◆◆◆ Chapter 10 ◆◆◆
~ Kris Hunter ~
The Rolls-Royce glided through wrought-iron gates that opened without a sound, revealing a driveway lined with palm trees and low landscape lights that made the entire property look like it belonged in a dream or a very expensive nightmare. The mansion rose ahead of us… modern glass and steel, sharp angles softened by climbing vines and infinity pools that reflected the last streaks of sunset. I pressed my forehead to the cool window, breath fogging the glass, heart hammering so loud I swore the driver could hear it.
This was his home.
This was where I would kneel for eight hours tonight.
Where I would become whatever he wanted me to be — bound, used, filled, marked, recorded.
The driver — still polite, still silent about why he was ferrying a libra
