Page 49 of Into the Woods

“What are you doing?” I push at the fine wool of his coat, sloughing it off my shoulders only for him to pull it back into place.

“Keep that on”—he grasps the lapels, holding them tightly together as he guides me toward the door—“and move. We don’t have much time.”

I make a desperate grab at the detached skirt that makes up the rest of my dress. The crimson silk catches on the door, shredding as Christophe pushes me through. I cringe. The gorgeous fabric is in tatters—not that I’ll ever wear this ensemble again. I’m sure there’s no need for formal wear in my future.

Christophe ushers me out the back of the club and into his waiting car. The driver closes us in and then peels away as one of the suited men from the auction comes barreling out of the building, yelling, threatening. He pulls a weapon from his coat, aiming, trailing the car until we turn the corner and disappear.

“What are you doing?” I ask, spinning to look behind us. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.” His answer is simple, tone entirely too unaffected for the situation.

“What? Why?” I perch on the edge of the plush leather seat to stare at him, but he gives me nothing. All I have is Christophe’s stern profile as he calmly taps at his phone. “Someone bought me, paid a fuck of a lot of money for the privilege of debauching me. You can’t just steal me away, dammit.”

“I can and I did.”

My mouth falls open at his curt response. “But the debt; I owed you.”

“You still do.”

Shock paints my face. “I have no way to pay you back, Christophe. That’s what you’ve told me—insisted on—all along. You almost ruined me in the office before that shit show even started and now…what? You’re going to steal me away and try to sell me again? Didn’t bring in what you thought you would the first time?” God, I’m pissed—so fucking mad. At him. At my parents. At this whole fucked up situation.

This time, I get nothing in response.

Nothing verbal.

No. Christophe just leans back into the supple leather seat and spreads his knees wide.

“You can start anytime,” he says, tilting his head to the space between his feet. His implication is clear.

How many times has he told me I couldn’t work off the stupid debt? How many times has he told me the number was too high, the interest too steep?

“You said?—”

“Get on your knees or don’t, Winifred. We can wait if you prefer, but money has been transferred. Your sale is finalized, and I assure you, the spoils have been claimed and the owner will get his due.” A muscle in his jaw jumps, but his eyes are heavy with lust and desire.

“What did you do?”

Finally—finally—he meets my eyes, and his lips pull up on the side, his smirk full of threats and promises.

“You can’t. You…you didn’tbuyme. You weren’t even out there.” My voice is high, squeaky. It sounds foreign to me, and full of panic. Though, rightfully so, because I am fucking panicking.

The car stops outside his mansion and the driver opens the door, his expression grim and weirdly pissed off.

As Christophe steps elegantly from the car, I scramble for the opposite door, but his strong hands stop my escape and pull me back.

“Let me go, you asshole.” I twist and try to pull free, but it’s useless. My arms are trapped within the steel band of his. He palms my throat, his fingers pressing in.

He spins me, releasing the hold he has on my body, but he doesn’t give me my freedom. No, he backs me into the cold metal of the car, pinning me there.

My pulse flutters under his fingertips and like he can’t resist the thrill, he tightens his grasp, squeezing, cutting off my air.

“You bastard,” I rasp. It’s sexy as fuck to feel that vibration against the palm of his hand.

My nipples tighten to hard buds despite myself. I fight, push at him, scratching at his hand and drawing blood. But I get nowhere.

“This little show of defiance is cute, Winnie. I like your fire. But I will not tolerate this shit.” His gaze flicks to the crimson droplets blooming at the edge of his stark white dress shirt. “And I think we’re done with you making me bleed, do you understand me? It’s my turn, now.” Furious, he’s fucking furious.

Maybe he expects me to cower. To show fear or at the very least a little respect, but he’s obviously wasted his precious time, becauseDefiantcould quite literally be my middle name.

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