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If ever I needed confirmation of my evil nature, this is it. Her pain and terror are an aphrodisiac. I search within myself to see if there’s a scrap of pity anywhere, but if so, I can’t find it. Just a vast icy wasteland and a craving to see Robert hurt her some more.
Because she’s evil.
He releases her hair, grabs her by the arm, and spins her around, and I see that her back is a mass of whip marks.
“We have certain traditions in my family,” he says to me. “We don’t do courtship. We claim our women.”
My eyebrows knit together as I take in the scene. The way the woman cowers.
“So I’m looking at the future Mrs. Robert?” I say, feeling a tad unconvinced.
“Oh, fuck no. This dumb whore? She’s future compost.” He smiles wickedly. “Mrs. Robert?”
I shrug. “I still don’t know your last name, which pisses me off.”
The woman starts crying hysterically. “Please, I’ll do anything you want! Please don’t kill me, please, please, please!”
His head turns toward her. “You already do anything I want. You’re just not very good at it.” He walks over to the rack of whips. Her sobs rise in a crescendo, and it makes him smile.
Damn.
We are indeed cut from the same cloth.
He selects a riding crop and walks back. “When I claim a woman, she’ll have to be worthy of bearing my children.” He stares at his crying prisoner as he speaks, his cold gaze roving over her pale flesh. “Intelligent, from a successful family so I know she’s got a good gene pool. College student, most likely. Not a criminal fuckup like this little skank.” He smacks the whip on his palm, and she lets out a little shriek.
Then he returns his attention to me.
“Her friend’s here. Want to play?”
His piercing blue eyes are fixed on me intently, and I know I’m being tested.
Do I want to? Fuck no. Is this another one of his tests? That’s to be determined.
“I don’t know,” I say with a trace of impatience. “I don’t fuck whores. Especially whores who enjoy murdering for money. They don’t deserve an ounce of pleasure. Think I’ll pass.”
“Of course.” He nods, gesturing for me to follow him to the end of the room where a big wooden box sits.
As we approach, I hear sniffling. Robert yanks open the door, which isn’t locked.
A skinny, naked woman crouches on the floor, chained by her ankle. She flails wildly in panic when the door opens, gulping for air. She has delicate, pretty features, bleached-blond hair a little dry, and circles under her eyes. She blinks frantically in the light, her eyes watering.
“Not the highest quality snatch,” Robert says, and it’s amusing to hear the filthy words wrapped in his velvety Southern accent. “She looked better when I first grabbed her. She sucks some decent dick, though.”
“Please don’t hurt me anymore, please!” Her voice is raspy and her eyes squinting.
Drug dealer. Thief. Murderer
I have to remind myself of her crimes so I can justify the fact that she’ll die at Robert’s hands, but not before she’s raped and abused some more.
Fantasizing about such things is different from actually being confronted with it.
Not my problem.
I feel empty at the thought, but I also feel really good right now. Once upon a time, I would have cursed my lack of empathy and wondered for the millionth time why I’m so fucked up inside. Now, I know this is somehow part of my legacy. It’s not that I particularly like Robert or enjoy his company, but knowing I’m not alone has set me free.
“You know you want to make her suffer,” Robert says, eyeing me a little too keenly.
This is definitely a test.
