Page 8 of Cruel Master
The restrictive covenants seemed harsh when I signed, but I never paid too much attention to them.Saldar’s Cursewas my baby. Why would I want to go to a competitor or start another business?
Except now the restrictions are a noose around my neck. For the next two years, I can’t work in any gaming or gaming-adjacent industry. I’m not going to starve, but what the hell am I going to do with myself?
And, of course, I’m forbidden from speaking ill of the new game.
It’s a crushing weight on my chest, getting heavier every second, and the only thing blocking it out is wondering what Alex will do to me. Will he satisfy the dark, obsessive craving that gnaws at me more every day? God, I hope so.
I spend over an hour choosing my outfit. I want something that looks just right. The no-bra rule isn’t an issue—I’m not exactly gifted in the tit department—but I find a red top that dips at just the right angle to give the illusion of cleavage.
The black skirt stops a few inches above the knee, short enough that if Alex bends me over, he’ll see the top of my stockings. And—oh shit, where are the stockings, exactly? I haven’t seen them since I moved.
When Brightscape’s ten million hit my bank account, I did nothing except obsessively check my bank balance for weeks. Spending it felt wrong somehow, so I clung to my beat-up, oldMini and crappy studio apartment with no air conditioning and a broken elevator until my friends sat me down and did an intervention.
It’s been two months since I moved into my gorgeous three-bedroom apartment with a lake view. It still doesn’t feel like mine. I’ve decorated one bedroom, the living room, and the kitchen, but the other two rooms sit untouched, still full of boxes. One of which I’m pretty sure holds my stockings.
Fuck.
I only have an hour; no time to go to the shops and buy another set. Only one thing to do, then.
I grab a pair of scissors and tear into the boxes, slicing the tape and tipping the contents out all over the floor. It’ll be a mess to clean up later, but who cares? It’s not like anyone else ever comes here. As I rip and tip, something hard hits my foot, and I look down to see what it is.
Crap.
I can’t stop myself picking up the picture, one of several I couldn’t bring myself to throw out, even after everything. How the hell did this one end up in a box of bed linen? My top-notch organization skills at it again.
It’s Hadrian and me, arms clutched around ourselves, grinning. We were at Comic Con, and though I didn’t manage to persuade him to dress up, we wore matching T-shirts featuring anime characters I’d designed and drawn myself. In our Midwest town, he was the only person who didn’t think my anime drawing obsession made me a freak.
Our first conversation started when he nervously complimented some drawings I had on my notebook, and we were inseparable ever since. Right until the moment I separated us for good. It’s an old pain but still sharp as I look at the ancient picture. How old were we? Eighteen, maybe?
I turn the picture over. Now isn’t the right time. In fact, the right time is never, because this is ancient history and I should have moved on by now. It’s been five years. I’ve got enough to be miserable about right now without diving back into the past.
Stockings. Where the fuck are they?
My phone buzzes, and I smile when I see it’s a text from Alex.
Alex: Don’t keep me waiting.
Bossy and rude. I must be a sick, sick puppy, because it’s enough to distract me from everything else in my head. This is what I need. Hopefully, when I’m with him, I won’t have time to think.
The next box holds a bunch of frilly underwear, including the stockings. Perfect. I don’t want to start this experience by doing something wrong. Though, the punishment might be fun.
Dressed, I get into the elevator to pick up my shiny new car. Even though I upgraded, it’s still a very basic Ford, and the furniture in my new apartment came from Ikea. My friends all tease me that I still live like I’m broke. Maybe I’ll get used to the zeroes in my bank account eventually.
Or maybe I’ll always be thrifty. Can’t take the Scot out of the girl.
The basement car park stinks, and I wrinkle my nose. Garbage day. I cover my face with my hand and rush to the car. As I open the door, a sharp sting, like a wasp, hits the back of my neck. I slap my neck and meet something solid.
My vision wavers, black creeping in at the edges as I turn. A man, but I can’t make out his face. Everything stretches, and someone grips my body as my mind slips away.
***
It’s so dark that, at first, I’m not sure whether my eyes are open or closed. I blink them a few times to make sure, and even that makes my head spin. A headache throbs at the base of my skull. Was I drinking last night? What happened?
I float for a minute, mind covered with fuzzy clouds, before making a halfhearted attempt to sit up. I don’t get far—my head weighs a thousand pounds, and it drags me back to the bed. My eyes close, and I drift off again.
***
Consciousness creeps back, sharper this time, and with it, unwelcome sensations. Dry throat, cracked lips, and a very full bladder. My headache is gone, but faint nausea lingers. And why is it so fucking dark?
