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“You keep offering me things—physical objects, money, a walk in the prison yard—to try to get me to accept what you’ve done to me. What would makeyouaccept having your life stolen from you and living as someone’s slave, under their complete control, and knowing you’ll never talk to another person again for the rest of your life?”
“I’m not you. I’m me. We’re different people.” That baffled look appears on his face again.
“Right. That’s Joshua-speak for ‘I utterly fail at understanding normal human emotion.’”
He shakes his head chidingly. “I answered your question as best I could, given that your question made no sense in the first place. Now, my turn. I want you to tell me ten things that you love about being here.”
I could be petty and tell him nothing, but that would be a lie, and he might cancel the deal. If I can really get him to donate a million dollars to the shelter, that would be huge.
Frowning, I stare down at the table and force myself to open up to him, as I’ve done too many times since he kidnapped me. “I…I love it when you bathe me. I love sex with you. The gentle, sensual whipping, and when you spank me just right—I love that too.” My face grows hot with resentment, and I clench my fists and press my thighs together tightly. I don’t want to give him this. It’s like validating what he’s done to me, and again, he’s invading my mind and making me feel disgustingly vulnerable. Like being strapped down to an ob-gyn chair and put on public display.
“That’s three.” There’s an impatient snap to his voice now. “Go on. And don’t stop until you get to ten, or the deal is off the table.”
“Can we just have a damn conversation without you threatening me?” I yell at him.
He gives me a nasty smile. “Given who and what I am, probably not.”
I heave a sigh. “When you made me confess to what I’d done to my stepfather, it took an enormous weight off my shoulders.” I hold up my hands to tick the numbers off. “That’s four. When you made me talk about my mother’s death and told me it wasn’t my fault…sometimes, you have a way of saying things that can make me believe almost anything. I have felt a darkness lift from me ever since that day. I haven’t done my tapping rituals in a long time, and I don’t wake up in the middle of an anxiety attack any more. That’s five. I love the selection of books that you have here. That’s six. I love the food that you serve. That’s seven. I love sparring with you every day and getting to pretend I’m actually hurting you for every rotten thing you’ve done to me. That’s eight. I love the artwork here. That’s nine. I love the furnishings in the house. That’s ten.” I clench my splayed-out fingers into fists.
That’s ten pieces of my heart and soul he just pried out of me. I’m hyperventilating, tears burning in my eyes. Damn him. I swore to myself, when I reclaimed my identity as Tamara, that I would never again let him hurt me emotionally. And here I am. He knows exactly how to get to me.
“What about when I gave you the dresses?” he asks.
Again with the damn dresses. I flash him an annoyed look. “No, frankly, I didn’t love that at all. Why do you care so much about the dresses?”
“Because it was the first time in my life that I’ve ever attempted to buy someone a gift and genuinely wanted to please them.”
The look on his face… If it were any other man, I’d say it was a look of hurt and confusion. But this is Joshua Smith, the world’s slickest psychopath. He’s just manufacturing that look to mimic a normal human response, isn’t he?
If I’m forced to be honest with myself, I’m not entirely sure. He isn’t lying when he says that my presence here has changed him. I know he’s opening up in an odd way, doing things he’s never done before. He’s treating me differently than he’s treated anyone in his entire life. Perhaps I have touched something inside him, made him a little bit more human.
I shake these confusing thoughts from my head. He’s staring at me expectantly.
“You never buy gifts for Elizabeth?”
His perfect brow wrinkles. “No, why would I?”
“You just don’t get people, do you?” Then I laugh at myself. “Right, right, look who I’m talking to. So you never show her the slightest appreciation or acknowledgment of what she does for you. No wonder she’s miserable. Then again, if you bought her gifts, it would just give her false hope. All right, you wanted to know why I didn’t like the dresses. Seeing them just made me think that nobody but you would ever see me wearing them.”
“Who else do you want to see them?” There’s a dangerous edge to his voice now. Is Joshua actually jealous? What new level of madness have we reached? Dear God, the look in his eyes. I think if he ever saw me flirting with another man, he’d gut him like a deer.
“I would just get the pleasure of wearing them to a restaurant, to a play, to a movie, to an art gallery opening… I mean, I can’t explain it. Why do you wear nice clothing when you’re here?”
He smiles mockingly. “Why, to please you, Toy.”
“That’s Tamara Bennett to you, Joshua Smith. And bullshit. You wear nice clothing because it pleasesyouand feeds your grandiose ego. Where are we, by the way?” I throw the question out, since we’re actually having something resembling a conversation. Maybe he’ll give me something for free.
“What will you give me if I tell you?”
Nope. Nothing’s that easy.
“What could I give you? Thanks to you, I have nothing of value.”
“Self-pity is unattractive, Toy.” He’s really quite cuttingly nasty when he wants to be. “Try again.”
“I promise I won’t try to kill myself.” I give him a weary shrug.
Genuine anger flashes in his blue eyes. “Of course you will. Don’t lie to me, Toy.”
