Page 51 of Cruel Master
But then Candice’s voice became my constant companion, and Quinn brought laughter and excitement. Now, the room feels dead. My hands shake as I stare at Candice’s blank screen. Have I made a huge mistake? Should I have tried to put Kendrick and Jacob off the scent? I could have twisted the truth, given myself time to…
No. Candice is dangerous. She’s—
Juliet was right.
The thought spears through me like a bolt, and I straighten.
She was right, and I refused to see it. My constructs are dangerous. I’d been so obsessed, so resistant to her concerns, socertainI was infallible, that I’d ignored her and let her slip away.
Never again.
Candice was—is—my greatest achievement, but she put everyone at risk. Especially Juliet. And I’d flip that switch a thousand times if I had to to keep Juliet safe.
She’s what matters now.
I pull out my phone with shaking fingers and bring up her image. She’s fast asleep. Healthy, safe, and mine. I’ll never let her come second best again. Even if it shreds me from the inside out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Juliet
SixWeeksLater
Saldar is usually here by now. I don’t have a clock, but I’ve learned the patterns of the simulated sunlight. It creeps across the ceiling predictably. By the time it hits the tiny, triangular crack, the door is usually opening. Unless it’s one of the days he comes late.
He likes to keep me guessing. I’m sure he does it on purpose, but he’s ignored all my attempts to ask him about it. The worst thing about him—besides the whole captor situation, of course—is that he only answers the questions he feels like, which isn’t very fucking many.
I watch the light edge away from the crack, then force myself to look away. I’m not going to sit here like some dumb teenager waiting for her crush to text. I’ve got things to do.
Sort of.
I can’t track the days in here—when I try, whatever I’m using disappears in my sleep—but I’m sure it’s been over a month. Atwhat I think was the two-week mark, Saldar started bringing me gifts.
Little things at first, like hair conditioner and gummy bears. A pillow and a thick comforter. Then a collector’s edition of theLord of the Ringstrilogy—I prefer the movies, but beggars can’t be choosers, even though I still skip past the damn songs. But one day, he brought me a sketch pad and colored pencils, and the world opened up again.
I spend most of the day drawing. At first, I drew colorful nature pictures to offset the gloom. Saldar eyed the first batch in his silent way, and the next day, poster tape appeared. I started tessellating sheets together to form giant murals, and the goal is to cover every inch of my cell. Saldar studies every new project. He never comments.
A few days ago, though, the torpor started to creep back in. I found myself staring at the wall for what must have been hours, mind blank, no desire to move. But then right at the back of my brain, an idea formed, and I picked up my pencil.
I’m designing a new game.
Not a Saldar game or a spin-off. A completely new project, something I haven’t done in years. If I get out of here. No.When.When I do. I’m going to make it. And it’s going to be fucking amazing.
I pick up my pencil and get to work. I slip into my usual trance, lost in the way that first lines, then color, fill the page, and I nearly wreck it all, jumping when the door finally clicks.
He’s here.
I fling myself to my knees, legs spread, shoulders back, hands clasped behind me, head up, just like Saldar taught me. I struggled to hold the position at first, but I’ve had plenty of practice. My body heats, already reacting even though he’s not eventhrough the fucking door yet. My version of solitary confinement would be a lot worse without the conjugal visits.
I blurt out a laugh at the thought. It’s loud in the silence, and there’s a wild edge to it that I don’t like. Being alone so much isn’t working in my favor, however busy I’m keeping myself. The mysterious woman’s voice never returned, nor did the flashing lights. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined them.
But he’s here now. It shouldn’t be a good thing, but it is.
My heart races, blood surging to the parts of me that seem to be in control whenever he’s around. The anticipation burns hot, sick but undeniable. I’m his plaything. What game will we play today?
He enters, pausing to look at me, and I swear I feel it. His gaze has weight, taking in every detail. I’ve been naked for so long now I can’t imagine covering myself with clothing. And no matter how many times he looks at me, it never seems to be enough for him.
His mask shifts into its version of a smile. “I brought you something. Close your eyes and keep them closed.”
