Cal had strict instructions to watch her. To be gentle but firm.
I didn’t like it.
I hated the crawling sensation under my suit, whispering that I should’ve brought her with me. I should keep her close in case something happened. But that was fucking ridiculous. Jinx belonged to me just like the food prepared in my restaurants and the staff who cultivated my gardens.
I didn’t need to constantly monitor her existence.
She was mine.
Therefore, she was safe.
Cricking my neck, I scowled at the screen and a few measly lines of text. How the hell did I word an email that demanded my brother be evicted and any of his requests denied without sounding like a whingey kid with a bad case of sibling rivalry?
Shit.
Footsteps sounded on the aircraft steps again, wrenching my head up.
I’d hoped the arrival was the airplane pilot, given approval from the tower to taxi to our departure point.
My heart stopped.
Sub-zero temperatures turned my blood to ice. “Calvin.” My voice did nothing to show my seething displeasure. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I got a ride after you.” He lugged a bag over his shoulder, moving down the aisles to fall into a chair in front of mine, then turned to look over the headrest. “Not letting you deal with that cunt on your own.”
“I wanted you to take care of my investments.” My teeth ground together, turning my words to dust. “You can’t do that if you’re not there, dipshit.”
“Arbi has it under control. They’ll be fine. The girls know their schedule for Euphoria. Jealousy will help prepare them. You have a loyal, capable team, Sinclair. They can handle us gone for a few days.”
“That wasn’t the god. Damn. Point.”
Eleanor.
She was still too new. Too flighty. Too aware of her imprisonment.
Without a daily reminder that there was no chance of escape…it would become a temptation too great to ignore.
I’d give her forty-eight hours before she attempted a freedom expedition.
She’d leave.
She’d fail.
And I wouldn’t be there to save her.
Or to drag her back.
Chapter Eight
FATE HAD BEEN THE reason for my kidnapping and captivity. An awful version of karma that ensured I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, serendipity gave me a chance at freedom.
A perfectly choreographed moment that had no other explanation for its occurrence than divine intervention.
I’d been brought here because I’d been easy, silly prey. But I would leave because I’d grown wise and brave. I didn’t want to be a girl who had erotic dreams about her new lord and master. Who allowed her days to be filled with pampered promise. To forget she had a life before she’d become someone else’s.
I had to be honest with myself: I had a very limited amount of time to flee. Limited time before I lost myself, lost to him, lost to servitude.
And that time was already running out.
Every day, I grew more and more lulled by this existence he offered.
Every night, I curled up in a bed that’d become familiar, welcomed…home.
Stay any longer, and I’d forget that I wasn’t here of my own free will. I’d forget how I was snatched, degraded, traded, and delivered. I’d accept. I’d enjoy. I’d fall in love with the sand, the palms, the tiny parrots…and even…possibly…Sullivan Sinclair himself.
The veil between love and hate constantly tore in the battle of romance. And that thought began a wormhole of self-reflection, forcing me to admit that sometimes…for microseconds of connection, when Sully stared at me, kissed me, and held me firm, my hate would stray into affection. My belly would flutter. Butterflies would become fireflies. Fireflies became moths. Moths became warnings clawing at my heart.
He blurred right and wrong.
He smudged yes and no.
He dazzled my senses until I didn’t trust myself anymore.
He was the real danger here.
And I was in danger of being the worst kind of idiot.
The stupidest type of girl.
I was in danger of actually liking him. Of not just lusting but liking. Of finding out his secrets. Of wanting more between us than owner and possession.
No.
It can’t happen.
I refuse!
My silent shouts were my one saving grace, delivering a single opportunity to escape.
I shot from my bed at four in the morning, my blood popping with fury and fear.
I couldn’t lie there and drown beneath such truth anymore. I needed to be outside. To breathe fresh air. To finally come up with a concrete solution to escape.
Wrapping a silk dressing gown with embroidered silver lilies around me, I slipped from my villa and headed down the sandy path. The lanterns still flickered with light, leading me through the darkness toward the main beach.
There, I plopped onto the sand beside the same bush where I’d eavesdropped on the goddesses and brought my knees up to rest my chin on.
The sun hadn’t made an appearance yet, but the stars slowly faded, yawning with fatigue, wrapping themselves up with swathes of midnight. No sea breeze. No waves licking. Just utter, bone-deep silence.