possessively around her waist. He glanced back at me, a silent
unkind word. Now, he was the one orchestrating my public execution. That man was
g she pointed at, a lavish dis
for bidding. Someone in the back row outbid
ted that one, darling. It woul
cus Thorne, a notorious tabloid photographer with a reputation
e ref
ned. He was not us
pleasant smile. "I might be
arby hallway, trying to be invisible,
ng over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "Your
old James, the protector, surfaced in his eyes. But it
rcus Thorne was famous for. They were brutal, degrading
rom behind. A cloth was pressed over my mouth and nose,
ed. The world s
was James's voice, a
Hannah. Then we can go
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