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I think I was in shock back at the plant because I finally cry. I let all these feelings inside me come out... the latent fear over what could have so easily happened, and the relief that it didn't, the relief that I'm back home.
I soak for a very long time, but finally I get out of the bath and dry off, blowing out the candles on the way out of the room. I go to my room and find something to wear, selecting a white sundress with small yellow flowers on it. Declan and Seven both like this dress. I'm only allowed underwear when I have my time out of my cage each day so I don't put any on.
When I get downstairs, I find the kitchen table set for three. Declan has made homemade beef pot pie. It's a soothing, comforting meal and exactly what I need right now. He always knows exactly what I need.
The front door opens and slams shut, and a few minutes later, Seven stands in the kitchen doorway. He's covered in blood, much like Declan was, only worse because he had to actually cut up the body. I shudder at that thought.
His gaze finds mine. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Master.”
“How did it go?” Declan asks.
“No one will ever find him,” Seven replies.
“And the car?”
“Same. I'm going to grab a quick shower.” Seven disappears from the room as Declan pours some tea into my glass and puts a generous serving of pot pie on my plate.
“Eat,” he orders.
I thought we'd wait on Seven, but he doesn't have to tell me twice. I'm so hungry. Every few bites I look up to find his gray gaze on me. He's eating, too, but he doesn't take his eyes from mine. He doesn't say anything.
Is he trying to figure out if I'm really okay? If any lasting psychological damage was done? Part of me thinks they would have enjoyed torturing the life from Andrew even if he'd done nothing wrong just for the sheer sport of it. It's convenient that there was a justifiable excuse.
Fifteen minutes later, Seven is back downstairs, wearing only jeans, water dripping down his back from his still wet hair. He sits across from me and digs in, eating like this is the first meal he's had in a week. He doesn't look up at me until he's cleaned his plate.
“Do you want more?” Declan asks me, noticing my plate is clean, too.
“No, Master.”
He nods and clears all of our plates from the table.
“Go up to my room and wait for us,” Seven says.
A shiver skates down my spine at this command.
When I get to Seven's room, I strip off the dress and get into his huge bed. When they join me, I don't get the rough claiming fucking I expected. I assumed they would want to piss on their territory. After another man had his hands on me—even if the situation wasn't my choice—surely they'd want to fuck me in a way so there was no mistake who I belonged to, lest any creature with breath in its lungs forget.
But they don't do this. Instead, they are so careful, gentle as though I might break. Soft kisses, gentle caresses, murmured endearments I no longer know if I should let myself believe, yet can't chastise myself for hoping are real. They don't fuck me together. They take turns, and each of them is slow and deliberate, savoring the feel of their body inside of mine.
My monsters take such very good care of me. Maybe they can't really feel love, but I've heard that the early kind of love in a relationship is only infatuation, that it isn't real. Everyone who claims to really know says that love isn't a feeling; it's an action.
If love is an action, then my monsters definitely love me. Maybe they can't feel the same things other people can feel, but they do take care of me. And they do want me.
I don't know if they're still playing a game with me or if what we have is real, but either way, I'll play.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to the following people for their help with The Game Maker:
Cathy R. Editing
Michelle A. beta reading
Robin Ludwig Design Inc. Cover design and swag (bookmarks/magnets
Shirl Rae audiobook narration
