Page 50 of Scarred in Silence
I waste no time stripping and sliding into the shorts and t-shirt he brought me. I slip my feet into the tennis shoes, staring up at him while I do so.
“W-why are you doing this?”
The corner of his mouth threatens a smile, but he suppresses it.
“Because I can.”
Oddly enough, I trust him a little bit. He seems cold, but sincere. I don’t think he will lie to me.
I stand, and he takes his arm, hooking it with mine, as he escorts us out of the room. We go through another set of doors and then down the stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“We are taking the back way. Can’t let anyone know what I have, can I?” He smiles.
My cheeks heat from the compliment.
His chiseled jaw and chilling attitude. They remind me of him. Of Lucien.
I walk out the doors and feel the warm air on my skin. The sun hits my face and I feel what I have been dreaming of. Freedom.
Only, I know it’s temporary. I need to wait to run. If I try here, he will take me right back into Nicolette’s arms.
He walks us to a vehicle waiting. A Blacked-out Suburban. He opens the rear passenger door and lets me slide in. The cool leather greets me as I get in. He comes around to the other side and slides in next to me. Placing a possessive hand on my thigh.
Mylegs clench together. I don’t know why I am acting so weird right now. I’ve sold myself for money so many times. This time it feels different. I fear what Lucien will do when he finds me.
If he finds me.
* * *
We arrive at a large mansion decorated with white brick. It’s beautiful. Victor slides out of the car and opens my door for me. I slide out. Taking in the warm air once more.
“Care to have a tour?” He asks.
“Sure.”
I follow him along the paths.
He takes me to his garden, then his tennis court, followed by his garage. Then we move inside the house. He shows me his four living areas, two dining rooms, his home theater, all eight bedrooms, bathrooms, and the kitchen. I don’t think my parents ever went this all out, and they have millions of dollars.
We conclude the tour in the kitchen, which is accented with dark brown wood and black brick. It’s gorgeous.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. I don’t remember the last meal I actually ate. Varek never gave me dinner. Nicolette never fed me.
“Great. I’ll make you something.”
I take a seat at the island and watch him cook. He seems so domesticated for someone who buys women.
“Why did you buy me? Seriously?” I ask.
He pulls out a pan from one of the cabinets, setting it down on themarble countertop.
“I have unique tastes. You fit the bill.”
The nonchalance in his tone stings my nerves. Agitation seeping through my pores.
