He kicked me with every remaining energy, landing squarely on my lower back and earning a deep-seated groan I couldn’t control.

“Ah, sweet victory. You do make a noise.” Crouching beside me, he wrenched my head, forcing me to look at him. “You wanted him, didn’t you, Pim? You wanted his cock over mine. You wanted that sick fuck because he let you sit at the table and eat like a human. Because he permitted you on the couch like a woman.”

Shaking me, he spat in my face. “You aren’t a woman. You’re mine to be what I tell you to be. If I say you’re a fucking flamingo, you stand on one leg. If I tell you you’re a dog, you get on all fours and wait to be mounted. Do you get that? Do you!?”

I flinched, disgusted as warm, oozing saliva flowed over my chin.

I am a woman.

And I’m not yours.

No matter how long you own me, I’ll never be yours.

“Those gifts weren’t his to give.” Yanking me to my feet, he used my hair as a leash, guiding me from my room to his.

I stumbled beside him, breathing hard, tears streaming that I didn’t remember crying, all while holding my mangled hand. Every step felt as if I’d shatter into a billion pieces. I wanted to shatter. Perhaps then the agony would stop.

My hand was broken. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me that.

He tossed me into his room, stormed to his bedside table, and yanked out the rope. I parried backward as he grabbed my wrist, throwing me on the bed.

The moment I lay down, he tore off Mr. Prest’s blazer, wrenched down my skirt, ripped off the rest of my ruined polo, and smiled with victory. “I wanted to have fun tonight. Not every day is as special as a two year anniversary.”

He shoved his face in mine. “But you had to fucking ruin it, didn’t you?! You had to get wet for that cocksucker as he swindled me out of millions. You had the audacity to let him touch you and like it.”

Pulling back, he swiped shaking hands through his hair. His shaking matched mine but for entirely different reasons. I fought terror and the last dregs of strength I possessed. He was drunk on brutality and ready to deliver.

Coiling the rope around his hand, he snickered. “You know what I just realised, sweet little Pim?” His arm lashed backward, bringing the rope hissing forward. “I realised that it’s been too many months since I made you scream.”

The first sting hit me square on the chest, granting a livid welt instantly.

I clamped my lips together and stared at the ceiling. I would’ve given anything to roll onto my side and squeeze into a ball. I’d been with him for long enough to know what he planned.

And it wasn’t good.

He whipped me again and again, the tiny fibres of the rope slicing through tender skin like a fileting blade. Pinpricks of blood welled on my breasts and lower belly.

“Remember that night…when I broke your arm? You made the sweetest sound.” He grabbed his cock through the denim, before quickly undoing his belt and shoving his jeans to the floor. He didn’t wear underwear, and his ugly penis sprang from a thicket of blond hair. “When I heard you scream? Fuck, it turned me on.”

Tearing off his t-shirt, he climbed on the mattress, naked with just the rope in his hands.

I tore my eyes away.

From now on, I wouldn’t look at him. He would do his best to make me bellow. He would force me to watch. Order me to listen to every depraved thing he said. But he couldn’t make me stay.

As his sweaty grip lashed my body to the bed and coarse rope bit into my wrists and ankles, I said goodbye to Pimlico and became Tasmin instead.

I sank and sank.

I returned to a happier time.

Shedding my slavery, my mind skipped into innocence.

Where nothing and no one could touch me.

WHO THE FUCK is she?

The question drove me mad.

She was in my mind with her judging silence; in my thoughts with her knowing stare.

She was just a girl. A beaten, skinny, insolent little girl.

So why did I recall her as something so much more than what she was? Why had she made such an impression on me?

No one had left such an imprint since I’d lived on the streets full of coldness and cruelty. She reminded me of that time. A time I tried so fucking hard to forget.

“Sir, the contract is drafted.”

My head snapped up from my laptop. I glowered at Selix. He was one of the very few to know me before wealth found me—well, before I stole wealth and made it mine.

I ran a hand up my bare arm, tracing the Japanese words inked around my wrist. The proverb taunted me, reminding me of the promise I’d made to my mother when I’d been a better man. “Good. Arrange the final meeting so we can get the fuck out of this port.”

“Very well.” He retreated from my office, carrying the thick manila folder full of schematics and fine print. I didn’t relax until the soft hish of the closed door met my ears.

The moment I was alone, I planted my elbows on my desk and scrubbed my face.

I was too fucking busy for this nonsense.

She’s just a girl.

Shit, don’t call her that.

She’s a slave.

Over the past two days, my mind had slowly transformed her from possession to human.

I didn’t want that.

I wanted her to remain faceless…worthless, so I could forget about her and move on. I had too many assholes asking for my services to be side-tracked.

Besides, if I needed a woman, I could have two or ten delivered within the hour. I didn’t need her. Not that I often gave in to bodily cravings. Bad things happened when I gave in to my desires.