Page 66 of They All Own Me

Chapter 34

Isaac

Audioslave is blaringas I'm setting up the camera equipment in the basement. I've been tasked as the videographer for her soon to be academy award winning random video, or so she claims.

Tatum scoffed at the idea of a generic ransom letter, or call. She insisted we make the video, and what Tatum Cope wants, big bad Dominic Vance makes sure she receives. She's got those two blokes wrapped around her pretty little finger.

I'm adjusting the ring light and can't help but think maybe Tatum has an undiscovered kink about being on camera. Hell, ten years with Thomas and she was probably only subjected to some vanilla shit.

I've always thought maybe there was a little freak behind all that refinery. I've just been biding my time to see when it might come out.

I'm testing the audio when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Tatum descends wearing clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt, her damp hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. I nearly drop the tripod.

"What in God's name are you wearing?" My Irish accent comes out thicker with exasperation.

She spreads her arms, looking down at herself. "What's wrong with this?"

"You're supposed to be a kidnapping victim, not heading to the mall." I run a hand over my tattooed scalp. "Christ almighty."

"Well, excuse me for not having hostage attire in my wardrobe." She crosses her arms. "What am I supposed to wear? A burlap sack?"

I love when she gets feisty with me. That's something she shares only with me. Or maybe I'm just the asshole that pisses her off all the time.

"I mean at least look somewhat disheveled. This needs to be convincing enough that your bastard husband will pay up."

"Fine." She musses her hair, then pulls at her shirt until the neck is stretched and it's wrinkled. "Better?"

"You look like you just got back from yoga." I toss her one of my old t-shirts. "Put this on. And for fuck's sake, wipe that makeup off."

"I'm not wearing any, just mascara."

"Of course you're not." I sigh, adjusting the camera angle. "You're just naturally glowing after being held captive for days."

She smirks. "Maybe I'm just that resilient."

"You're impossible is what you are. Go upstairs and come back looking properly traumatized. And try to cry a little when we film."

"Trust me, mine looks much more convincing than Thomas."

I adjust the camera settings while watching Tatum practice her lines. The delivery's perfect - desperate, terrified, exactly what we need. But even with her best effort, she still looks like she stepped out of a damn shampoo commercial.

"This isn't working." I run a hand over my face in frustration. "You need to look properly roughed up."

"What do you want me to do?" She throws her hands up. "I'm trying here."

"Try harder." I grate out.

Her green eyes flash with irritation. "Fine. You want roughed up? I'll give you roughed up."

She grabs her hair with both hands, working her fingers through it until it's a wild mess around her face. Then she licks both of her thumbs and reaches for her eyes, dragging them under her eyes to create dark smudges.

"Better?" she demands.

"Getting there. But the outfit's still too stressed out college student."

With a growl of frustration, she grabs the collar of her shirt, well my shirt, and yanks. The fabric tears with a satisfying rip, exposing the strap of her bra and a slice of pale shoulder.

"How's that for authenticity?" She spreads her arms wide, challenging me with her gaze.

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