Page 150 of Auctioned

“I always thought about getting her back.” Topher stumbles toward me.

He’s drunk, not high. If he goes into my bedroom, he’ll see her. He’ll remember it tomorrow.

He’ll seek retribution.

He could force my hand to eliminate the threat, as in him. It will be a spur-of-the-moment decision, and I don’t do those.

My father forced my hand once. I had to put a lot of work into making people forget he’d ever existed.

Ophelia isn’t the only one who isn’t ready. I’m not, either.

I flatten a hand over his chest to stop him.

“She would be fun to torture.” His speech is slurry. I’m the most sober I’ve been in my life. “I could build my own cell at the penthouse.” His home in the city. “I’d hurt her there. No one has to know. We could hide it from the Morgans, right, Dad? Why can’t I have what I want?”

God help me, another word about torturing her, and I’ll slash his throat.

I settle for gripping the collar of his shirt. Leveling him with a glare that means that another wrong word and I’ll kill him.

“Dad—”

“You don’t love her.” I seethe, my control slipping. This scene needs to end, and it needs to end soon. “I can’t save you from everything, Topher. Ophelia was sold. Paid for. It’s a done deal. The rules say we don’t keep women. For any reason. Get over yourself.”

“Fuck you.” His breath reeks of liquor. His eyes are glossy. But he means what he says. I know my own son. “I’ll go looking for her myself. I’ve been initiated. I have every right to do?—”

Thunk.

The sound is loud enough to be heard over the rain.

Topher stops mid-sentence, his eyes shooting toward the ceiling.

I don’t wait for him to askWhat was that?

I don’t wait for anything.

“You’ve got some nerve.” My fist connects to his jaw. I’ve never hit or slapped him before. For Ophelia, I’ll do whatever it takes. “Coming to my house, making demands. Undermining my authority.”

He stares at me, shocked, blood smeared on the corner of his mouth. “Dad, what the fuck?”

I’m protective. A changed man. A human motherfucking shield. That’s what the fuck.

“You’ll learn to respect me.” I release his shirt, and after a second punch, he’s on the floor. I crouch next to him, my fist still clenched. “The hard way.”

His hands go up to protect his face. “Dad?—”

The third blow knocks him out. As intended.

That’s what he’ll remember tomorrow. His father losing his temper.

My heart pounds as I stand up, staring at his unconscious body. His pain doesn’t bother me.

Ophelia’s life does. Resourceful little thing, she must’ve rolled off the bed. She could be hurt, despite the plush rug softening the blow.

Leaving Topher here, when he could wake up, is reckless. He could catch me when I’m tending to her. He could come up with a knife.

No.

Into the cell he goes.

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