Page 16 of Reckoning

I scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

He frowned, flipping my arm over and focusing on my carpal tunnel. I let out a sigh before I could catch myself. He smiled. “I already know your body.”

As I came back to myself, I snatched my arms away. This time, he made no effort to contain me. He stepped back, hands in his pockets, as unaffected by me as he was by anything.

“I don’t understand why you’re fighting me, Madeline. I could give you a good life here if you let me. I don’t have the same compulsion to cause pain that my father does.”

He had the audacity to stand in front of me, while my face and body healed from bruises that seeped pain into my bones while I slept, and tell me he didn’t want to hurt me? I finally was able to sputter forth a coherent thought. “You tried to rape me yesterday!”

He shook his head. “I did no such thing. Certainly, I did nothing you didn’t enjoy.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist, aware that I looked afraid, but in reality, I was trying to hold myself steady. I was ready to launch myself at him. I thought I could tear his vocal cords from his throat with my bare hands. “You were able to elicit responses from my body. Nothing more. I don’t want any part of you on or inside me. Ever.”

He let his eyes roam over my body in a way that brought a rush of blood to my face. My obvious discomfort only made him smile, that same insufferable grin he offered to reporters when they asked him how he felt about his company’s weapons being used against unarmed civilians in war-torn countries. He was separate from them, an entire world away. The same distance existed between us now even though we stood in the same row, mere feet away from each other.

He didn’t see me as real.

I was just a toy.

“You are so pathetic. You think you are so above the rest of us that you can take lives in exchange for cash or favors. I meant what I said to your father the other night—your family is fucking crazy.”

As I spoke, his body flushed with anger. His perfect jaw clenched the same way it had when he spoke to his sister outside. His arms, folded across his chest to give him a casual air, tensed as he closed his fists.

I let loose the question rolling around in my head for the past two days, the question I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to. A conversation from when I decided to move to New York. My mother holding my hands and begging me to change my mind, pleading, “There are men there who will hurt you, Mads. Men who will pay more money for women than they spend on food in a year.”

I’d thought she was just being dramatic and had watched too many movies.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

“How does your father know my mother, Meyer? Did he buy her?” I swallowed the lump growing in my throat. “Was she his slave?”

His eyes narrowed at me, eyebrows drawing together in anger. “Watch your mouth, little girl. I’m not known for my patience.”

His tone wasn’t even warning. I heard the promise of punishment, now or later, whether or not I continued speaking. This was a topic he didn’t want to broach. But why, when he’d been taunting me with his knowledge and withholding it like food or water? I stepped forward, encroaching on his space. He held his ground, but the quality of the air in the room had changed. The sexual tension had dissipated and was replaced with pure fury. My fury.

“You will never own me, no matter what you say. You can tie me up until I wither away to nothing, but my soul is not for sale. And certainly not to someone like you. I’m going to find out why you’ve brought me here, and I’ll dig up every dirty little secret you’re trying to hide.”

He raised his hand to slap me, but my hand was already poised to block it. I batted him away and shoved him hard, the force of all my anger flowing through my palms into his chest. He had the good grace to look surprised, fearful even, before wrapping me in a bone-crushing embrace. I struggled to breathe, my injured ribs threatening to undo all the healing from the past two days and the numbing from the pills. But I held firm, refusing to give an inch of defeat. He came close to my face again, no hint of desire lingering in his gaze.

“Watch. Your. Mouth.”

He let me go suddenly. I stumbled back against the bedframe, trying to catch my breath. I felt inexplicably mute. He looked almost humiliated, embarrassed by my accusations. I had gained some ground here. I didn’t know what it meant, but I had won something just now.

Facing the wall, I brushed my hair out of my face and tied it up.

“What is plan B?”

He stalked to the door and held it open, gesturing that I should precede him out. I folded my arms and stood my ground. He raised an eyebrow and mimicked my stance, mocking me.

“It’s not time to talk about that yet. I’ll give you more information later.”

He made me so exasperated. I realized I was grinding my teeth, mirroring his physical reactions to stress. I forced myself to slacken my jaw. “I want to know now. You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing,” he spat, slamming the door closed and crossing the room to me in two broad strides. “You are here because your family owes mine. Owes mine for a lifetime of pain and loss.”

He was pointing at me now, jabbing his finger into my sternum. I crossed a protective hand over myself and stepped back without realizing it. My jaw clenched again.

“Can’t you just be grateful? You don’t have it so bad. If you continue to act like a spoiled brat, I’ll just send you over to Conrad. I’m sure he’d love it.”

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