Page 32 of Her Mercenary

And what entertainment was I to provide them?

Remembering the rules, I quickly looked down at the floor. I felt myself go rigid, the chain around my wrist clanking against the bedpost as my body stiffened with insecurity.

I was ashamed. Not just because I was naked and chained to a bed, but because of the bruises, the weight I’d lost, the scars, the pastiness of my skin. The dry flecks of dead flesh. My unshaved legs, armpits, privates.

My cheeks burned.

I don’t look like this, I wanted to scream to him. I don’t look like this!

I’m beautiful. In real life, I’m beautiful.

I am not a slave.

To my utter shock, I felt a rush of emotions, accompanied by the sting of tears. I quickly forced them away, attributing this reaction to the man before me. The other men didn’t make me insecure, they made me savage.

What was it about him—the King?

He slowly crossed the room, the click of his steps slow compared to the wild beating of my heart. I could feel his eyes like green fire on my face as he turned off the camera and closed the window shade.

Tap, tap, tap.

I forced myself not to flinch as the King closed the few feet between us, stopping inches in front of my trembling naked body.

I felt so small in front of him. His body, his presence towered over me. A man—a real, intimidating, powerful man.

My pulse roared in my ears as I awaited what would happen next.

Finally, he spoke. “Let me see.”

Goose bumps raced over my arms, my body viscerally responding to the deep voice with the Irish lilt.

I swallowed past the knot in my throat. “See what?” I whispered, keeping my face downcast.

“Your hand.”

Shocked, I looked up. Electric-green eyes stared down at me, as cold as ice, his square jaw locked. I hesitated.

“Let me see,” he said again.

Slowly, I lifted my unchained hand and turned over my palm. When he took it, a zing of electricity sparked at the touch. Humiliated, I closed my eyes and inhaled as he examined the stitches that ran along the nub where my pinky finger had once been.

I was so embarrassed.

I stared down at his perfect fancy shoes as he stared down at me. He was studying me. I felt like I was being assessed, judged like cattle.

Seconds ticked by. Anger and frustration began to simmer on top of the humiliation.

What an asshole.

Anger erupted, and I jerked back my hand. Glaring at him, I pulled my shoulders back and stood tall, displaying my naked body unabashedly.

“Just get it over with already,” I said, seething. “Just get it fucking done.”

16

ROMAN

Samantha’s words hit me like a tidal wave as I met those slitted hazel eyes glaring into mine.