Gaslight (Crossbreed #4)(68)
I threw my head back and wanted to laugh at the irony. My obsession with punishing men had led me back to the ultimate punisher.
“This wasn’t in the brochure,” I murmured.
Rachel stood at arm’s length and unzipped my jeans. She looked at me as if I were going to bite off her head. I knocked her arm away with my knee.
“Please,” she said, her voice quavering. “I have to.”
Yes, she had to.
It was the first spark of pure emotion I’d seen—a flicker of fear. Rachel was free to walk around, but she was still a prisoner. Her obedience had earned Fletcher’s trust, and in return, he’d granted her freedom. Well, if you wanted to call living your life in fear freedom.
I bent my knee and rested my foot against the wall. Despite her warning, I had a feeling she wasn’t going to tattle. Failing to do a simple thing like dress me wouldn’t go over well with a man like Fletcher, so Rachel wasn’t going anywhere until the job was complete.
More time with her meant less time with him.
My God, it was like staring into the mirror of a future that could have been. Had I not risked everything in a last-ditch effort to escape, was this what I would have become? Though Rachel wasn’t chained, I knew why she didn’t run. Fletcher was a convincing man, and I’d believed that no matter how far I ran, he would find me. He even told me he was a Mentalist—a Mage gift that allowed a person to communicate with others mentally and invade their dreams. As the months went by, I conducted tests and discovered his real gift was psychological manipulation.
When Rachel tried to remove my jeans again, I let her. Angry or not, I wasn’t going to be responsible for what Fletcher would do to her if she didn’t complete her assigned task.
She actually blushed when she took off my panties, but the color didn’t last long before she stood up, scissors in hand.
“Go on,” I said. “I’ve been through this song and dance before.”
Because my arms were bound, she had to cut away my T-shirt and bra. I trained my gaze on the door, expecting Fletcher to peer in at any moment with his beady little eyes. To my relief, I didn’t sense his energy close by.
“You’re a Mage,” I said to Rachel. “Are you really his, or did he just take you?”
She briefly looked at me, the answer in her eyes.
“I should have known he’d find a replacement. I bet you want to stab me with those scissors.”
She held up the handmade dress and put my head through the hole. There were no sleeves, just laces on the side that held it together. It was similar to the one he made me wear in the early days, before he trusted me enough to lengthen the chain. He eventually got sick of cleaning up my mess and gave me a bucket, but half the fun was not using it. I found pleasure rebelling in the most creative ways, always searching for buttons to push. Eventually he stopped giving me food and water, and that was when I learned how long I could survive without sustenance. Unfortunately, with Rachel around to do all the cleaning, I’d have to come up with new ideas.
While she tied the laces, I slammed my eyes shut.
This can’t be real, I thought, tears brimming near my lashes.
“You should just do whatever he wants,” Rachel whispered. “He told me about you—about how you fought your own Creator. You’re not supposed to do that. The Mageri executes anyone who kills their Creator. And a Learner has no rights.”
I tilted my head to the side, wondering if she was really that na?ve. “The Mageri is the least of your concerns. Creators aren’t supposed to take you right off the street. Did you know that? Creators are supposed to go to the Mageri for approval when they make a Learner. At the very least, they have to present you to the local Council and have them measure your gifts.”
She began lacing up the other side. “They’re supposed to, but Creators aren’t punished if they don’t. They’re the only ones who can make another Mage, so the Mageri turns a blind eye whenever it suits them. Fletcher says they’re corrupt.”
Creating fear and distrust of the Mageri was one of Fletcher’s control tactics. I smiled mirthlessly. “Of course he did. I bet you’re convinced that he’s the only one who can protect you. I’ve been in your shoes, Rachel.”
She backed away, her lips set in a mulish line. “He said you’d try to sway me, but you’re only going to make it harder on yourself. Fletcher’s immortal, and you’re chained to a wall. He can do whatever he wants to you for all eternity. Have you thought about that?”
I shifted my stance and looked up at where the chain connected to the wall. Forever was a long time. Now that I’d seen the big bad world, I had a feeling Fletcher wasn’t going to be granting me privileges at the normal pace. A woman like Rachel wasn’t hard to break, and she’d probably never held a weapon in her life. Maybe he’d picked a girl from the suburbs whose only real excitement was going to yoga class three times a week. One thing was for sure—Fletcher would never trust me enough to unlock these chains. Not for years. If I yielded to him, I could retain my strength and come up with an escape plan. But I knew Fletcher better than that. He wanted to see me break, and he’d never accept anything less.
I yanked on the chain and studied the manacles for a weakness. Meanwhile, the door opened and Fletcher strode in, just as happy as a lark.
“Rachel’s a bit feebleminded, but I trust her.” He swaggered forward, hands in his pockets, but stopped out of reach. “Where, oh where, has my little Learner been?”