Page 51 of Preying Heart
“Thanks,” Heath whispers and moves away from my side. He digs in a drawer for a pair of jeans and a clean white T-shirt and dresses with his back turned. It’s hard to stop staring through my teary eyes, and I don’t know why I’m overcome with emotion.
It’s such a little thing, but it was done with no motive—no exchange for something else. It wasn’t a transaction or a trade, and it wasn’t payment for favors.
“I’m grateful,” I whisper.
“You’re what?” Heath turns his head as he tucks in his shirt.
“Nothing.” I repack the unused gauze pads and set aside the ointment and tape. “I think we both had a long day.”
“It’s amazing how long the days have been,” he agrees. “Two days ago, I met you for the first time. Now look where we are.”
I can do nothing but smile. “Who would have guessed? You know Lucy gave me a chance to leave, but I decided to stay.”
“I know.” He takes my hand and we walk from his room. He doesn’t try to kiss me. There’s no suggestive remark about me ending up on his bed.
And then it hits me. I don’t have to trade sex for safety.
Not with Heath—a man who for whatever reason gets his reward for keeping me safe. I don’t have to do anything but be a pleasant houseguest, and the fact that both Heath and Lucy are willing to let me go means they’re willing to forego the bounty.
Unless they’re using reverse psychology.
But that makes my head hurt. I’d rather believe they liked me—especially Heath.
Still … I can’t afford to get sentimental. To be needy for their approval. I have to look out for myself and my baby. It’s up to me to make the best of my situation, and when the time is right, I will be strong enough to leave.
ChapterEighteen
Remi
Heath and I dance around each other that evening and throughout the next week. He’s not going to talk, and I’m not pushing. As long as we keep off touchy subjects, like childhood traumas and current suspicions, we can live together as friends and settle into a daily routine on an even keel.
I have full run of the playroom and am reading through his Nancy Drew collection starting at the beginning and working my way through the series. It’s been a week since Lucy left, and she hasn’t returned. Heath is more relaxed now that he knows I’m not trying to escape at every turn, and even Glock has accepted my presence with a brief tail wag when I see him.
Every morning, we exercise in his weight room first thing which is followed by a brisk walk with Glock, separate showers, and then breakfast.
We spend the morning in his office, and he lets me read news over his shoulder. The computer he gave me has no network cards, and the only thing I can do is create digital art and load it on a thumb drive for him to transfer.
Most of the art that is sold on the blockchains are categorized by themes and center around a community of collectors. There are memes centered around a certain breed of dog, ape avatars wearing makeup and different types of hats, blue cats with varying facial expressions, headdresses, and hairpieces—basically whatever someone wants to create.
It’s hard to believe people pay thousands of dollars for a simple avatar, but my goal is not to disbelieve, but to create a collection and market it as a fad that catches on. People feel the need to collect and show off, and perversely, the more expensive and ridiculous an item is, the more collectible value some folks assign it.
Heath and I throw ideas back and forth. Apes are overdone. Cats, too common. Shiba Inu dogs are popping up all over the cyber world. I decide to put my fashion design skills to work and create a collection of “fantasy fashion” for a buyer’s avatar. Each outfit would be reserved for only one user, but there are infinite different variations I can do to fit any type of character from warrior to priestess to fairy to mage to healer to queen, etc. The outfits can be as magical and fantastic as I want with plenty of bling and accessories, and nothing has to be practical. If they want tiny gold wings, they can still fly or wear winged shoes that allow them to scale a cloud. There are no laws of physics to obey, and everything can be customized and individualized.
In fact, that’s exactly what an NFT is. Its technical terminology is non-fungible token, which is a big word for unique and individual. The token is a stamp of approval that proves the person who paid for it “owns” this particular NFT. This ownership is recorded in a smart contract that lives on a particular blockchain that serves as a “deed.” In reality, it’s bragging rights and the opportunity to perhaps resell a particular NFT for more money.
Many users flip their NFTs to catch market sentiment for a particular collection. If the contract specifies royalties to the original artist, this is also a lucrative income stream that will continue after the initial auction.
It’s not easy to make money because everyone is creating NFTs and listing them on the exchanges. Plus, there are listing fees, of course, and since they are denominated in cryptocurrency, the actual dollar amount could be insane—not to mention the “gas” fees, or transaction fees.
Heath agreed to front me the listing and gas fees, and in exchange, he gets a percentage cut for the initial sale and the royalties I earn when my NFT is resold.
I set to work, and while I’m not happy to be offline, I don’t mind for now. Once I have a huge collection, I’ll need to be social to promote my fantasy fashion line, and I’m betting Heath isn’t going to have the time or bandwidth to do that promotion for me.
* * *
Late in the evening, after working all day, I take another hike with Heath and Glock. This is his chance to show me around and familiarize me with his property.
“So this entire side of the hill is yours?”
