by Esme Devlin
He seems to consider this for a moment and lets out a hmm sound. “You want a friend? Fine. I will buy your friend for you. What was her name, Ruby?”
“No!” I blurt the word out quickly. Too quickly. “No,” I repeat, trying to recover. “No need for that. There are plenty of women here. I know you said they might hate me, but I’m sure once they got to know—”
“Absolutely fucking not,” he snaps, cutting me off and standing up from his chair. He crosses the room towards the door. “I will have one of my men ride to the carnival tonight and fetch this Ruby for you. You will have your friend. I’m sure my men will find her pleasing enough.”
“No, please!” He cannot take Ruby. I couldn’t bear to watch her and the sick things he would let happen to her. He’d probably find some way to use her against me. “She… she wouldn’t be a good fit here.”
His hand is still on the door handle. “I will make you happy, Sapphire. Even if you hate me for it.”
“Wait!” I shout, just as Baron opens the door.
He pauses and peers back in the room towards me. “What?”
“A deal,” I suggest. “You like deals?”
He chuckles. “Oh my sweet girl. I only like deals when I think of them.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” I offer.
That seems to make him pause.
He lets the half-open door swing closed, and moves to sit down on the chair opposite me. He spreads his legs and tucks his arms behind the back of the chair, reminding me that he is at ease, while I am a bundle of twisted up nerves. He is the one in control here. “Whatever I want?”
The amusement is back in his voice as I nod my head. “Yes.”
“And what exactly is it that you think I want?”
The suggestion in his voice makes me shiver. “You already know.”
“And now I would hear it from your pretty lips,” he says.
I hesitate, and he shifts in the chair and leans his head against his hand as if he is already bored waiting. “This is your deal. Perhaps you have already changed your mind?”
“I think you want to…” I start, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Saying it would just make it real.
He sits up in the chair and leans forwards. “Yes?”
I shake my head.
It doesn’t matter.
I wish I was stronger, but I’m not.
I’m fucking terrified. Even though he’s never touched me. Even though his threats are empty. The way he is with me, the way he speaks to me, it’s with such passion and conviction that my brain can’t seem to compute that he won’t touch me, or carry out his threats.
It’s like sitting across from a lit firework — all the fucking time.
I’m scared of what he will do if I say those words. I begin to doubt if speaking to these women would even be worth the price I’ll need to offer him for it.
He gets up from the chair so quickly I barely have time to react.
But react I do.
It’s like an instinct now — I couldn’t fight it even if I wanted to. The reflex I have with Baron is the same one my hand has with boiling water.
I stand up on my chair and jump down behind me, backing away from him just as quickly as he’s moving.
Not quick enough, though.
I’m never quick enough.
I stumble, a movement which he joins as he slams me back against the bookshelf. The wind gets ripped from my lungs on impact, and he’s already standing too close for me to catch my breath.
“Say it,” he says.
I shake my head again, more terrified than I was before.
“Say it.” His hands go around my neck and I squeeze my eyes closed, pulling in what could well be my last breath before he takes over.
But Baron doesn’t squeeze. Not this time.
Instead, he presses them around my throat like a collar, the pressure not enough to cut off the air, but reminding me he could change that in a single second.
He tilts his head to the side, and the familiar trickle of cold fear runs down my spine. How can a man without any expressions be so chilling?
I clear my throat. I need to say it. He won’t stop unless I do. “I think you want fuck me.”
The words hang in the air between us and it feels like time is standing still. This is the moment that will change everything. It’s the words that can never be unsaid. It’s the deal with the devil, the one he has probably wanted from the moment he took me. All I can hear is the beat of my heart in my ears, and the faint sound of his breath as it hits the inside of his mask.
And then his breathing increases. It gets louder. It turns into a laugh.
“Oh you poor little thing. I fear you are quite mistaken.”
He’s laughing at me.
He’s laughing at me?
I blink a few times, trying to make sure I’m not imagining this. No. This isn’t a figment.
He doesn’t even want me.
Not in that way. And I’ve spent all this time thinking he did. I feel the sudden urge to hide or flee. Blood rushes to my cheeks, the flush causing me more shame than his eyes on my naked flesh ever have.
My legs feel weak at the realisation. At the words I’ve just said to him. And now all I want is for the ground to open up beneath my feet and swallow me.
Baron calms himself but doesn’t release his hold on me.
I don’t understand. Nothing makes sense.
The man keeps me around. Fawns over me. Flirts with me. Threatens me. Plays games with me. And for what point?
But asking him why would make it sound like this revelation saddens me. And no matter how curious I am, I will not have that.
I try to stick my chin out. Square my shoulders. Stare him in the eye. Pretend that his words and his actions don’t hurt me.
He runs a finger across my cheek and pulls my lower lip down before letting it pop back into place. “Why the petted lip, sweet girl?”
I should tell him there is no petted lip from me. I don’t care if he does or doesn’t want to fuck me. But I fear the wobble in my voice would betray how I’m feeling, so I stay silent.
Baron sighs. “I don’t want to take you against you will. Hell, if I wanted to rape someone, I think I’m more than spoiled for choice here, don’t you?”
The hand around my neck relaxes just a fraction, indicating the question wasn’t rhetorical and he expects an answer.
I said I wasn’t going to ask him. I just fucking told myself that.
But the words feel like a gag reflex at the back of my throat. Every fibre in my body is dying to know. What does he want? “Then why are you doing all of this? Why do you keep me?”
“Because, my sweet girl, when I fuck you — and it will be a when — you will not be dead behind the eyes. I will have your screams. Your tears. I’ll have you flinch in terror every time I touch you, as I’ve become so enamoured with. But, I will look into those mismatched eyes of yours and know that regardless of all of that… You will want me anyway.”
He bends down, the cold metal pressing hard against my too hot cheek. The sensation has a sigh escaping from my lips, and I’m completely torn down the middle.
One half of me is terrified at his words, at the things he demands from me. Tears. Screams. Terror.
The other half — that half scares me even more.
That half is relieved just to hear that he wants me. That all of this fucked up shit actually has some meaning. That half is by far the scariest. I have no business feeling relief at the things he just told me he wants to do.
I feel lost beside him, unsure what to do next. What to say. I can barely even remember what led us to this moment. My chest is heaving, every breath I take filled with his intoxicating smell.
What were we doing?
The deal.
Yes.
I was supposed to be finding a way to speak to those women.
But that was before he took my game and played it better.
“There will be no deal, then? You
don’t want anything from me — at least, not yet.”
His chest rocks against me as he chuckles into my ear. He leans back, his hands settling on the bookshelf at either side of my head. “I didn’t say that. Don’t mince my words, sweet girl.”
I let out a sigh. Whether it’s exasperated or hopeful, I do not know. “Then what do you want?”
“A kiss,” he says.
A kiss? Just a kiss? I can do that. “Deal.”
“Ah, ah. Not so fast. I want for you to kiss me. Like you mean it. Like you’d die without it. I will know if you try to deceive me.”
I stare at him. He couldn’t possibly know that. I may be a mess around him, a twisted knot of nerves and emotion — but I can make this believable. I’ve been trained to perform under pressure for as long as I can remember. I may have let that fly out the window since meeting him, but I can do it if I know something important depends on it. “Deal. Take your mask off.”
He lets his hands slide from the shelf and takes a step back.
I feel dizzy at the thought of this being it.
The moment I finally get to see his face.
I’ve tried to picture it a thousand times, but it’s impossible to just imagine a face out of thin air.
Now I won’t have to imagine anymore.
“No,” he says. “No one sees my face. Ever. Least of all you.”
I shake my head at him in frustration. “But that’s impossible. I can’t kiss you if you’re wearing it?”
“My clever girl. That is entirely the point,” he says, chuckling for a moment.
Then he straightens up, and I swear I feel the temperature in the room drop. “Now go. Leave me in peace, and do not ever think to outsmart me again, for I promise you will never win.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SAPPHIRE
Do not ever think to outsmart him again.
The threat was real. It’s still ringing in my ears as I lie in bed. I should listen to his threats, even though until now they’ve proven to be hollow. There is always a chance he may follow through.
So why am I lying in bed trying to do exactly what he warned me against?
Because I don’t have any other choice, that’s why.
I’m making no progress. I’m just surviving. I realise now I’ve been doing that for my entire life. I was a girl things happened to.
Here is what you’ll have to eat.
Here is what you will wear.
This is how you will perform tonight.
Now is the time we’re going to end your life.
This is the man who owns you now.
None of it was within my control. I remember a game that Denim taught me as a child — chess. I hated that game. It was too complicated. It involved trying to think ahead, and no matter what I did, Denim was always two steps ahead of me.
So I stopped even trying.
I did learn the rules, though. I memorised what each piece could do. I watched the way he went through me with a sense of respect and mild awe. But I never felt the urge to beat him. To keep my pieces safe. I just let it all happen. That was easier than having to anticipate his moves and take measures against them.
I’ve been that way my entire life, preferring knowledge over action.
Quietly watching. Learning. Never making a nuisance of myself. I saw what happened to girls who did. They never fared well. I always thought I was smarter than them, even though I frustrated Denim to no end.
I realise now that just like chess, the easy way is only easy if you don’t think too hard about what comes next. I never anticipated that Maxim would move against me.
That was my downfall.
And this is where my wilful ignorance has got me. I’m a pawn in another man’s chess game, and unlike the game I’m familiar with, I don’t know the rules.
There are no rules, apparently.
But I don’t know how to move either. In chess, that part is easy. The pawn moves forward. The rook moves straight. The bishop moves diagonally. It’s knowledge to be memorised. In Baron’s game, he doesn’t move across the board. He tramples over it.
And I can only try to get out of the way because I can’t think far enough ahead to see where he is going.
But.
At least now I’m trying.
Yes, he told me that I should never try to outsmart him. But Baron loves games, and I get the sense that regardless of what he says, the harder he plays, the sweeter the win for him. If I’d just accepted defeat I can’t help wondering if a small part of him would be disappointed.
Which is exactly why I am lying in bed with a piece of fabric I ripped from the drapes tied around my head like a blindfold.
I’ve tried to outsmart him in the boldest of ways. When he sees me, there will be absolutely no mistaking that had been my intention. To take his game and play it better. Maybe I’ve misjudged him and he will be angry. Maybe he’ll be amused and indulge me. Maybe he’ll have already anticipated this move — as with everything else I do — and he will counteract with something even better.
I don’t know… and I feel like I’ve been waiting hours to find out.
So long that I wonder if he will even come tonight.
That thought worries me because he always comes. Even if it’s just to bind my wrists, or stroke my hair. He comes like the sunrise. And tonight he hasn’t.
But I can’t take the blindfold off, because there is always a chance that the moment I do is the same moment he comes in, and I miss my chance.
So I lie here patiently, my stomach tumbling with butterflies, my heart beating fast, my mind hyper-alert to every tiny sound around me.
It’s at the point when I am sick with nerves that I finally hear the movement of the door handle.
My stomach twists.
Footsteps. One. Two. Three. The click of the lamp, twice as he switches it on and then off. The power must be down again. Another two steps. The flick of his lighter as he goes for the candles.
And then… silence.
For the longest time.
So long that my mind starts to play tricks on me.
What if the person in my room isn’t even Baron? What if it’s an intruder, and I’m lying here blind and defenceless? No. No one here would touch me. Baron would gut them like a fish. Everyone knows that.
So what is he waiting for?
My breaths become quicker as the nerves compound and make me feel faint.
My mind is running away again.
What if he just leaves?
Rejects me?
Not only would it hurt my pride, it would dash my only hope of speaking to those women. I’m trying to figure out what one would hurt the most.
That’s when he moves.
Footsteps getting closer. He’s at the side of the bed.
I flinch in surprise as his hand circles my wrist and pulls it up above my head. His movements are achingly slow. He secures my hand to the bed and then comes back for the other one.
Does this mean he’s leaving?
This is what he does when he doesn’t plan on spending the night in the chair opposite.
I’m secured now, stretched out on the bed like a plank of wood. I forget how to breathe because I’m listening so carefully. Trying to hear if those footsteps are about to turn and walk away.
I will never sleep tonight. There is surely nothing that will calm me down after this.
But I don’t hear footsteps. No. It’s like the rustling of fabric. Something falling onto the floor, a gentle bump and then a louder thud. He pulls back the covers and the chill of the night air brushes over my skin. I’m wearing the nightdress he put on me the very first night.
The mattress shifts, signalling he has sat down beside me. I can’t see him or feel him, and the whole thing is disorientating.
Why isn’t he speaking?
I swallow down the lump lodged in my throat. “Baron?”
“Such a clever girl,” he says. “You are quite perfect.”
I’m lost for
words for a moment, and then I remember who it is I’m dealing with. “So we have a deal then?”
“That depends,” he says.
“On what?”
“On you keeping your hands away from that blindfold when I release you. You can’t very well kiss me like you mean it with them restrained, can you?” He chuckles to himself, as if quite proud of his musings.
“I don’t want to see your face,” I tell him, though I’m not really sure if that is a truth or a lie.
But he laughs as if it were a joke. “Scared of what you’d see? You think I wear this because I’m ugly?”
“Would it matter what I thought of you?” I quip.
He laughs again, louder this time. “Perhaps. I fear my ego is quite fragile when it comes to you.”
“If it’s not to hide your poor looks, then why do you wear it?”
He lets out a hmm sound and shifts on the bed. “Well if I were to tell you, I think it would quite defeat the purpose of me wearing it.”
“You said you’d answer my questions,” I say, my tone accusing.
He chuckles again. He’s playful. “Indeed I did. But only to make you happy, and the answer to that question would only achieve the opposite. Are you done?”
“I’m done.”
“Good. Then we have a deal?”
I pause before nodding my head, feeling like this is too easy. A smart person would reiterate the terms before they made a deal with the devil. “They have to be female. And… and they have to live here.”
That covers him just going and fetching Ruby.
“Done. Cross my heart.”
I almost laugh at that, suspecting he likely doesn’t own a heart to cross. “Then we have a deal.”
“How wonderful,” he says, reaching over me and fiddling with the straps that bind my wrists. “Though it’s only fair I inform you that if you think to cheat me, if you so much as touch that blindfold, I will have your tongue. And perhaps your eyes, too — for I am not a man who likes to be fooled twice. Think how much easier our future trysts would be with those out of the way, hmm?”
“You make yourself quite clear,” I state dryly. There’s nothing like the threat of permanent disfigurement to get you right in the mood for passion.
He laughs while I rub my wrists and push my hair back from my face. And then he gets up from the bed.