Page 10 of A Twisted Gift

“Sorry, hon, but these eyebrows of yours need plucked.”

She keeps going, plucking one little hair out at a time. I try to hold back my winces, but the longer she goes, the more sensitive my skin gets.

“Will I be naked during the auction, too?” I ask.

“I doubt it. These types of men get particularly possessive of their women. They’d rather purchase you without seeing your body than let anyone else see what’s theirs.”

“Will I be leaving?”

“Leaving here? Sure. But you’ll be going from one cage to another. Possibly in a more literal sense.”

I’m not quite sure what she means, and I’m too nervous to ask. My hands are shaking, and it’s taking almost all my energy to hold back tears.

“These men are selfish,” Amelia says. “Whoever ends up taking you home likely won’t care enough to warm you up or be gentle. God, or get you off. It’ll hurt, but try not to cry. Unless you end up with a sadist, that is.”

“A sadist?”

“Someone who’ll take pleasure in hurting you, dear.”

“Hurting me?” I exclaim. There’s no hiding the terror in my voice.

“Mmhmm. For your sake, I hope that won’t be the case, but these men are…” Amelia shakes her head, seeming to dismiss whatever she was about to say. “There’s no need to get worked up about it. Time will tell.”

Would some of these men do other things?My stomach turns at the thought, both with dread and excitement.

Years ago, my mind dreamed up an odd scenario that I’ve never known what to do with. The setting changed every time I thought about it—the woods, a house, a field—but it was alwayshim.Always Erik chasing me, not to hunt me down and hurt me, but to catch me. To keep me.

I’ve always blamed it on never getting to play tag with Erik when we were younger, but maybe there’s something more to it. Something darker that’s not necessarily about playing a silly game.

Even though I know I shouldn’t ask—Father would be angry if he found out—I can’t help the question that bubbles up in me. “Would a sadist… chase me?”

“Not necessarily, but I suppose it’s not out of the question. Why, you want that?”

I look away. “No.”

“Mmhmm.” The way she smiles makes my heart skip a beat.

“I don’t want it to hurt,” I say.

“Not much I can do about that.”

My heart sinks.

Once she’s finished with my eyebrows, she moves to my breasts. There are a few hairs around my areolas, and she plucks them all, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she’s touching my breasts, or that my nipples are hard.

“For the rest, you’ll need to shave. Have you ever done that before?”

I shake my head.

“All right. Come with me.” After gathering up a few things, she leads me into my bathroom. “Most people normally do this in the shower, but I need to make sure you don’t cut yourself, so hop up onto the counter and put your arms up.”

I do, angling myself toward the sink. She wets a washcloth with warm water before dabbing it against my armpit and then applying a cream that feels silky-smooth against my skin.

“The key with shaving is to not rush it,” she tells me, dragging the razor down my armpit and then rinsing it in the sink. “If you get too confident and go too fast, you’ll end up cutting yourself.”

I watch her, staying perfectly still. As she goes, water drips down my side, but she wipes it up gently. Soon, my armpits are both completely hairless.

“Legs next,” she tells me.

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