by Linnea May
She stops and waits for me to unfasten the rope. I’m the only one allowed to do this, and her compliant behavior shows that she’s aware of that rule.
“Far back, the red armchair,” I tell her, gesturing toward an upholstered button-tufted chair that is a little hidden in the shadows.
She swallows dryly and follows my gesture, her hands clasped in front of her as she slowly walks toward the chair as I refasten the velvet rope behind us.
Opposite of the red chair is another of the same kind, but this one is covered in black velvet instead of red. A small table is placed between the chairs, on top of which is a small carafe filled to the brim with iced water and two glasses.
Alena obediently sinks down into the red chair, her back turned to the room. I’ll be able to keep an eye on everything around us as I take my seat across from her.
For a few moments, we just sit in silence, her wide eyes latching onto mine as she waits for me to speak, while I silently observe her.
She hasn’t changed much since I last saw her. Alena Prey is still the reserved beauty I remember her to be, her dark chocolate brown hair a little longer now, the silver sparkle still apparent in her blue eyes, and her light skin still unkissed by the sun. Her aura is soft and feminine; only the stern expression on her face hints at the presence of the unruly lioness hidden inside.
I place my elbows on the armrests, hands folded in my lap, and my gaze fixates on her as I begin to speak.
“You signed up late.”
She arches an eyebrow at my words, looking surprised and irritated at the same time.
“How do you know? Miss Barry said that it was—”
“I know she did, but you broke the rules nonetheless.”
“Is that why you brought me back here?” she snaps. “To scold me?”
I huff, shaking my head at her sassy comeback.
“Why was I allowed to come in the first place?” she continues. “Just so you can throw me out after getting my hopes up? Is that part of the—”
“No,” I contend sharply. “That’s not how I play my game, and you should know that.”
She tilts her head to the side, a perplexed expression written across her pretty face.
“I should?” she wonders out loud. “With all due respect, there’s very little I—or anyone—can know for sure about you and the details of your proceedings.”
“And yet you are here with the hopes of becoming mine.”
She takes a deep breath as a blush blossoms on her cheeks.
“An apology then?” she asks. “Is that what you want from me?”
“Do you think that would be enough to make up for it?”
She shrugs. “I doubt it.”
“So you won’t even try?”
The hint of a furrow appears between her eyebrows and she bites at her lower lip, unwilling—or unable—to give me a verbal response. I can see her mind working, the tension obvious in her facial expression and her antsy mannerisms. Her chest rises and falls under heavy breaths as her entire body labors to figure out what it is that I want from her.
Poor little thing.
Let’s make this a little easier for her.
Chapter 6
Alena
“Who am I?”
His question startles me. I had no idea what to expect when he came up to me as soon as he arrived at the club tonight, and once he told me to follow him, my brain stopped working entirely.
Never in a million years did I anticipate this. Never in a million years did I think he’d ask me over here—let alone that I’d be the first girl he approached during this hunt.
There was a time in my life, not too long ago, when I dreamed of this. I would play this scenario though in my head over and over again, imagining what an interview with him could be like, what he’d want to know, how I’d respond to his inquiries.
But that was back then, a couple of years ago. My life was different then.
I was different.
Why the hell did I not prepare what to say tonight? Why was my get-up the only thing on my mind?
“Alena,” he probes, his voice dark and menacing. “Who am I?”
My heart skips a beat when he addresses me by name, and for a split second I wonder how he even knows it. But if he knows that I’m the person who signed up late, then he must also know my name. Miss Barry must have told him.
It can’t possibly be because he remembers me from back then, can it? No, that’s not possible. It can’t be.
“W-W-What do you mean? I don’t—”
I can’t even finish my sentence. I am so ashamed of my pathetic display and erratic breathing, and I feel helplessly trapped by his hard gaze. I would rather say nothing than to continue rambling on. Panic grips my heart when he raises an eyebrow at me.
“It’s a simple question,” he says. “Don’t overthink it. Who am I?”
And for some reason, his straightforward approach works.
“You’re the Puppetmaster,” I respond instinctively.
I feel extremely stupid with my reply just a moment later, but he catches my freefall by flashing a benevolent smile.
“Good girl,” he praises. “See, more often than not, the most obvious answer is the correct one.”
I let out a relieved titter, feeling as if a heavy weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.
“And what do I do?” he asks next, continuing his odd interrogation.
“You own, you train, you... change people.”
I bite my tongue. Why did I just say that? I know what the Puppetmaster is known for. I know his reputation. But that last part is just a rumor, and an uncommon one at that. It makes him sound like a life coach or something.
He’s laughing at my description. It’s a deep, ominous laugh, frightening. It reminds me of a movie villain’s maniacal laughter when he’s about to execute the final piece of his evil master plan.
“I change people, huh?” he repeats, shaking his head. His grin appears almost sinister. “Well, for now let’s focus on the part you answered correctly: I am a trainer. Do you know what that means?”
He regards me intensely, sending a cold tingle down my spine. I feel inclined to nod, but words fail me.
“Training always comes with two things,” he guides, offering a clue to the answer. “Rewards and...?”
“Punishment.”
A silly wave of pride rushes through my body when he nods in agreement.
I am not allowed to revel in my excitement for long. I’m quickly reminded of the rather unpleasant way our conversation started when he poses his next question.
“Why did you sign up so late, especially when you know that it breaks the rules?”
“I didn’t know until two days ago that you were hosting a hunt tonight,” I respond in a rushed voice. “And I’m sorry for that, I really am. I tried to sign up as soon as I saw—”
“So you weren’t waiting for tonight’s hunt?” he interrupts, a somewhat surprised look in his eyes. “You were no longer subscribed to my waitlist? You never sought another chance to become one of my puppets?”
No longer on his waitlist? Another chance? How does he know that I’ve done this before?
“Do you remember me?” I blurt out. How could he possibly remember me, since we had no verbal exchange that night?
He looks at me with a hard-to-read expression, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it’s a blend of confusion and a slight... scare?
“Why would I remember you?” he says then, his tone shifting from surprise to nonchalance.
“Because you—”
“It’s a natural assumption,” he says in a short tone. “This is not the first hunt for a majority of the girls here tonight, but unlike you, they all managed to apply by the deadline.”
“Still, I’m here,” I tease, accenting my words with a wink.
I can tell that my tart remark amuses him, but it seems like he doesn’t want to let it show too much.
“You’re her
e, yes,” he admits. “You’re here because I can be a merciful master if I choose to be. But that doesn’t mean your misconduct will go unpunished.”
His words send a shiver through me, and I nod. “You’ve implied that before, but—”
“What do you think, Alena? What should your punishment be?”
I suck in a sharp breath of air, taken aback at another question that I did not see coming.
“But... I’m not your—” I stammer.
“Let’s assume you were,” he insists. “If you were mine and you were guilty of breaking one of my rules, how should I punish you?”
My entire body stiffens. Is he seriously expecting me to answer that question? What am I supposed to say? What kind of weird test is this? How am I supposed to know what punishment he considers appropriate for my offense?
Does he even consider it a minor offense? Would a spanking suffice? Is a spanking even a proper punishment?
The thought makes my heart start to race. Would he spank me? Here? In front of all these people? I know that he has done similar things before, so it wouldn’t be out of the question.
My whole body blazes with heat at the thought—a sweet fever fueled by both shame and excitement.
My lips move, but no words come out. Numerous scenarios flash through my mind. Still, I don’t dare voice any of them because I don’t want to give him any ideas. I also don’t want lie to him, or give the impression that I wouldn’t be able to handle one of his punishments.
Because I know I can.
And I know I want to be challenged by him.
“You are the Puppetmaster,” I remind him. “Shouldn’t it be up to you to decide my punishment?”
His eyes flicker ominously.
“And you would agree to it?”
“Shouldn’t I, if I want to be yours?”
I expect him to smile at me in approval, or at least nod in response, but instead his expression darkens. He looks anything but happy. I would even go as far as to say that he looks disappointed in me. Was it that important to him for me to be the one to come up with my own punishment? Is this how he always operates? Does he test potential puppets on their ability to come up with responses that are comparable to what he would as Master?
God, I hate this. I hate not knowing. I hate not understanding what’s going on or what’s expected of me. I don’t even know if he is seriously interviewing me or just passing time until he’s ready to officially launch his hunt.
“Are you sure you’re up for this, Alena?”
His question feels like a stab to my heart, and I bite my lower lip instead of replying.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
I flinch when he moves suddenly, leans forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. His intense gaze bores right into my soul.
“Because I want to become—”
“No, I don’t want to hear that,” he storms. “Every girl with a white wristband is here because she thinks she wants to become my next puppet. And most—like you, it seems—don’t even know what that means. I don’t want to hear it. I want to hear why you’re here, Alena. Why are you here tonight?”
My pulse speeds as I try to maintain eye contact with him. His penetrating stare nearly guts me. It’s so weirdly knowledgeable, as if he were staring right into the deepest part of my soul, unraveling the answer to his question on his own.
“Because I need this,” I whisper. “I… deserve this.”
His black eyes narrow, an inquisitive flicker dancing in their depths. “Elaborate,” he commands.
My vision blurs around the corners, my focus entirely on him, drowning out everything else—the music, the voices, the curious looks we’re getting. I can feel my lips part, the response dancing on the tip of my tongue, only waiting to escape.
“Tell me,” he growls. His eyes are like slits, pinning me down without physically touching me.
And just like that, the words start pouring out of me.
A story that up until now has only belonged to me. But now it becomes his, too.
Chapter 7
Raad
She speaks cautiously and with such poise, but her words are honest, that I can tell. Despite what she may think, there’s no right or wrong answer to my question.
I would be disappointed, though, if Alena were just like any other girl in here—a spoiled, bored little brat who’s willing to take a spanking here and there if it means she gets to hide in a gilded cage in return.
Girls like that are easy to spot and I’ve been surrounded by them for years. They were fun once, but they are not fit to become my puppet.
I know Alena is not like that. She would never have attracted my attention if that were the case. I could never be entirely sure though, because you never know until you sit across from them, until you talk to them, interrogate them.
My insight into human nature has rarely let me down, and it proves to be right about Alena, too.
“I’ve always worked hard my entire life,” she begins. “I had to. I had to take responsibility; I had to sacrifice.”
“Why did you have to?”
I know the answer to that question, but I want to hear her say it. I want to know how honest and open she is willing to be, even this early on.
She looks a little irritated at my interruption, and I love that she doesn’t try to hide that from me. I hate liars, and I’ve had too many girls disguise their true selves in hopes of pleasing me.
“Because it was just me and my sister after my mother died,” she says, her voice strong and unwavering. “I had to take care of her, and myself.”
My response is automatic and not born out of the shock at this revelation, but it’s sincere nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”
I’m familiar with Alena’s upbringing, and I know it was far from easy, even before her mother’s sudden death. I knew about her sister, and I even knew about where she lived during that tragic time of her life. She grew up in New York, the same city I now call home, but in a borough that could not be more different than my neighborhood. She had it rough, way tougher than I could ever imagine.
But she knew how to deal with it. She may not look like it now, but I know what a troubled little badass this girl is.
And I can’t fucking wait to tame her.
She waves me off. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. That burden was something I never asked for, but I accepted it, and after a while I thrived on it.”
Her face lights up as she speaks, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m amazed and intrigued by her at the same time. It’s a true rarity for me to be surprised, which makes it all the more delicious.
“There came a point in my life when I no longer had to work my ass off just to survive. I was doing fine, my sister was doing fine, and once we were able to leave the neighborhood where we grew up, I could have eased up a bit. But I didn’t. I just kept plowing away, always wanting more, aiming for more, so fucking sure there was potential buried deep within me just waiting to be unveiled.”
“But?” I urge when she pauses.
She looks at me, startled this time, as if I’d said something unexpected, when the “but” was so obvious in every word of her tale.
It’s also the one thing that I have no answer to. I know something must have changed in her life, something sudden and unexpected, something that I had no hand in—otherwise she wouldn’t be here.
She takes a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the side for a moment before she looks back at me.
“But,” she continues. “You know, the thing with potential is that it is entirely worthless if no one but you knows it’s there. If no one but you wants to entrust you with the responsibility needed for growth. I know I’m capable of more than I’ve been trusted with, and I was ready and willing to take on that responsibility, but...”
She trails off again, sighing and allowing herself a moment of weakness, her shoulders slumping before she straightens her posture to conclude the narration.
&
nbsp; “Let’s just put it this way,” she says. “I have been denied the opportunity to shine, several times actually. And I’m just... I’m just tired of it.”
Her answer is too vague for me to completely understand her gist, but it gives me something to work with.
“You’re tired of trying?” I probe.
She shakes her head. “It’s not that. It’s more of a conscious decision to put a hold on it for a while.”
“So, this is really a black and white thing for you?”
She raises an eyebrow questioningly.
“The responsibility,” I clarify. “You either want all, or nothing.”
Her head moves from one side to the other in a subtle motion, as if she were literally weighing my words in different areas of her mind. Eventually, a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth and she nods.
“Yes, I think you could say that.”
As soon as she responds, a sinister smile appears on my face, an expression that she obviously knows how to read. Neither one of us has to say it out loud because the understanding is there, lingering between us in ominous silence.
Her shoulders tense slightly, expectation beaming across her face.
She waits. And she knows.
I have just come up with her first punishment.
Chapter 8
Raad
Resistance has its time and place—and Alena seems to understand that just fine.
She listens intently as I reveal her punishment, speaking in a calm but binding voice. I want her to lower her gaze and walk up to the stage, where she is to sit down on her heels, with her back turned to the room, her hands on her thighs, palms upward, her eyes remaining glued to the ground. She’s forbidden to speak, forbidden to look up, forbidden to scan her environment, no matter what happens around her. She’s to sit there and wait until I come to get her, and she will not move until she hears my voice next to her ear.