by Esme Devlin
I hesitate. Everything with Baron always feels like a trick.
“What exactly do you think I’m going to do to you here, that I couldn’t come and do over there?”
The man makes a reasonable argument.
I cross the room towards him and am about to take the seat opposite when he tuts at me.
“I think you’ll find I asked you sit with me, and not across from me.”
He spreads his legs and leans his arms around the back of his chair, clearly enjoying my discomfort at the thought of it.
“Must you test my patience on every little thing?” he says. “Is it because we have no audience tonight? Do not make me regret being honest with you, Sapphire. It is a simple request, and I’d advise you to choose your battles.”
With a sigh, I close the space between us and perch my bottom on his knee.
His arms quickly come around, pulling me in closer to him. His masked face nuzzles my neck and he takes a deep breath. “There,” he says. “Is this so impossibly horrible for you?”
“No,” I say. Probably a lie. The man terrifies me.
“Then why do you fight me over it?”
I can’t explain to him that tonight feels different from last night. Last night, it was easy to get inside the castle in my head and convince myself he wasn’t getting in. But that was because I reached a point where that was the only choice I had left.
It’s not so easy to do that tonight, and I’m not sure why.
Maybe because he is not losing his temper.
So instead, I give him the thing I suspect he wants to hear. “Because you scare me.”
“Hmm. So instead of doing what the scary thing says, you try to do the opposite? That doesn’t sound like fear to me, my sweet girl. That sounds like defiance.”
“Do you enjoy my defiance?” I ask, trying to somehow get ahead of him.
He laughs at that. “Sometimes. When I have the patience for it. Just as I suspect you enjoy my games when you think you have a chance of winning.”
“You’re mistaken,” I tell him.
“Really? Why don’t we test that theory? Why don’t we see if I can enjoy your defiance for as long as you can pretend to hate my game?”
“I…” I’m stumbling now. Trying to find the words and failing. “What is the game?”
He laughs while he lifts me into his arms and stands up. “Absolutely no idea.”
“Then what are the rules?” I’m panicking as he walks towards the door.
“There are no rules,” he says, getting the handle with his elbow and kicking the door open.
He is impossible. “If there are no rules, then how am I supposed to win?”
We’re travelling down the corridor now. “Oh my sweet girl. You don’t win my games,” he says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “No one wins my games. The goal is merely to see if your defiance holds out longer than my enjoyment of it.”
After a walk that feels almost a mile long, we arrive at the entrance hall that has eluded me all evening. Baron puts me down to fetch a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks a large wooden door.
The lower floors. This is the place that was off limits, and already my mind is running overtime with theories as to why.
I guess this is the place he keeps the other women.
“Follow me,” he says, barely turning his head around before he makes off down the long dark corridor. “Andrei!”
A man appears a few moments later from one of the rooms and follows us, walking a few paces behind me. I recognise him now. He was there the first night at the carnival, and I’ve seen him both nights previously.
At the end of the corridor we reach a staircase, lit only by a couple of flickering fluorescent strip-lights.
The whole place makes my skin feel like it’s crawling. Nothing good can come of this, of that I’m sure. Baron stops and catches my hand in his before pulling me down the stairs with him.
Down here, it’s even darker than upstairs.
There are candles sitting on side tables at intervals along the corridor, looking like miniature shrines. We stop in front of a door that is secured with padlocks and bolts. Baron steps back and lets Andrei open it.
The door creaks open and my knees feel weak. He told me the things that go on in his basement — Utopia — but I believe that was only scratching the surface.
We enter the room and the smell of decay hits me. Andrei lights a candle attached to the wall, illuminating the small room. In the corner there is a man sitting on a chair, each limb shackled to the wall. He’s so still I almost thought he was dead at first sight, but now my eyes are adjusting I can see the rise and fall of his chest.
There is no bed, just a bucket in the corner with a piece of wood covering it, and a singular chair on the opposite wall with its own set of shackles. I take a step back when I see the wall is littered with tools and devices hanging from hooks.
“What is this?”
Baron sits down in the unoccupied chair and leans back, letting out a sigh.
“Here is how this will go. I give you a simple instruction, and you, my sweet girl, need only obey me or defy me.”
I swallow. There is no way it will be that simple.
“And if I defy you?”
“My friend here will pull this man’s teeth out. Preferably slowly and painfully. I’d have Andrei take his tongue, but I think the man should be given the opportunity to plead for your mercy.”
All I can do is shake my head it him, unable to process that this is really happening. “This is fucked up. You are fucked up. Why would you do this?”
He laughs at that, as if I didn’t just insult him. He opens his jacket and removes a gun, before resting his hand on the arm of the chair. “Because, my dear, whether you choose to follow or ignore my instructions, the result is still amusing to me. Shall we begin?”
“I… I don’t want to play,” I plead, backing away from him.
“Oh come now. We’ve not even started yet. I told you no one wins my games, but I promise there is a way you can win this one. I will give you three orders. You win, the man lives. You lose, the man dies.”
I don’t trust a word Baron says. He could just be saying that to make me do his bidding. But what is the alternative? The door is locked. Even if I don’t play his twisted game, I can’t get out of here. And an innocent man will lose his life because of me.
“Fine,” I say. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to take your clothes off.” His voice is like a rough caress and I swear I feel it work its way over my skin. “Andrei, turn your back.”
Of all the ways I suspected this would go, this was the direction I feared the most.
“Please, Baron. Please don’t make me, I swear—”
“Ah ah. Remember what I said about begging, my sweet girl. There is only one person in this room allowed to beg, and you are not him.” He nods his head in the direction of the man sitting in the chair and my eyes follow.
The man doesn’t have to beg. His eyes are wide with fear and he is shaking.
“Please, Miss,” the man chokes out. “Just do as he says.”
Just do as he says.
As if it were that simple.
It sounds simple enough. He has seen me naked before, and no doubt will see me naked again. But it’s not the thought of his eyes on my naked flesh that have me shaking in fear.
It’s what comes after that.
“Take the two front ones,” Baron says to Andrei with a nod of his head.
The man starts shouting and thrashing as Andrei goes to the wall and fetches a pair of pliers.
“Wait,” I say, my fingers sliding down my dress and hooking under the hem. I lift the dress over my head and let it fall to the floor in a heap.
Baron’s whole body stiffens as his head moves from my feet to my head. “Did I, or did I not, say naked?”
I am practically naked. There was no underwear in my pile of clothes, save for the pair of s
tockings and a belt to hold them up. I bend down and unclip them before rolling each one down my leg. The belt comes last and lands in the pile with everything else.
The room is silent while I stand there and try to remember how to breathe. It’s only my body — that’s what I repeat in my head. It’s just my body — not my mind.
“And now you’re going to dance for me. On me,” he adds. “Right here.” He slaps a hand down on his parted thigh and leans back in the chair.
Ice trickles slowly down my spine and my body freezes over. I feel the man’s eyes on me, and glance over at him. He’s pleading me with his eyes to do it.
“Andrei!”
Andrei grabs a hold of his head and forces it back at a horrible angle. The man screams, literally screams. “Please,” he calls. “I have children. Don’t do this.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck.
Baron bursts out laughing. “Children? And where are they now? Tell us all, what did I do to those precious children?”
Whatever the man was going to say gets caught in his pained sobs. I’m thankful for it. I have absolutely no desire to know what Baron did to his children. Just the thought of it has my stomach churning.
I inch towards Baron and slowly climb on top of him, threading my legs through the holes in the chair created by the wooden arms. The man is still screaming as I stare down at him, but Baron isn’t looking at my face. Even with the mask, I can feel his eyes devouring the rest of me.
The hand without the gun takes a hold of my hip and forces me down lower, until my exposed parts connect with the rough fabric of his jeans and my thigh touches something hard.
“Stop this,” I beg him. “I’m doing what you asked.”
“What I asked, was for you to dance,” he snaps back. “Currently you are sitting on my cock like it’s your own personal throne.”
How can I dance?
The man terrifies me.
The other man is screaming, probably having his teeth pulled out.
Baron leans in and I shiver as the cold metal face connects with my flushed cheek. “I know you can dance, Sapphire. You can dance for your own life when the situation calls for it.”
“Stop and I’ll dance,” I say quickly, shrinking away from him.
Baron tilts his head to the side, and I get the sense he is looking me in the eye even if I can’t see it.
“Andrei, enough,” he orders quietly.
I’m surprised it can be heard above the awful noise that is coming from their corner, but the screams die down to a whimper moments later.
Baron releases the hold he has on my hip to tuck the gun away behind him, and then rests his arms on the side of the chair. I know I have seconds — if that — before the screaming starts again. But my heart is beating too quickly. I hate dancing. I hate him. I especially hate dancing for him.
I wish I was Ruby.
She would know what to do.
This wouldn’t be a problem for her.
But I’ve never done anything like this before. I can’t help feeling like he knows this already, and he feeds off the way my fingers are trembling. The way he makes me squirm.
Trying to settle my nerves, I rest my shaking hands on his shoulders.
Baron leans back on the chair, everything about the movement dripping with arrogance. My hips roll against him and he sucks a breath in, his stomach turning even harder than before.
Maybe I can do this. It’s not so difficult if I close my eyes and imagine I’m anywhere other than right here. Perhaps I can do this all night, if that’s what he wants.
I realise I’m holding my breath only when he sits forward and his chest connects with mine. His hand comes up, brushing against my flushed cheek lazily, and my eyes fly open. I’m frozen for a minute, gasping for the air I didn’t know I needed while he breathes it in.
This needs to stop.
I arch back all the way until my hands reach the floor, trying to put some space between us. His hands on my hips pull me in closer to his stomach, and when he leans down the coldness of metal brushes against my nipple.
I squirm against the sensation, but that only makes the one between my legs more intense. I want to get back up, but his body doesn’t allow it. The muscles in my stomach strain from the tension of holding myself up, and a gasp escapes my lips.
One hand cups my bare breast, kneading firmly, while the other snakes behind my head, taking a fistful of hair.
He pulls me up from the floor just enough to let me see what he’s doing, and I stare at him with wide eyes as two fingers close around my nipple. He pinches, causing me to squirm, and the more I squirm the more it hurts. The more my scalp burns as I try to wriggle away from him. The more my centre aches with need as I inadvertently rub myself all over his stomach.
A low chuckle sounds from his chest as my panting increases.
This is torture.
Pure torture.
He finally lets up and rubs away the ache he created, and my eyes close as I let out a sigh of relief.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “I knew you would be.”
I don’t open my eyes.
If I keep them closed then it’s easier to imagine this isn’t really happening.
But they fly open anyway when his hand slaps across my breast with a harsh crack.
My whole body jerks from the sting of it, but before I have time to process how much it hurt, he’s already rubbing it away and shushing me. “Eyes on me,” he says. “Always on me, unless you want another one.”
He pulls me up with him by the hair and my stomach feels as solid as a rock from holding the position so long. I’m panting and completely out of breath. This shouldn’t be happening — I’m fitter than this. I’ve danced all night before. But clearly, never with him.
“I fear we have worked each other into quite the frenzy,” he says, his hands gripping my ass cheeks while his fingers dig in deep. “Tell me, sweet girl, would you leave me wanting?”
Again, I sense a question to which there is no right answer.
I say nothing.
I focus on trying to catch my breath, but it escapes me as he grinds my parted legs against the hardness growing between his legs. It feels like scratching an itch, and I can’t lie to myself and pretend that my body isn’t curious to see exactly how more of that would feel.
But my mind isn’t.
The man is cruel. Sadistic. Insane, by his own admittance. He may not have ever really hurt me, but he takes some twisted pleasure in seeing just how much he can get away with.
His fingers tread lower, much lower. They’re curving around my ass and massaging my inner thighs. A warning, no doubt.
He wants an answer.
What was the question?
Would I leave him wanting?
“I would,” I grit out.
His hands cease their roaming the second he has his answer, and he laughs joylessly.
“Pity. I had wanted to be a generous lover, but, well, you push my limits.” His voice is sickly sweet as he murmurs the words. “Get on your knees.”
“Wh-what?”
“What part of that did you fail to understand?” he snaps, his tone turning from gentle to impatient in the space of a heartbeat.
He can’t do this.
Surely not?
He has never touched me. Not really. The only time he did, it was my own ruthless imagination in a nightmare of my own making.
I was shaking before and now even his shoulders aren’t enough to keep me steady.
Baron tilts his head to the side, a gesture he’s somehow managed to condition me into thinking means something bad is coming.
My stomach twists.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say. The plead in my voice could not be any clearer.
But he just chuckles, his fingers in the back of my hair scratching my scalp affectionately, as if I’m just a dog to him. A little pet who’s about to be taught a new trick.
“Quite right, too,” he says. “Just kiss it for me.
Like you’re terrified and curious, both at the same time. You’ll be grand.”
Terrified — that I can do, but there is nothing curious about me.
My mouth opens to plead with him again — words I’ve not even chosen yet — but his finger slides around quickly and presses down hard on my lips. “The man likes his teeth,” he whispers. “And you must learn to be careful with yours.”
I can almost hear his smirk through the damned mask.
Every ounce of strength I thought I had seeps down into the floor with me as I slide from his knees.
Defeat settles in my stomach like a heavy weight.
I could fight him on this, but I’m tired. I’m tired not only from what he’s done to me since the day I met him, but from the thought of all the days to come.
I feel like this will never end, and the only way it will is when I’m too broken to be amusing to him anymore. The more I fight him, the more I’m just prolonging the inevitable. He will have his way, no matter what I do. So why let someone else die over it?
The hard floor is like ice against my knees.
I try to steady my hands enough to get his belt unfastened and fail miserably, again and again.
He doesn’t help.
He doesn’t put me out of my misery.
He just sits there and watches me as if the sight of me struggling is the best entertainment he’s ever had.
The thought of that morphs my fear into anger and I try again, determined this time. I manage to prise the metal buckle open and lift his clothes to locate the button on his jeans.
The room is dark, but I can make out the shadows of hair trailing down from his navel to the place I’m going. Even sitting as he is, his stomach is flat, the muscles visible just under his skin.
He leans forward, reaching behind his back and startling me slightly, but quickly settles back into position as I undo the button and pull down the zip.
My hand slides in and my fingers graze hot skin, smooth as the silk pillows that used to adorn my bed.
I hold my breath.
I close my eyes.
Just do it, stupid girl.
My ears explode as the sound of gunfire rattles against the walls of the empty room.