Page 25 of The Devils of Saint City

Hopefully they’ve had enough too.

10

The last three days have been hell. I thought things were bad before, but Asher has been keeping me handcuffed to my own bed at night and hasn’t said a word to me since I suggested switching places. The anger coming off of him is tangible and each hour that passes like this puts me closer to an early grave. This is how people act before they snap.

I know from experience that when Asher snaps, he breaks things around him. Like me.

Manson hasn’t been much better. He’s communicating enough to tell me what they want me to do, but that’s about it. They’re not even bullying me anymore.

I never thought I’d miss that.

To be clear, I don’t miss their former brand of cruelty — but being given the silent treatment in a prison is a whole new form of psychological torture.

I need it to end.

So despite the pride in my chest and the hatred bubbling just under the surface, I brace myself for Asher to come uncuff me.

He doesn’t look rested when he enters. There’s a messy tousle to his hair I know only a shower could fix, and bags under his eyes.

As usual, he doesn’t say a word as he clicks the lock to release me.

“Ash?” I keep my voice soft, steady. “Can we talk?”

Freezing, he finally meets my gaze. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything,” I admit, rubbing my wrists. “I’m sorry I made you so angry.”

My apology has him shifting uncomfortably as he stands straighter again. “It is what it is.”

“No, it’s what we’ve made it. We can do things differently. Right now, what are you getting out of this?”

Asher shrugs, a frown creasing his brow. “Differently how? You were real fucking loud about how we take advantage of you while you’re asleep, so I made sure you’d stay in your bed.” He waves a hand at the handcuffs. “Would you now prefer I didn’t?”

I haven’t been sleeping well at all since I can’t roll over or get comfortable, but that’s not what this is about. He’s right, it’s better for me if they leave me alone at night. “I don’t know,” I sigh quietly. “All I know is that this — you two acting like I’m not even here — is worse. If this is how you want things, why not just let me go?”

“We can’t,” he replies honestly. “We’d be in jail before the sun set. And this isn’t how we want it, Rhea. Things were much nicer when all three of us got off at least.”

I wish I could argue with him, but he’s right. Things sucked, but they sucked less than this. “So what do you want from me?” I ask, exasperated and near desperate for something to change, even if it means going back to the way things were. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t see how that isn’t clear. We want you to be our pet and in return we’ll take care of your needs. But I guess you’re not that type of girl.” He takes a small step back. “Some want independence, and I guess that’s you, or maybe that’s pressure from society, but regardless our wants don’t align. You think I show Manson any form of love because I want to spite you? No. It’s because he’s the only person in this world I’d actually die for. You think that happened overnight?”

Our desires could’ve aligned if he treated me like I mattered for even a second. “You think what you want happens overnight? That women just immediately fall into such a deep sense of trust that they’ll allow someone to control every aspect of their lives, every thought in their head, every action? You expected me to adjust right away with almost no upside on my end. I guesswe both had unrealistic expectations.” I realize he’s one second away from leaving me again, so I hold my arms out in front of me with my wrists touching. “Cuff me again.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t move, but at least he’s listening.

“Because I want something from you. You seemed... excited at the prospect of keeping me cuffed during the day, so do it. I won’t fight you, won’t try to get you to take them off, and I won’t hold it over your head. All I want in return is for you and Manson to stop pretending like I’m a ghost haunting this house.”

“That’s not... if I handcuff you now...” Ash scratches at his head, eyes locked on my hands. “You really think you’re up for that after being cuffed all night?”

I really wish he’d finish sentences and say the shit that pops into his head instead of constantly giving me breadcrumbs. My wrists hurt, but physical pain is better than being outright ignored. “I’ll be fine. Are you trying to say you care about my comfort?”

“Fuck it then.” Grabbing the cuffs, he secures them around my wrists a little looser than they were the night before, then waves a hand toward the doorway. “Manson is on the couch. Go say hi.”

Already there’s a little less tension in his shoulders, telling me I did the right thing. He’ll only be happy if he has complete and total control.

Fucking psychopath.

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