today,” the man replied with another charming laugh. He scooped up a black folder lying on the floor between his feet. “I’ve not gotten my money’s worth out of you yet.”

“I-I need to use the bathroom,” Londyn said quietly. That was the truth. She really did. She could also look for a way of escaping.

The man’s eyes darkened as he stared at her while slowly flipping through the folder. “I’m sure you do, but we’ll go over a few details before I give you even an inch of rope. Let’s start with the most important detail of this arrangement. When I tell you to do something, I expect obedience. Now, take that medicine and drink the water like I’ve told you.”

Londyn scooted closer to the side of the cage where the bottle sat. Although she despised the necessity of following his commands, she twisted the seal of the bottle’s cap and took a long swig. It wasn’t fair that plain old water should taste so good. She took another deep swallow, holding the blanket tightly at her chest so her nakedness remained hidden, which was stupid since he was likely the one who undressed her in the first place.

“And the medicine,” he prodded, not even bothering to glance her way as he perused the contents of the folder.

Londyn examined the round orange pills. They certainly looked like common ibuprofen. While debating the wisdom of ingesting something unknown, she slowly put them in her mouth and took a sip of water. Swallowing them, she hoped he was telling the truth and had not just given her poison.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, and Londyn’s stomach tightened. As a third-year psychology major, she understood the powerful yet fundamental dynamics behind those words of praise. Men used them as a way of enticing and encouraging obedience.

“Will you let me out now? I did what you wanted.” Her voice was strained and hoarse from the crying she’d done over the last few days, but the note of challenge it contained, and the derisive curl of her lip had the man’s head snapping up. Those scary, glacially hued eyes narrowed.

“I will not tolerate defiance. Or insubordination.”

Londyn gulped, her mouth suddenly drier than before she drank half a bottle of water. She nodded in a short, jerky motion and waited silently as he flipped through the folder.

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