Page 73 of Love Bleeds Red
“Gentlemen,” Sir says, his voice full of pride, “I’d like you to meet Bailey. Six months of careful cultivation, and now look at her.”
A tall man with graying temples nods approvingly. Another, age-spotted with bushy white brows, narrows his gaze and taps his knee. “She looks familiar. Is she number 521?”
I try to keep my expression neutral but I’m sure I fail. A number? These bastards have us numbered? My face heats and pulse roars in my ears.
“Yes, but I’ve shed that image from her. She’s a proper lady now, ready to fulfill her destiny,” Sir says. The tall man snickers, but it doesn’t seem to bother Sir.
“Well, well.”
The voice comes from behind me, familiar in the worst possible way. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as the sickening scent that still haunts my nightmares wafts over me.
“I wasn’t expecting this treat today.”
His heavy footsteps circle me slowly while his gaze eats up every inch of my body. I keep my head low, not meeting his cold blue eyes, but still watching him from my periphery.
King.
“Orlov,” Sir says.A name.I store it away for later. “I wasn’t aware of you being in town. Is your uncle here as well?”
“No, just me checking on some important clients,” King says as he lowers himself onto the couch and brings an arm around the scrutinizing old man’s shoulder. From Sir’s tone, he’s not thrilled to see King either, although they clearly have a friendly rapport.
“Lovely,” Sir says. “Well, Bailey, Polly, why don’t you be good hosts and get my guests some refreshments?”
Polly touches my arm and leads me to the credenza where crystal decanters and glasses wait.
“Alright?” Polly whispers.
I shake my head, unable to form words.
King’s presence ripped open wounds that have barely begun to heal. I may as well be bleeding out onto the floor.
My hands shake as I pick up the decanter, but Polly gently takes it and begins to pour. Her movements may be more precise than mine, but there’s still tension radiating off her.
“Remember what I said,” she repeats. I wish I could yell and scream, kick and punch. Say,I know, trust me. I know they’re bad men.
“Whiskey for everyone,” Sir announces over their chatter. “Bailey, serve our guests.”
I take the tray with trembling hands, and pass out the glasses, starting with the gray-haired man, then the older one with the bushy brows. King watches my every movement with a crooked smile.
“Such a graceful little thing,” he murmurs as I approach with his glass. When I lean forward to set the tray down, his hand shoots out to grip my wrist. His thick fingers trace circles over my pulse point. “Much more refined than when I last saw her.”
I choke on my own breath, but I force myself to stay still. Polly’s words echo in my ears. Don’t fight. Don’t react. Don’t give him what he wants.
“Indeed,” Sir says with obvious pride. “Bailey, why don’t you show our guests how well your lessons have progressed? Please, recite something for us.”
My insides twist. I can’t… not like this, with King’s sick smile staring up at me. “Sir, I?—”
“Come now, don’t be modest. That lovely piece from Keats you’ve been practicing. You must remember the passage, you just recited it at breakfast yesterday.”
The room falls silent, all eyes land on me. King’s grip on my wrist tightens to the point of pain before he finally drops my arm.
There’s no getting out of this. I’m no more than a trained circus animal forced to perform.
I clear my throat, my voice barely steady.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever... It’s loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness...”
“Excellent diction,” the gray-haired man comments, his English accent prominent. “Very proper. I’d almost never guess she started as a common whore.”
