Page 30 of A Touch of Dark
“I suggest you ask yourself the same question. You’re offended. Why?”
I scoff. “Because this is disgusting!”
“Why?”
“B-because…” I break off, sensing the trap before he can spring it.
Clever bastard. Once again, he’s trying to manipulate me into saying the one thing he seems eager to hear: There’s no way in hell I could ever understand him or his fucking art.
“You told me to enjoy the show? But how can you?” I make a show of glancing around the room only to realize that the display is more for my benefit than his. Still, it proves my point. “There isn’t exactly a play-by-play.”
“Ah.” He sits back, suddenly at ease. His fingers form a steeple beneath his chin. “I brought you here for a reason, Ms. Thorne. Put your unique appreciation for the unusual to good use. Narrate.” He clips the word between his teeth, an unmistakable dare. A terrifying threat.
“You’re disgusting.”
He shrugs in a gallant display of indifference. “And you see less than I do. We can agree on those assessments of each other, at least.”And I have you pegged.The insult stings without him having to voice it aloud.Spoiled little rich girl.I could never understand such a twisted, edgy artist.
“They’re fucking,” I snarl, starting for the exit. “Even blind, you shouldn’t need that explained to you—”
“That’s not what I asked.” His voice cuts the air, harsher than the whip lashing the naked woman, stopping me in my tracks. “I told you to describe it. What you see, as you see it.”
“Like how?” I look over my shoulder and feel my cheeks flame. “Naked man. Mounting naked woman. Using his penis to—”
“No.” He strikes the leather seat with the flat of his hand. Hard.
I jolt to attention, hating the gasp that trickles from my lips.
“Don’t tell me what they’re doing. Tell me what yousee.”
“I see…” My gaze returns to the glass. The woman’s face is upturned, her eyes wide and unfocused. My heart surges, picking up on her alarm. “She…she’s afraid.” Before my mind can even travel down a dark road, something in her parted lips catches my attention.
“Why?” Damien wonders, almost as if sensing the same thing I do.
“Because…this is stupid.” I turn away, only to be faced with a monster, hunched forward, demanding an answer. His unforgiving snarl offers no escape.
“Why?”
“Stop.” I clench my jaw. “I’m not doing this.”
“If you lack the ability to articulate a simple, physical act, Ms. Thorne, then by all means. Leave.”
And go where?
I was almost murdered tonight. The fact sinks in only now, while two people screw behind me and a madman orders me to play his twisted game of show and tell. I could have died, and no one would be the wiser. Not Daddy. Not the police. Just silence and Simon.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
“Then tell me.”
I hate how his voice softens, still cold but less harsh. He’s harder to rebuff like this. Harder to ignore.
“Tell you what? How Ifeel?” I spit his word out like it’s the naughtiest of expletives. “Right now, I feel like a tool. Ifeellike I’m an idiot for humoring you for this long to be honest.”
He says nothing. Waiting. Expecting. He knows I’ll run.
Two deliberate steps carry me away from the window as I intend to do just that. Freedom is within reach. So I can’t explain why I turn back to the couple again.
The man took the woman off the pole. He has her on her hands and knees, facing our direction. His hand rises and lowers in sharp succession, bringing the whip across her lower back. Something in my stomach twists, like a knot tightening with every blow.
