We didn’t meet anyone else as he led me in polished shoes over white-golden sand until the shadowy tunnels caused by palm fronds gave way to a large oasis of sunshine. No natural shade granted the large area that’d been cleared for a huge open-aired, beautifully styled cabana.
Black umbrellas towered over private dining tables on the bottom deck, sparkling ponds with pink and white lilies broke up the large expanse of teak flooring, graceful herons picked their way daintily between two tables which held three men drinking cocktails.
Within the shade of the large villa, a restaurant gleamed with cream napkins and fine dining. It made me feel woefully underdressed in the white tennis-style dress I’d found hanging in the wardrobe. Barefoot, hair washed and brushed but wavy with humidity, and no energy to move after the catastrophe I’d been put through yesterday, I was terribly insignificant and left hating the sensation of being small, meek, and totally at the owner of this establishment’s mercy.
I sighed, feeling more drained and lonely than ever as I followed the architecture to the second tier. Another wraparound deck with a carved banister that kept the natural contours of branches, bound together with vines, creating a treehouse persona. Something not quite manmade but of a Mother Nature creation.
Big black sails strapped from the centre point of the structure fanned out to attach to links on the deck, drenching the second level with much-needed shadow from the cooking midday sun.
I froze as I locked gazes with my nemesis.
Him.
Sully Sinclair sat like a royal dictator, a coffee cup in one hand and a pair of sunglasses in the other which he put slowly, regally on his nose.
My temper cut through my aches and bruises. My fury curdled any tiredness and hunger.
Digging my bare feet into the sand, I went to spin and leave.
I couldn’t see him.
I didn’t have the control not to say something that would assuredly get me into a heap of trouble.
But fingers latched around my elbow, keeping me in place. “Running away isn’t polite.”
“Kidnapping isn’t either,” I snapped, ripping my arm from the man’s hold and breathing hard.
I hadn’t meant to say that.
I vibrated with the urge to say more.
To scream at him. Scratch him. To give him a slur-slandered message to hand deliver to his diabolical master.
He smirked, his gaze flashing between me and the man he served. “It’ll be interesting to see how long he permits your disobedience.”
I bit my tongue so hard, it bled.
He waited as if he wanted me to retaliate. When I didn’t, he seemed disappointed but not entirely surprised. “You’re not the first to rebel, you know. And I’m sure you won’t be the last.” The man stepped toward me, conspiratorially, threateningly. “They all give in, in the end. They all realise how good they’ve got it here.” He smiled as he studied me. “You’ll learn too, I promise.”
We stood dappled by sunlight, and I despised that he was handsome, just like Sully Sinclair.
Why was it that beauty always graced the wicked?
I didn’t like his promise.
I refused to reply to his radical concepts that a kidnapped and stolen woman would be happy here. Just because the sun sparkled on pristine sand and jewelled birds flew unhindered through lush greenery didn’t mean this wasn’t the Garden of Eden with a dark secret to tell. And just like the Garden of Eden, it all dissolved into death and decay the moment that apple was tasted.
I would never fall into the trap of eating a poisoned apple. I wasn’t Eve, and I wasn’t Snow White. I was Eleanor Grace—not Jinx—and I didn’t need someone to rip back the curtain on the truth of this place.
I knew the truth of it.
This is Hell.
And Sully Sinclair and his minions were hobgoblins of the underworld.
I crossed my arms, accepting the challenge of his servant. It was rash and stupid to stand up to him, but I had a good guess that captive women here might be fed a drug and used against their will, but I doubted abuse—that wasn’t paid for and within the strict terms that Sinclair agreed to—was allowed.
What was the point in beating up the merchandise? Who would pay top dollar for a slave when she had a broken arm and a black eye?
Bracing my spine, I clipped, “Finish your task and take me to whoever requested my company. I can guess who that is, by the way, and somehow, I don’t think your master likes to be kept waiting.” I spread my lips into a thin, brittle smile, looking past him to Sully Sinclair who’d abandoned his nonchalant sprawl in his chair and now stood with hands throttling the banister, coiled like a black panther above us, ready to slay. “He’s not happy that you’re detaining me, and I’m not happy with this conversation.”