Richer Than God - Amelia Wilde Page 0,8

around and look at me one more time. “Settled in? But I—”

I sigh. “What, did you think you’d be out on the floor tonight? I think not. Without the proper training, you’d be an embarrassment to my business.” Another onceover, so she can see me assessing her, see me making plans for her. “You’ll need to be trained.”

She swallows hard. “Trained.”

She’s probably imagining the worst parts of sex. Blood and bruises. She’s not entirely wrong. I have a mean streak. “For a case this serious, I’ll do it myself.”

“You?” Terror at the margins, but she won’t let it in. “But that’s not—”

“I need some amusement.” I put my hands in my pockets and hold her gaze. “You’ll do nicely.”

4

Brigit

I should run. I should have been running a long time ago.

What gave me the idea that this would be a safe place? A bunch of white stone and golden light? God, I’m an idiot. Maybe I could find a bridge to sleep under and pick wild watercress by the ditch to survive. My heart is in a thousand beating pieces, hammering with fists against my skin to try to get out. Anything would be better than being trained by this man.

I said I wasn’t naïve, but I was lying. I thought I could handle this, but it’s not true.

It takes all my willpower not to fold my arms over my chest and scream.

Amusement.

For him.

For this man, who is unlike any other man I’ve seen or kissed. Not that I’ve kissed another man. Not more than a fumbling bruise after gym class at school. My lips still burn with the complete mortification of trying to kiss a god and being utterly rejected. In a meeting room. Less than a meeting room. This is some in-between space, where people come and pause and are shuttled off again to wherever he sends them. The carpet under my bare feet is soft but not welcoming. The blue of the walls is deep enough to shut me in. I could fall asleep here, if I closed my eyes. Better than under a bridge, the insidious voice in my head offers. Better than a ditch. Better than your own uncle touching you….

But is it better?

Both things make me want to throw up, except I know I would actually be sick if my uncle touched me. If I had to stand in front of him and vow to belong to him in sickness and health. Zeus already touched me, kissed me, and it took my breath away, but I was not sick. I was shamefully, horribly all right. Unharmed, except for the twist in my stomach and the heat between my legs that shouldn’t be there.

You don’t pass inspection.

Why does he have to be cruel? If I weren’t in the middle of my own life’s escape plan, I’d cry.

He’s too big for the room, too handsome, and I’m a wilting flower standing in my underwear, while he’s a work of art in a suit that looks like it cost more than my house—the house I used to have, anyway. I can never go back there.

Plan—make a plan.

First step, I need my clothes back, only they’re in a different room. We had to walk down the hall to get here, and Zeus, in his clothes that were carved onto him by a master sculptor, is between me and the door.

I doubt he’s slow on his feet. For how tall he is, I know he wouldn’t lumber after me like a weak old man. He would catch me easily in those big hands. Unless I go straight for the street as fast as I can. I might still have the element of surprise on my side.

Running into the street in my panties and bra might be the better option. Breathing the same air as him is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, and my body knows it. Even my calves are tensed and waiting, nipples peaked, breath short and choppy.

Hide it.

This was the plan. This was the decision, and now I’m in here with no clothes and no good options. My father will find me if I try to hide under a bridge. It won’t take long. My uncle has power in the city, and he could convince any number of other people to join the search. Beloved niece, he would say. He would not say the rest out loud. The people who came looking would think they were doing me a favor. I might make it a few