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A little while later, I’ve returned to the bar and am about to order the least offensive of their Bordeaux selection when a slender blonde woman with a bony chest slides up next to me.
“Joshua Smith,” she slurs, and the sickly-sweet scent of half a bottle of bargain-basement perfume mingles with the rum and coke reeking from her pores. Her hair is bleached platinum blonde and hot-rollered into perfect waves. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“Yes, let’s keep it that way.” I turn away.
“I’m Tiffany. And I’m very friendly.” She seizes my hand and tries to put it on her silicone-enhanced left tit. I grab her wrist and hold it crushingly hard. She yelps in pain as I rearrange the muscles in my face and drop my mask. I let her see the look in my eyes—the one I show to my prey right before the knife descends.
“I wouldn’t touch you if my cock was wearing a full hazmat suit. Touch me again and you’ll withdraw a bleeding stump.” I release her wrist, and she’s crying as she scurries off. That cheers me up considerably.
I lean against the bar and close my eyes and think of Toy. Sweet, broken Toy. How will I ever fix her?
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Toy
Master is gone all night and most of the next day. When he enters the playroom, I can see he’s furious. I’ve never seen him quite like this before. That icy mask of his rarely slips, and when it does, when he’s mad at me, it’s still a cold, controlled kind of anger.
But today he comes boiling through the door, eyes blazing with rage. I hold as still as possible, so panicked that my breath sticks in my throat. He seems to be moving in manic fast-motion.
He stalks over to me and practically rips my collar off. Then his hands close around my throat and he pulls me to my feet. I’m gurgling in panic; I can’t breathe, and my hands flail and slap at his wrists. Instinctively, I try the Krav Maga technique that he’s taught me. I bring my hands down on the insides of his elbows, and my knee comes up toward his groin. He twists away easily.
He eases up a little bit, enough that I can breathe.
“Your technique still sucks, Toy. Fucking useless at everything, aren’t you?”
I start to cry. “Yes, Master, I’m useless. I’m sorry, Master.” I would die right now for one kind word. I’d die happy.
“Somebody is looking for you, Toy,” he snarls. “Someone has been bombarding the fucking press with messages about you and implying thatI’mbehind your disappearance. The police interrogated me for hours today. They ambushed me with all kinds of information that they shouldn’t have access to. I was forced to do a press conference, upping the reward for information leading to your return. Who knows that you went back to pick up your purse that night? Who would have that kind of information? Other than your former neighbor, who could be behind this? I know it’s not her, because she never reported you missing.”
A shock wave rolls over me and my knees give out. He hauls me to my feet, and I stand there for a moment as the implication of what he just said floods my body with light and warmth.
Somebody cares about me. I am not invisible. I am not worthless like Master tells me over and over.
But who? If nobody reported me missing in the first place, why would they suddenly be after me now? “I don’t know who would look for me, Master. I have nothing and nobody.”
He’s staring straight into my eyes. Anger flickers over his face. “You have me. And I am everything.”
I bob my head as much as I am able with his hands closed around my throat. “Yes, Master.”
“The person who did this has been sending anonymous emails to both the police and the newspapers. And they’ve been naming me as a suspect. You must know who it is.”
“Heather was my only friend!” I protest weakly. “I mean, I thought she was my friend.”
“Somebody at the place where you volunteered?”
“Nobody that I know of, Master. If they didn’t report me missing after a month, why would they start now? Master?”
The thought of that place… Tears start running down my face and I can’t stop crying. Oh God, I miss my old life. That’s why I never think of it, because it will sap the last bit of my strength and it won’t matter because no matter how miserable I am, there’s nothing I can do to escape this.
“Stop crying,” he snarls. “Right fucking now.”
“I c-c-can’t.” I’m having some kind of breakdown. I can’t remember how to breathe. I’m shaking so hard I’m almost convulsing. Images of the people back at the shelter flood my mind, summoning up a drenching wave of misery.
“You c-c-can’t?” he mocks me, and throws me to the floor. I curl up and hug my knees and wail, rocking back and forth.
He goes down on his knees next to me, grabs my hair and yanks my head up. “Who?” he screams. Who is this angry man? He never used to lose control like this. “Who did you tell about me?”
“Only Heather!” I cry. “I swear, Master, I swear!” Tears and snot run down my face, and I’m gulping in panic because I can’t make him happy but I must make him happy.
