Page 9 of Sadist

“I think we need a wording change now regardless,” she muttered.

There was a sound of irritation from Z as he snatched the paper from her.

“The Chair wanted?—”

“The Chair will get what she wants,” Theo cut in. “My way.”

My head was starting to throb, and I swallowed with a grimace as my bitten tongue refused to stop bleeding, moving it gingerly to assess the damage.

Theo was watching me again, her gaze lingering where I could feel my cheek beginning to swell as she pointed to the stool against the wall that Bald Man had just placed in front of the camera.

“After you.”

Glaring at her defiantly, I didn’t move an inch.

“Not until you tell me what this is about. Money?” I snapped. “Or has he made a deal with a devil bigger than himself this time?”

“You can sit, Octavia, or I can make you sit,” she said cooly. “And you will find that I am a much firmer hand to deal with. Either way, these two will not be leaving until I have what I need from you.”

We stared off for a long moment, but I could tell that I wasn’t getting anything else out of her. Not with Bald Man and Z watching. There was a tilt to her lips that suggested she wanted me to challenge her. As if she got a kick out of the fist I so clearly wanted to send flying into that smirk.

Whywas that hot?

What thefuckwas wrong with me?

I brusquely held my hand out for the scrap of paper, shoving down my deeply rooted stubborn temper, along with the weird fascination I had with this woman, before it got me killed.

“That’s better,” she murmured, as she dangled the paper between two fingers for me to snatch. “I knew you could be a good girl for me.”

4

THEO

It’s an odd place to be—contemplating the moral ethics of fucking your captive. Yet here I am.

You can’t develop Stockholm syndrome in three days of solitude…right? Because that was lust that I had seen written clearly across her face. Anger as well. But I’d take a little hatefucking from Octavia if it gave me the chance to get my hands on her.

I watched her sit on that little stool, her cheeks still flushed from the barely contained rage as she read the note I had rewritten for her, but my mind was fixed on the way her pupils had blown at my words. One sentence that had glitched her for a moment too long to miss.

I knew you could be a good girl for me.

How goodwouldyou be for me, Octavia? I wonder if you could take my particular brand of twisted.

O’Malley grunted in satisfaction as he played back the recording through the small screen of the camera.

“Satisfactory?” I asked, though my attention hadn’t left Octavia. She was looking at my workspace set up on the far wall, my dual monitors glowing softly with screensavers.

“It’ll do,” he replied, packing away the tripod. “I’ll have the encoded cut sent.”

I nodded, my hands clasped loosely behind my back as I waited for them both to leave. I felt Zichen’s glare on me until the door clicked closed, my skin prickling with awareness. That man was going to become an issue.

“Hungry?” I asked once we were alone.

Octavia looked at me with an amusing mix of confusion and indignation.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Go on then,” I said softly, raising a brow at her. “Beg.”

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