“The person you are helping is…”
“The rape victim.”
I swallowed, then nodded. He continued.
“Then we get our main course here, to the estate. The man or woman then spends a week with me, in my tattoo room."
"Man or woman?"
"Women are just as bad as men," he said. I realized then that this wasn't the first time he'd said that. I tilted my head, ready to dive deeper into that, but he continued.
"I tattoo them with their crimes, which you know. I want them to know fear, but also uncertainty. I make surenot to tattoo pieces Jules will use, like the cheeks, thighs, internal organs, et cetera."
"So it's true. You eat people."
"Me?" He blinked rapidly. "No, I'm vegetarian."
I shook my head. "I saw you eat steak, at dinner, with Max and Tuth and Neal. You're lying to me." My chin quivered. "You're a cannibal, aren't you?"
Gatsby's eyes widened, and as if turning a switch on, Emile appeared in front of me, a slow grin spreading onto his face.
"Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? A reason to hate me. A reason to leave this room and go back to Max, where you can pretend you're happy and safe and comfortable. Would me being a cannibal be the best thing for you? Would it help you hide Lydia more?" He stepped toward me, and I took another step back. Soon, we were in a game of slow tag. I grasped each chair for balance as I walked backward.
"Don't put this on me. I'm not the bad guy." I said.
"And I am? Is putting an end to a rapist's crimes bad? Is giving their victims peace bad? Tell me, if someone hurt you like I was hurt, would you want them out in society, living their best lives, hurting others, or would you want to end their reign of terror?"
I stumbled on my feet, rolling my ankle. He caught me and lifted me, kicking a chair out of the way as he laid me on the table. I stared up at him, directly into his wild, passionate green eyes.
He was hurt?
I was too stunned by his admission that I’d let my guard down and he'd caught me. He lifted my dress and yanked my panties down. I kicked and fought him, but fighting Emile was always a foolish endeavor. He shoved my legsapart and dove between them, spreading me wide. I wiggled back and forth, pleading for him to stop.
"Gatsby, please. This isn't right, I-I'm scared," I confessed, tears streaming down my cheeks. He inhaled deeply in between my legs.
"I know. Your pussy smells delicious. Fear is one hell of an aphrodisiac." He ran his tongue along my sex and my resolve quivered fast. He was so good at what he did; it was a blessing and a curse.
“Emile, please let me go." I clamped my eyes shut.
"Why would I do that,Shiloh?"
The use of my old name sent my eyes flying open. I raised my head and reached for his hair. I clenched it between my fists and, not able to control the need to come, shoved his head deeper between my legs. He lapped at me, sucking, nipping, and using his fingers to fuck me to orgasm.
"You never legally changed your name," he said as he stood. I scrambled to right myself, pushing my dress back down, the fear returning in an instant. "You know how I discovered this?"
He reached for his belt, maintaining steady eye contact as he undid it, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his shirt out with it. I shook my head and scrambled back further onto the table. With an impressive ease, he pulled a chair out and used it to step up and and on to the table. Fear filled my body; I turned around and tried to crawl away, but he dropped to my knees on the table and caught me by my hips.
He shoved my skirt up and yanked his pants down. Kicking my legs apart, he entered me from behind, causing me to cry out. He always felt so big-- too big, from this position.
"It was on Lydia's birth certificate," he said beforepulling out and thrusting hard into me. I screamed and tears fell as he fucked me angrily on the table he used to feed humans to humans. I closed my eyes, and despite trying to block out the pain mixed with pleasure enveloping me, I was overcome with humiliation as I imagined a table full of people around us.
They laughed, cheered, and shouted at me. We were their main course, and they couldn't wait to tear us apart. Gatsby seemed determined to wring me dry, keeping me coming as I begged him to stop.
"Let me go, please, Gatsby. Stop and I'll explain everything."
"Will you, Daisy? Or will you continue to lie to me?" he said, slapping his flesh against mine, over and over. Time had slowed, and mere minutes felt like hours. My legs were shaking and I couldn't hold myself up much longer. I hated how he made me feel, just as much as I loved and craved it.
It was my downfall, my need for Gatsby.
