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“I wouldn’t describe it like that. I only kill predators,” he says coolly.
“So you’re like that guy Dexter on the TV show.” I’m grasping for a lifeline, anything that will make him human, someone with a moral code, someone who might, despite what he just said, someday take pity on me and let me go.
“No, I kill predators because they’re the only ones who pose a real challenge. What kind of pathetic weakling would kill a woman or a child or an old man? Or some weak little office drone?” He pushes his chair back from the table.
And now all my questions are answered, and I’ve just lost the only power I had over him. Weakness floods my body and loosens my muscles. I wish I had more questions left. They stalled the inevitable.
He stands abruptly, reaches down, and grabs me by my hair, pulling me to my feet.
“You didn’t have to do that! You could have just asked me to stand up!” I cry out.
He nods. “I know.”
The deliberate, pointless cruelty of his statement drags dull dread through my body, and my food churns in my stomach. I feel sick and sad and so very frightened.
Fingers still twisted in my hair, he marches me out of the room and down the hall, in the opposite direction of the door that leads down to my basement cell. The terror of the unknown makes me whimper, and suddenly the basement doesn’t seem so bad after all. I swallow my pleas, knowing that they’ll do nothing more than amuse him.
He pushes me into a room, releases me, and slams the door shut behind us.
I suck in a breath, struggling for words. It’s… I don’t know how to describe it. A torture room? A pleasure palace?
“Welcome to my playroom,” he says, as if reading my mind.
The room is easily a thousand square feet. The walls are white, not glaring, but a soft ivory. Recessed lights run along the ceiling. There are at least half a dozen… I’d have to call them restraint stations… placed throughout the room, with chains dangling from them. There’s an X-shaped cross with cuffs on it, chains dangling from the ceiling, chains on the wall, and a bed on a platform with more chains hanging off the frame.
It’s the racks of whips on display on the wall that capture my attention. I had no idea how many different shapes and sizes whips came in. There are curled-up bullwhips, whips that look like black swords, braided whips that end in frayed leather, and an entire rack of what look like black leather fly swatters. There’s another rack with paddles of different shapes. One of them is shaped like a hand.A sadist with a fucking sense of humor.
Instruments that frighten me because I don’t recognize them.
Something that looks like a pommel horse is positioned ostentatiously, and nearby is an ob-gyn chair with stirrups; a table full of dildos; rolling carts with terrifying metal tools on them. There’s also a sink, and a cart next to it with a neatly folded stack of towels.
He points at a section of the wall with a bar of wood screwed into it easily a foot above my head. There is a big metal ring set into the wood, and two chains dangle down from it, with black leather cuffs on the end of each chain. It looks as if it’s designed so that a person can be spun around in any direction, and there are also chains on the floor with cuffs at the ends.
Panic explodes through my body, making me jerk with fright. “No!” I cry out, and back away. He’s on me in a flash. He grabs my wrist, bends my arm up behind my back until I scream, and walks me over to the wall.
He spins me around and pushes me so I’m backed up right under that bar of wood, forced to face him.
He’s almost right on top of me, and I have to tip my head back to glare up at him.
“I was nice to you at dinner. No more.”
I just keep looking up at him, trying to murder him with my eyes.You call that nice?
“Yes, that was me being nice.” His shark smile shows too many teeth. I flinch, startled. Did I unknowingly say it out loud, or is he just frighteningly good at reading what I’m thinking?
“Time to learn the rules, Tamara. The faster you learn, the less pain you’ll be in. You are not allowed to fight me. You’re not allowed to disobey me. You’re not allowed to speak to me disrespectfully.”
He thinks I’ll show respect to a serial killer?
I spit in his face.
He smiles, slowly wiping it off with the palm of his hand, then wiping his hand on his pants. “Did you think that was a freebie? Because I’m already going to punish you? It wasn’t. You’ll receive additional punishment for that.”
“What the hell does it matter?” I say bitterly. “Your word means nothing. You’ll hurt me no matter what. I already know you’re a liar. You’re a rapist,” I say, looking around the room, my mind reeling in horror at the thought of how many women he must have tortured to death in here.
He laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never stoop so low as to force a woman to be with me. I’m a sadist. I get off on hurting people. That includes sex. I use an anonymous account to pay money to escorts. I bring them here and do whatever I want to them. They wear a hood the whole time. They never have any idea who they’re with.”
He reaches up, and I flinch, but he just strokes a lock of hair out of my face. “Men who rape aren’t even worthy of the name. They’re lower than dogs. A real man doesn’t need to force a woman to want him. Women are drawn to real men, and they’ll do anything for them, not because they have to, but because they want to.”
