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“I’m sure you’ll do something to earn it soon enough.” I turn away, ignoring the way she glares.

“Oh, you do, do you? Like I’m a child. Like you⁠—”

I lean in and grab her chin with my free hand before she can finish the sentence. “Like I own you? Aye, lass, because I fuckin’ do. I’ve got the receipt to prove it. Now don’t make me regret giving you any freedom. Eat your food. Take your shower. Have your drink. But I’d advise you to stop with the sass before I reconsider ending your punishment. I was just warming up before I found my wallet. I’m happy to finish the job.”

Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her eyes spark fire.

She hates me.

Good.

That’s useful for now.

Chapter Six

VALENTINA

Fucking jerk.

I’ve got the receipt to prove it.

My ass burns from the spanking he gave me. It might’ve been just over his knee, with only his palm, but he’s a fucking beast of a man and strong as hell.

Argh.

The problem isn't that he got turned on. I felt it, have noted it, and I am moving on.

The problem is that I did too, and I don't know what to do with that yet. I hate him for it. I hate him so fucking much.

But I don’t make eye contact with him or push the issue further because part of me feels like I maybe got off easy. Better than a knife to the throat, or worse, like the pricks who kept me in a cell.

Because the truth is? I did take his wallet.

It was half out of his pocket when he stripped, so I waited. I read everything I could while the shower door was steamed up and he wrestled with rinsing suds off his face, then dropped it on the floor when he turned to face me.

I wonder how far he’d have taken things if he knew I took it… or snooped, anyway. I didn’t touch his money or cards because why would I? I have no use for them.

But I am taking a goddamn tally of what I know.

He’s a McCarthy. Maybe that’s why the assholes at the auction gave him a wide berth. He’s related to the very family that took me, might even be one of them, though, logistically, I haven’t figured that one out yet.

Then why pay for me? Was it a front? Or maybe even the McCarthys have to pay their way.

I will plot the absolute destruction of the McCarthys for what they’ve done.

Now that I know who he is, the next thing I need to do is get my hands on a computer or cell phone or something. I have research to do.

He doesn't sit, just stands and watches as I eat.

The Guinness is cold, and that’s good enough for me. Peanut butter and jelly never tasted so good. Not eating is a choice I can't afford right now, and hunger is a weakness I won't give him. But god, it tastes good. My mouth waters as I savor the first decent meal I’ve had since god knows when.

He watches from a distance, leaning against the doorframe of the only bedroom. I can feel his eyes on me. I don't look at him. Looking at him accomplishes nothing but confirm that he's still there, which I already know. Large men have a gravitational pull to them, a way of reorganizing a room's air pressure or something.

The Guinness is perfect. I stifle a groan and don't let it register on my face.

Halfway through the sandwich is as far as I get. My appetite has not yet caught up to the situation. I set it down and look at him.

“Are you eating or just watching me?”