Page 65 of Auctioned

“Sonnet.” He’s behind the bars, one hand holding a bottle of water. The other is carrying a plate.

Holy. Shit. There’s a sandwich on it.

He watches me as I hug my knees closer to my chest. His gaze unnerves me, and I press my back harder to the wall.

“What do you want?” I snarl, my throat dry. I could drunk from the tap, but I won’t. They could be unfiltered. I could die.

Topher would’ve loved that. Maybe James too.

“How have you been?”

I almost laugh at him.

I could’ve been better if I’d tucked myself under the covers. Had I slept in the bed instead of on the floor.

Which would never happen. I’d never allow myself to be comfortable here. Won’t lie and tell myself that this isn’t the worst place ever.

Being here is the worst.

James is the worst.

I hate him.

I think.

I do.

I have to convince myself of that. Cling on to that.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

“Let’s see.” Talking hurts after being denied water. After crying for hours. “I was put on display, auctioned, and sold to my ex-boyfriend’s dad. Ever since I’ve been locked in a cell. Sleep deprived. Food deprived. Orgasm deprived. Life is fucking peachy.”

“Ophelia. You’re looking at this the wrong way.” He raises a thick eyebrow. My accusations have gone right over his head. “You were sold for thirty million dollars. It’s the highest bid we’ve had here.”

The nerve of this man. To say these things to me. To look so good while he humiliates me. He’s showered, I notice, refreshed in his blue jeans and gray long-sleeve T-shirt. I won’t stare at him too long.

I will definitely not try to guess what he put in that sandwich.

Fuck him and his whole wheat bread and his damp hair that still manages to look perfect.

Fuck. Him.

I put my hand on my chest. Flutter my eyelashes.

“Oh, Jeez. Where are my manners? Mr. Hawthorne, sir, I’m so incredibly flattered. Honored, even. That is, if I forget that I was sold”—my voice rises, my hand balling into a fist—“against”—I’m screaming now—“my will!”

“The last three items you’ve listed as things you’ve been denied of earlier, that’s on you.” More ignoring me. More of his flat tone. More of his dark glare. My thighs remain where they are. They won’t clench for him. “You could’ve slept in the bed. Could’ve let me feed you. Could’ve made you come on my fingers. I offered you everything, but you refused.”

An animalistic growl bursts past my lips. I don’t recognize it. This isn’t me. “You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re fucking with my head.” Gone is his cool, aloof demeanor. A scary emotion washes over him. He lets it stay this time. Lets me see him. Lets me fear him. “I’d say we’re even.”

My stomach grumbles, and it’s humiliating. I pull my knees closer, hoping it’ll silence the sound. Fail.

“You’re going to be good.” Not a question. A command. A threat. “I’m going to come inside. Then you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

I have to fight him. Either that or humanize myself in his eyes so he stops this madness. He tucked me in before the auction.

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