My chin tipped up. I actually looked into his eyes instead of through him. He was the one exception. “The only one who will fall is you.”

He chuckled. “I like your continued confidence that this will all work out for you.”

“One day…somehow, someone will come after you and make you wish you’d stayed fiddling with the stock market instead of women’s lives.”

Licking his bottom lip, he circled around me again.

My skin crawled, but I remained a naked, unfeeling statue.

“Don’t you want to beg?” His finger slithered over my shoulder. “Don’t you want to know what’s in store for you?”

“My questions won’t make a difference. My pleas won’t make you grow a heart and let me go.”

“Wise woman.” Chuckling again, he moved to the corner of his office and scooped up a pile of clothing. Throwing them at my feet, he commanded, “Dress. As much as I appreciate your body, I’m not one for sampling my merchandise.” His eyes gleamed. “Especially merchandise that has already been sold.”

My heart stopped.

Outwardly, I stayed standing and brave.

Inwardly, things crumbled. My stupid hope. My idiotic belief. The quietly ticking clock that promised rescue if I just clung to sanity a little longer.

His smile widened as if he heard my stalled heartbeat.

Tearing my gaze from his, I ducked to collect the offered clothing, wishing I felt as aloof as I did against his band of merry traffickers. With him, I struggled to wrap the cloak of courage around me.

He knew.

He knew my bravery was a cracked and broken shield against the thickening fog of terror inside me. When it shattered for good, I would have nothing left. No weapons to use. No barriers to hide behind. I just had to hope that I would face my final battle before I broke entirely.

Who bought me?

Who would purchase a person?

Fingering the rough cotton, I aired out the largest piece. The clothing was nondescript and meant to fit any body type. A large grey jumper with long sleeves and heavy hem, a pair of white knickers, and two long black socks that reached my knees.

No shoes.

No bra.

No skirt or trousers.

But at least it was protection.

Pulling on the clothes, I tugged my hair from the collar, fanning it out as best I could so the length didn’t drench the back of my new wardrobe. I’d always had long hair. As a child, I’d screamed when Mum took me to the hairdresser. I’d gotten in trouble at school if I wore it loose because it was too long. It was more nuisance than privilege, but it was my favourite feature about myself, and I willingly paid the cost.

The American watched me dress. His quiet study erupted goosebumps that refused to obey me and vanish. A shudder also escaped my control as he cocked his head with appreciation. “I can see why he asked for a girl of your description.”

I froze.

I did my best not to reveal my curdling panic.

The tattoo on my wrist itched with warning.

“Where are you from, my dear?” He rubbed his jaw as if he couldn’t figure it out. “You have English rose skin, yet an American accent. Your hair is dark but not black. Your eyes are light but not coloured. I’m guessing a generous B or small C cup. Your body is lean, so you’re aware of the merits of healthy eating and exercise.” Without waiting for any confirmation from me, he continued, “How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-two? Definitely no older than late twenties.” He smiled. “At least, your body says you’re young, yet…your eyes say you’re old. That you’re already jaded and turned inward. That you think as long as you stay in your mind, you’re untouchable.”

Stalking across the room, he cupped my cheek, injecting poison into my skin. “You should know that you are touchable. Very much so. In every way possible.” His hand slid from my cheek to my breast. “Your new owner will make sure of that.”

I sucked in a breath as he let me go.

I allowed a moment of weakness as he turned his back, heading to sit behind his desk.

I collapsed into myself, trembling until my bones rattled.

But, by the time he faced me again, my nostrils flared once with air and my proud shoulders smoothed the shivers from debilitating fear.

Pulling out a file, he tapped it importantly. “Inside here are travel documents to fly you to your new master. We know everything we need to know to provide an adequate delivery to him. However…” He smiled as if he had every right to ask a tiny favour. “I would very much like to know your name. Other girls scream at me, some beg at my feet. Many cry. A few bargain. Yet you…you stare at me as if you’re above me, even while I hold your bill of sale.” His eyes narrowed with barely restrained monstrosity.

He had a talent like mine.

He could hide his true nature behind his gentile conversation, but beneath that lurked a man who got off on the capture and conquest of trading women.

I stepped toward him, steeling myself against his truth. “Why do you think I would share anything that belongs to me?” My voice resembled a tabby cat with unsheathed claws. “My name is mine.”

“That’s why I asked politely.”

I balled my hands, unable to stop myself. “Will you let me go if I ask politely?”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re smarter than that, and we’ve already covered that scenario.” Sighing with an undercurrent of respect, he said, “I’ll tell you what. Give me your name, and I’ll give you a tiny trifle in return.”

“What trifle?”

“What do you want?”

“My freedom.”

“Yes, but that’s already been purchased, my dear. You’ll have to ask your new owner about your fate. Maybe he’ll give you your freedom if you please him. Maybe he’ll kill you and grant your freedom that way. Or maybe you’ll grow old in service until the end of your sexual days. Either way…tonight you will be delivered to him. This is your one chance to ask for something before all those choices are taken away.”

“Will you hurt my family if you tell you who am I?”

He grinned. “Do you have a little sister who looks like you? Because I have another interested party who would look after her very well indeed.”

I ignored the desire to vomit at the thought. “I’m an only child.”

“Ah, that’s disappointing.” He smirked. “You have my word then. Your mother is too old. Your father is of no interest. I promise they are safe if you tell me who you are.”

“Send them a letter. Tell them what happened to me. Give them the name of the man who bought me. Give them a chance to rescue me.”

The man lurking in shadow let out a guffaw. The American snickered, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “You have balls, girl. I’ll give you that.”

“His name for my name.”

He cocked his head, studying me deeper than he ever had. The moment stretched uncomfortably before he murmured, “I’ll send them a letter and tell them what happened to you. There will be no chance of rescue or details destined to set you free, but at least they will have closure over your disappearance. They will know they will never see you again.”

Tears pricked from nowhere, undermining my self-control.

The thought of my mother opening such a letter. The idea of my father learning his daughter was traded into sexual servitude.