Transaction.
Even I had resorted to referring to myself like merchandise. It was easier that way—helped numb any stupid idea that I was still human. I wasn’t. I was a toy—had been the moment I stepped foot on this luxury floating prison.
A steward appeared from the interior, weathered and tanned from a life spent on the water. He wore a pristine white uniform with pleats and creases in all the right places. “Hello, Mr. Killian. We’re honored that the president himself could join us. Must say, Mr. Steel is much obliged you’ve come.”
Kill stiffened, his fingers locking tighter around my wrist, where he held me. Why he held me I didn’t know. It wasn’t like I could run anywhere. Unless I could suddenly sprout wings that I’d forgotten about, I was chained here.
“No need to kiss my ass. Change of plans. I wanted to deliver the girl myself.”
To make sure Grasshopper didn’t realize the awfulness of what was about to happen and free me.
“Well, it’s our pleasure to receive you.” The steward flashed us a smile, glowing too white and perfect. “Mr. Steel is expecting you. Please, follow me.”
My stomach knotted and I wanted more than anything to throw myself overboard and swim far away.
Kill sensed my unease. His fingers switched from my wrist to my elbow, latching tight and keeping me imprisoned by his side.
Together, we followed the steward. The only sounds were the slap of my flip-flops, the screams of gulls, and the gentle kiss of water on fiberglass.
This nautical world. This foreign dimension.
It’s my home now.
My hair fluttered with the wind as we traversed the pristine deck, past a spa and outdoor bar, and traded sunshine for the shade of opulent walnut and carpeted interior.
My heart thundered as Kill yanked my elbow, jerking me from my safe zone of pressing against him and into the limelight and center stage.
Tears were thick molasses in my heart, forming a ball in my throat—slowly choking me.
The dimness of the sitting room took a while to become clear after the glare of sunshine.
Kill noticed him before I did. His body hummed with aggression, tempered by civility. “Mr. Steel.”
“Pleasure. Please, come in. Come in.” The voice was far too posh and overly cordial. Fake. Imposter.
My instincts told me to bolt—that this wasn’t a sumptuous vessel but a nest of vipers.
Kill carted me forward, even though I tried to lock my knees from obeying. He shot me a look, growling under his breath, “Behave.”
Stumbling forward, my eyes struggled to pick out the features of the man who would become my owner. He sat with his legs stretched out, reclining on a designer chair in the middle of the gorgeous oceanic room. He held a martini glass and wore a crisp linen suit.
Kill nodded. “I’m running low on time. Let’s conclude this quickly.”
My already broken heart shattered further. He couldn’t wait to be free of me. To never look at me or relive his sins again.
Heartless bastard.
Mr. Steel saluted us with the martini glass. “If that is the case, we shall begin momentarily. We mean to catch the tide, too, so a quick agreement would be valuable to all.”
My eyes bugged. Who was this asshole who spoke as if he had descended from the queen? His pronunciation was impeccable. I studied him harder, drinking in the bleached-blond hair, trimmed goatee, and piercing black eyes. His skin glowed from sun exposure but he didn’t have wrinkles. I struggled to estimate his age due to the obvious cosmetic surgery and Botox. It was impossible to truly know.
Kill strode across the thick carpet, dragging me unwillingly closer.
The closer we got, the more I sensed the sort of man the buyer was.
He had class—stinking of violence beneath the expensive aftershave.
He had suaveness—evilness hiding behind oiled perfection.
But in his prettiness lurked a disease that sent my heart burrowing in my chest. He was sin personified and I wanted nothing to do with him.
Coming to a stop before him, the buyer’s eyes slithered down my body.
I fought the urge to shudder and look away.
“Fantastic first impression.” His attention went first to my tattooed leg, then my burned one. Curiosity etched his face.
Kill breathed hard beside me.
The buyer sat taller in his chair, his voice dropping to a demand. “Show me more.”
What?
Kill suddenly let me go, moving behind me. My stomach twisted and I gasped as his hands came around me, undoing the fastening of my dress with swift efficiency. “Kill—”
With nimble fingers, he yanked the wraparound bronze dress off my shoulders, giving me no choice but to relinquish it.
I couldn’t believe he’d done that. He was so cold, so detached. He didn’t believe I was the girl from his past but surely I meant something? We’d slept together. I’d healed him. It took a special type of person to block all that out.
Someone whose been trained to do it for years.
“Intriguing,” Mr. Steel said, throwing back the rest of his martini.
I bit my lip in horror, clasping my arms over my chest, dressed only in the awful gold bikini. My scars were on display—the treasure of my tattoo visible for all to see. I hated him seeing me—studying me—making me feel cheap and nothing more than something to buy and sell.
My scars itched, almost as if new fire singed me from the buyer’s horrible inspection. My tattoo was all color and shadows, coaxing his eyes away from my ugliness toward the artisan beauty I so adored.