Chapter Seven
“You are sure, he does not mind?” he heard the Indian woman ask as he stood respectfully before her and the woman who claimed to own him. The woman he still dared to address as Julianne in his thoughts. If only in his thoughts.
Together with “hatchet-faced b***h”, “cunt”, and number of other unvoiced insults likely to take something from the edge of the anger that continued to seethe beneath the surface and showed no signs of lessening – despite having already spent two years in service to the woman and her scrawny-runt of a husband and his equally unpalatable step-brother and step-sister.
A family he knew from bitter experience and much discomfort he was advised not to appraise of his thoughts – even if the teenaged brother and sister were less than genius material.
Far,
