Page 45 of Eden's Joker

I dig my heels into the sandy ground, which is somehow enough to stop him as well. He looks at me, a puzzled yet amused look on his face. I can’t believe I ever thought those cold eyes of his were pretty. They’re just ice. Immovable and terrible.

“You can drop the act now, Tyler… if that’s even your real name,” I say. “I know it was all a sick lie so I’d trust you. So stop pretending to be a nice guy and just get on with killing me.”

He laughs. “Such spice. As for killing you… that might come later, but I’m gonna have some fun first.”

He gives me one of those all over lust-filled looks that had me weak in the knees and soft in the head since we first met. To my horror, it still works. Despite knowing he’s just a monster, I still want to feel his lips on mine, his kisses on my skin, his cock… No!

I look at the distant hills, pretending as hard as I can that he’s not standing right beside me.

“And yes, my name is Tyler,” he says. “But everyone just calls me Joker these days. But you can still call me Tyler.”

“I think I’ll just call you Psycho,” I snap.

That makes him laugh. “Won’t work. Someone else is already called that. Now let’s go.”

And then he’s dragging me along again, up the wooden porch steps and into the house. It’s cooler inside than I imagined it’d be, and the hardwood floorfeels very pleasant beneath my bare feet. The front door opens into a foyer dominated by a curved wooden staircase leading into the upper floor. To the right is a salon with huge windows overlooking the hills in the distance, and to the left is a dining room. I suppose the kitchen is in the back.

I don’t get to find out because it’s up the stairs he drags me. And to a bedroom that’s about the size of my apartment, complete with a massive wooded four poster bed, two matching nightstands, a dresser, and a wardrobe. There’s also a writing desk, a vanity table, a love seat and two armchairs and a bookcase. An empty bookcase—the saddest thing in the world.

I think the windows would overlook the town and the hills, but I don’t know because they’re covered by thick blackout curtains. The room is lit only by a chandelier that gives off an old-timey yellowish light and looks like it’s been here since this house was new. All the furniture looks that way, actually.

“So, how do you like your new home?” he asks.

I turn to face him. “I hate it as much as I hate you.”

He doesn’t like that one bit. The ice in his eyes seems to give off cold as it hardens.

He grabs the chain binding my arms and neck and yanks on it, pulling me closer so our faces are almost touching. The links are digging into my flesh painfully and I should be afraid. Why are my nipples tingling and my pussy pulsing instead?

Must be the alcohol that’s still not out of my system.

Or maybe I’m crazy.

“You’ll hate me a lot worse when I’m done with you,” he says. “So try to pace yourself.”

And with that, he steps away, yanks on the chain again and pulls me towards the four-poster bed. Before I even know what’s happening, he chains me to one of the four pillars.

“Sit,” he commands.

I just give him another nasty look.

He doesn’t like that at all either. His eyes are positively shooting icy shards now.

“Or stand,” he says. “I don’t give a fuck.”

He strides to the door.

“So what now? You’re just gonna keep me chained up like a dog in here?”

By rights I should want to be alone so I could figure out how to escape, but I suddenly don’t want him to leave.

“For now,” he says and grins coldly over his shoulder. “Until you learn how to behave again, at least.”

I meet him with hateful silence again. And after piercing me with his glacial eyes for a few more seconds, he leaves the room, turning off the overhead light, and slamming and locking the door.

I ease myself down onto the floor by the bed. The length of the chain he bound me with is barely long enough for that and I have to hold my arms up at anuncomfortable angle. But I don’t care. Pain is better than thinking about the pleasure I still want him to give me. There must be something seriously wrong with me for even thinking that. Because when he’s here, I’m strong and defiant. But with him gone, I’m just afraid. Petrified actually.

The intense hatred of Tyler kept me warm and brave while he was near, but now the darkness is like velvet all around me and it kind of feels like I’m dead already. I try not to think that, but being chained up in the dark, in a strange room in a strange town, like I am it’s very hard to hold on to hope.

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