Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 6

The Breeder

M y eyes snap open, and my heart slams against my chest with the force of a runaway train. I’m not in my cramped studio, nor am I curled up on the crumb-infested sofa that doubles as my bed more often than not. No, this is some sort of… palace?

Opulence drips from every corner of the room—the kind you see in those period dramas Willow loves to devour, her wide eyes reflecting the light of impossible dreams. Silk sheets caress my skin, cool and smooth like the quiet whisper of a promise. Plush pillows cradle my head, but their softness feels like a mockery when I tug at my wrists and find them bound to the bed’s ornate posts.

I twist as much as possible, managing to lower the sheet covering me. As I look down at my body, I kind of wish I hadn’t bothered because I’m no longer wearing yesterday’s dress. I’m wearing a man’s button-up shirt. Anger and humiliation flare within me at the thought of someone undressing and dressing me while I wasn’t conscious.

“What the hell?” My voice is a snarl that echoes off the high walls. The furniture around me is straight out of a fairytale—a wardrobe that could house a thousand gowns, a vanity with a mirror so large it could reflect all of my failures.

I strain against the restraints, my body twisting, seeking freedom. The silk rope bites into my skin, a reminder of the direness of my situation. I can’t afford to be here—literally. This isn’t part of the plan. The plan is to find a rich husband, someone who’ll look past my facade and shower Willow and me with security, not… whatever twisted scenario this is.

My mind races back to the night before, the lavish club where I’d hoped to snag a wealthy bachelor with my tight dress and practiced smile. But now? Now I’m caught in a web, and I don’t even know where the spider is.

My breath comes in shallow gasps as I take in the sheer size of the room again, the height of the ceiling that makes me feel small and insignificant. Despite the roaring fireplace, I feel cold, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“You’re finally awake.”

His voice cuts through the silence, low and commanding, startling me. Even without seeing him, I know he’s one of the men from last night, and with my luck—or lack thereof—he’s probably the one I watched shoot someone in cold blood.

I can feel his presence loom closer, though I refuse to show the fear clawing at my insides. Instead, I lift my chin defiantly, meeting the shadowed gaze of the man still wearing the Santa hat and beard.

“I need the bathroom,” I whine as I twist like a contortionist on the bed.

Unable to look away, I follow him with my eyes as he moves over to me and undoes the restraints. Before I can thank him, he fists my hair, pulling me up so I’m seated. “Don’t try anything,” he warns, his tone low and menacing.

“I won’t,” I whimper as he intensifies his brutal hold on my hair.

“Good,” he clips. Then he roughly pulls me to my feet, shoving me toward the adjoining bathroom.

When I try to close the door, he laughs darkly and shakes his head. “You’re not going to watch me pee,” I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. Shit, even my bra is gone. What did this man do to me while I was sleeping? No, wait… I wasn’t sleeping. He fucking choked me until I became unconscious. Thoughts of me trying to fight him off come rushing back, almost overriding my need to pee. Almost.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to leave you alone, Hellcat. Either you pee with the door open, or you can piss yourself.”

The pressure on my bladder intensifies, and I can see he’s not going to budge. Bowing my head in shame, I walk over to the toilet and sit down. Hiding my face in my hair, I peek at him. At least he has the decency to look away while I do my business.

As soon as I’m done, I wash my hands and splash some cold water on my face. I avert my gaze from the mirror, not wanting to know what I look like. Superficial as it is, I can’t feel good or strong if I don’t look the part. And right now, I know I have to be looking like a mess.

Once I switch off the water and dry my hands on a towel that’s so soft I want to run it across my skin, the guy grabs my arm and forces me back to the bed. This time, he doesn’t bother to tie me up.

“Are you going to let me go?” I ask, hopeful.

“Shh. We have much to discuss, Carolina,” he coos, and I flinch at the way he casually uses my name, a perverse intimacy in a situation devoid of any warmth.

I want to ask him how he knows my name, but the stubborn part of me refuses to acknowledge that. The room is silent except for the crackling of the fireplace, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the walls. I should be screaming, fighting tooth and nail, but instead, I’m eerily calm, survival instincts kicking in. I need to be smart about this.

“Like what?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

The man rubs the back of his neck. “Like your finances,” he says. He paces at the foot of the bed, his presence large and threatening even while wearing the ridiculous Santa hat and beard.

“There’s not much to talk about,” I admit scornfully.

He chuckles. “New York is expensive, isn’t it, Carolina?” He pauses, his tone laced with mockery. “Especially when you’re paying for your sister’s facility.”

I freeze, every muscle tensing. How does he know about my desperation? The money for Willow’s care? The air thickens around me, choking me. I’m an open book to him; my carefully crafted facade crumbles. “What do you want?” I croak.

Rather than answering me, he stops moving, studying me like he’s committing every movement I make to memory. “You need money,” he says. “And I need an heir.”

What the actual hell? Surely this man can’t be for real. “An heir?” I echo. “You want to… to… breed me like a bitch in heat?”

The man throws his head back and laughs loudly. “That’s not how I was going to phrase it, Hellcat. But sure.”

Hating that he knows all these things about me while I know nothing about him, I ask, “Who are you? What’s your name?”

A knock sounds, and the man opens the door. A smartly dressed woman walks in with a tray in her hands. “Where do you want the food, sir?” she asks.

He points at the foot of the bed. “There’s fine.”

She nods curtly, and places the tray on the mattress. My stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl as the scents of food hit my nostrils. Oh my God, it smells delicious.

“Hungry?” he asks sardonically as soon as the woman’s gone again.

I nod eagerly, watching as he moves over to a chair in the corner and pulls it to the foot of the bed. Taking his time, he makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other while steepling his fingers together. “Well, what are you waiting for? Dig in.”

Wasting no time, I reach for the silver dome and remove it to reveal a plate filled with freshly cut and peeled fruit, scrambled eggs, bacon, and bread. Forgetting all about manners and appearances, I pick up the silver fork and start shoveling very unladylike sized portions into my mouth, barely chewing before the next bite.

There’s another knock, but I don’t look up, too focused on the food. When I finally feel like my stomach isn’t eating itself, I lean back, daintily wiping my mouth with the cloth napkin the cutlery was wrapped in. “Thank you,” I breathe.

He chuckles. “You’re very welcome. Thirsty?”

I look up at him from beneath my lashes to see him holding out a crystal glass filled with what I assume to be orange juice. “Yes,” I admit, taking the glass from his outstretched hand.

Now that I’m no longer focused on basic necessities like needing the bathroom, hunger and thirst, I scramble back up the bed and lean against the headboard. My eyes flick around the room, and just as I’m about to ask why I’m really here, a thought hits me, making my blood run cold. “Y-you didn’t poison the food, did you?” My voice wavers.

He lets out a booming laugh. “I can assure you that if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t poison you,” he laughs, like that’s meant to make me feel at ease.

“Right,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “You’d shoot me in the head like the guy last night.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I slap my hand across my lips. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

Amusement sparkles in his dark eyes as his tattooed hand cups his chin. “I wouldn’t dream of shooting someone as beautiful as you in the head,” he rasps.

What the hell do I even say to that? Feeling like I can’t just ignore it, I mumble, “Umm… thank you.”

He waves me off with a tattooed hand, sitting straighter. “Don’t mention it.” When I let out a heavy sigh, he stands abruptly. “I think we’ve talked enough for now. You should rest.”

I shouldn’t feel disappointed that my captor tells me he’s going to leave me alone, yet I am. Not because I want his company—good riddance—but because I don’t feel as though we’ve done a lot of talking. I mean, I’m still not completely sure what it is he wants from me, and I hate not knowing.

Before I can tell him that I’ve never felt more awake, and that I want more answers, he strides into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind him. I grumble something sarcastic about him getting privacy in there and when I hear his chuckle, I know he heard me. Good.

It doesn’t take long before he reemerges with a basket filled with items I can’t see. Though I can imagine it’s filled with things that can be used as a weapon, which I suspect is the reason he wouldn’t let me pee in peace.

“I’ll be back later. Feel free to shower and look around the bedroom, but don’t walk out that door. In fact, don’t touch it at all.” With those words, he leaves the bedroom, locking the door behind him.

I huff out an annoyed breath. What was the point of telling me not to touch the door when he’s locked it? It feels like a test, one I can’t afford to fail. So no matter how much it calls to me like a beacon, I tell myself to ignore it.

Now that he’s gone, I suddenly feel exhausted beyond belief. But I refuse to go back to sleep without at least cleaning my body. So I take him up on the offer to shower.

In the bathroom I find everything I need already waiting near the sink. Towels, a brand new toothbrush still in its packaging, shampoo, conditioner, and even some lotions and deodorant. Not wanting to think too much about what that means, I tear the shirt off and take what I need with me into the shower, ignoring the gigantic corner jacuzzi for now.

After I’m clean and dry, I leave the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around me since I don’t have any clothes. I was just going to wrap the sheet around me, but what I find is so much better.

On the bed there’s a pile of clothing waiting for me. Everything from underwear to jeans, even a very nice, deep-red negligee. With the fire still going, I don’t need the sweater in the pile, so I opt for a pair of sleeping shorts and a tank top.

Once I’m dressed, I climb back into bed, hiding my head beneath the sheet. Although my mind should be exploding with thoughts, it’s not. It’s almost like the overload of everything has rendered me unable to think at all. Closing my eyes, I let myself drift off to sleep, knowing there’s nothing else I can do to pass the time.