Page 57 of Wanna Play A Game?
Sawyer doesn’t answer. He’s wearing nicer clothes than I’ve seen him in, with dark wash jeans and a button-down shirt.
Sawyer fastens the end of the chain to something under the sink and then looks at me. I’m still in just his T-shirt. Sawyer’s gaze drifts low where the hem just covers the tops of my thighs.
“I won’t ask you again. Come here and kneel.”
“Why?”
Sawyer gives me a blank look. “I’m trying to be nice. If you want me to throw you in the basement again with no bathroom, I will.”
Shit. Are they going to be gone awhile? I walk stiffly to him.
Sawyer arches an eyebrow when I just stand there. Then, faster than I can register, he swats my ass.
“Ow!” I hiss.
He shoots his hand up, grips my neck, and yanks me to my knees. They crack against the floor, and pain shoots up my legs. My burn also flares up with the sudden movement.
The chain clinks, and Sawyer quickly wraps the cold links around my neck. I jerk from the cold and yank back. Sawyer clicks a padlock around the chain at my neck. I catch a whiff of his cologne. He smells masculine, and I hate that I like it.
I reach up to feel. “What the hell?” It’s not strangling me, but it’s tight enough that there’s almost no give.
“I’m sorry I don’t have an appropriate collar yet, bunny.” For a second, Sawyer looks remorseful. “But I don’t trust you not to rip it off while we’re gone.”
I stand up, and Sawyer follows suit. “How long will you be gone?”
“Not sure. This is just in case,” he says. “In case you get any ideas, you can’t get to the windows from here, but I’ve given you enough slack to move around and use the bathroom. To do whatever little bunnies do when they’re caged.”
He’s just going to leave me in a bathroom? “You can’t do this!”
“Sure I can,” Sawyer winks. “And you’re going to be a good little girl and take it. Can’t believe all it takes is a little orgasm to make you soft.”
Shock rolls through me, and then rage boils under my skin. I’m embarrassed, and I’m not fucking soft.
Sawyer pulls out a phone from his pocket and, quicker than I can cover up, snaps a picture. “It’s pathetic, really. Spent all night here and didn’t try to escape. It’ll be easy to break you now that I have you figured out.”
Before I can think, I swing at Sawyer’s face.
Sawyer ducks back, a shit-eating grin plastered on. “Be a good, docile little thing.”
Then he’s gone.
I scream. Fuck. I know better. I fucking know better! Why in the hell did I ever let my guard down?
I see my seething face in the mirror. My neck is wrapped up in a chain collar with a padlock keeping it together. I lean in, trying to figure out how to get it off. After struggling, I see that it’s not going to come off without some serious tools or a key.
I want to scream again.
Anger fills my veins. Sawyer is not going to break me. He doesn’t deserve to break me. I frantically search the room for anything I could use to get away. But, like Miles’ bathroom, it’s been stripped of anything useful.
I glance at the mirror again. Oh my god, I look terrible. Wild. Why didn’t I try to escape last night? Why did I allow myself to get comfortable?
The mirror is large, covering the double sinks and almost reaching the ceiling. I could break it. But with what?
I glance down. I have about 8 feet of chain to move around with. Moving out of the bathroom, I see how far into the room I can go. There’s a large walk-in closet right next to me. I make it about two feet before the chain goes tight around my neck. I cough.
Break me. He can’t break me. If my childhood couldn’t break me, then this motherfucker sure can’t. I’ll kill him for trying.
The closet is full of suits. They’re lined up on either side and look pristine. All the hangers are spaced evenly apart, and everything is ironed.
