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“Yes, you do,” Seven says. “Declan has set up a bank account in your name, and we have all the paperwork and bank cards for you. The account has five million dollars in it. You also now own a penthouse apartment in the city, fully furnished. And a car, a blue Porsche 911 Carrera. You're welcome.”
I shake my head. “It's not real. You're just fucking with me again.” I can't take any more of these lies.
Seven steps out of the cell for a moment, the keypad accepting his thumbprint as easily as Declan's. As if I needed any more proof of his role in this. No wonder Declan made me call Seven, master.
I cry harder now as I'm left alone in the room with Declan. The bad master. The scary one. But they are both utterly terrifying now. They were just playing good cop/bad cop with me, and I was too stupid to see it.
“You're both psychopaths,” I whisper.
“Oh, come now, Pretty Toy. If we were psychopaths, you'd be dead right now. We're sociopaths.”
“What's the difference?” I never actually thought there was a difference. I've heard the terms used interchangeably so many times.
Declan walks over to me. I cringe away from him, my back now pressed against the wall with no more room to run. He sits on the ground beside me, stroking my hair.
“Sociopaths can form bonds with a select few people. And lucky for you, you're now one of those people.”
I don't believe him. I can't. The amount of deceit both men have used with me these past few weeks is too great for me to believe a word out of their pathologically lying mouths.
“Did I ever once threaten your life?” he asks.
“No.” He did mention starving, but I know he means violent immediate murder threats. It's fucked-up that I can read between his lines and know what he means even if he isn't entirely specific.
“No, what? You aren't free quite yet. Let's not get too casual.”
“N-no, Master.” I can't stop crying.
“Good girl. Did either of us ever physically harm you in any serious way? Any broken bones? Cutting? Amputations? Starvation? And I mean actual starvation, refusing you food with no way for you to rectify that situation. Were you at any point violently raped?”
“No, Master,” I whisper.
“That's what I thought.” He stands back up as Seven re-enters the room with some papers, a pen, and the clothes I was wearing the night I was taken. The little black dress. He takes me by the arm and guides me to the bathroom where the light is better. The latest white roses are wilting in the vase. Some of the petals have fallen onto the counter.
It's jarring, because there were always fresh roses. They never got to this state before being replaced with more, always while I was sleeping.
“Read, sign, and initial in the marked places,” he says.
Seven strokes my back as I read. I hate him more than Declan right now. At least I always knew Declan was the bad guy. Seven's betrayal cuts deeper.
I can barely read through my tears but I get the gist of it. It doesn't even matter what the fuck these papers say. I have no choice but to sign them. I'm not really agreeing to anything, just obeying one more of their whims.
I sign and initial in all the appropriate places.
“Good girl,” Seven says, passing the papers to Declan. “Now get dressed, and I'll take you to your new home.”
My hands shake as I put on the bra, panties, dress, and heels. It feels so uncomfortably strange to have fabric resting against my skin after so much time naked.
He pulls a black scrap of fabric out of his pocket and ties it around my eyes.
When I panic, he says, “It's just until we get away from the house.”
He leads me out of the cell, down a hallway, out a front door. Birds are chirping as he opens a car door and guides me inside.
“Buckle up,” he says before shutting me into the silence of the car.
He joins me a moment later and the engine revs to life. As we drive, I wonder how many women they've done this to.
There’s this sick part of me that still wants to be with Seven because a part of my mind is still in shock and can't accept that he's the bad guy. I'm still not sure he's not just taking me somewhere to kill me. His level of elaborate deceit makes anything now possible.
