Page 42 of Lock Up the Darkness

Too little, too late.

I slid onto the stool beside her and snatched up some ointment and a gauze pad.

“Give me your arm.”

She hesitated, confusion all over her as she tried to gauge my play.

“Arm,” I pressed.

“I’m fine.”

It was the first time she’d spoken since the three of us had closed in on her outside.

Knowing what I did about her from all my tests and observations, I’d wager—most successfully, I was sure—that she was fighting to regain her equilibrium, while at the same time, devising a strategy to extricate herself from what she believed to be her current unfavorable circumstances.

She would come to see very soon just how favorable they could actually become for her.

She held her arm out to me and watched me curiously and with more than a little hesitancy as I applied some ointment to a cue tip then swept it over her cut. She tensed on the first swipe, but then showed no further sign of pain or discomfort, despite the fact that it had to be burning a great deal.

As I opened up the gauze packet, I asked, “Are you ready to explain yourself?”

“Is that really a question?”

I smiled. “You can catch more flies with honey.”

She scoffed, her eyes darting to the tattoo marking the back of my left hand, a skull with a lion’s head protruding from the left, with black wings on the right with Infidels Reign written beneath it. “Given who you are and what you do, that screams of being a line to lull me into a false sense of security. Just like you helping me with this cut.”

“You are not my enemy. There’s no cause to use vinegar here.” I pressed the gauze pad to her shoulder, then began taping it in place. “Unless you wish to continue in the same vein you have been until tonight, of course.” I patted the pad, making her wince, the threat there clear. “So, what will it be, Aurora?”

“What is it you believe I need to explain?”

“First off, why you’re really here in town.”

“Choosing to finish off my degree at the prestigious institution that is Hexwood U so I can get ahead in the job market once I graduate isn’t enough for you?”

“It’s not enough for you.”

Our eyes locked.

However, she said nothing. Nor did she reveal anything through her expression.

I pushed off the stool and gestured at the bottles of liquor gathered on the kitchen worktops from the party earlier. “A drink?”

She glared at me.

“Drugging you would serve no purpose to me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I told her, as I fired up a smoke. I gestured at the state of her. “You’re already subdued.”

“Then why offer at all?”

“To take the edge off, of course.”

“And why would you care? I would’ve thought you’d want your prisoners feeling uncomfortable. Way beyond that actually.”

“You’re not my prisoner.”

“So, I’m one of the fortunate few, huh?” she said in a tone of disbelief, that belligerent tone trying to cover up her anxiety at the entire situation she found herself in.

“Not few. The only. And you’re not a prisoner.” I took a drag of my cigarette, wisps of smoke floating toward her. “If you were, you wouldn’t be here in the main house. I wouldn’t have allowed you to clean up. I wouldn’t have given you the dignity of taking a timeout to collect yourself after what just transpired. And not only wouldn’t I have assisted with that minor wound, I would’ve ensured many more were inflicted. You would be experiencing agony and degradation you can’t even fathom. You wouldn’t only submit, you would be forced to break.”

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