Jonas (Darkness #7)(8)

She leaned forward a small bit, waiting for him to spit at her. Or try to bite her. Or head butt her. Really any number of defense mechanisms men resorted to after extreme doses of pain from someone they originally wanted to have sex with.

Nothing came. Just that beautiful, tranquil stare of a man who had confronted his demons and came out on top. It was commendable, but she bet his demons were ghosts. She had those, too. They gave her nightmares. But the real demons in her life weren’t dead and buried. They haunted her in the flesh. And parceled her out as food for punishment. And beat her when she didn’t live up to impossible expectations.

Yeah, let him try to triumph over her demons. Then we’d see if you’re as tough as you think you are.

She dipped the sponge into the murky red water and gently applied it to his torso. “I will win, you know. I see that you are pitting yourself against me. Will versus will. I will win because I have to.”

She glanced up to find his eyes studying her still. His intelligence and strength shone through. Made the brown of his eyes vivid and entrancing.

She’d once found Nathanial’s eyes beautiful, too. What a mistake that had been. A mistake that, once made, could never be unmade.

She went back to her cleaning in silence. When she was done, she put the sponge back in the bowl and lifted her gaze to his. Determination and compassion looked out at her. Also, if she wasn’t mistaken, confusion.

Being honest befuddled him, did it?

She smirked and stood, hardening her features so the pain in her body didn’t show. She stowed the bowl and prepared to leave. She needed to think about how to open him up. How to get him to talk. She had today. If she didn’t get something by the end of today, she’d take her chances on the run. She had to. There were no other options.

“Why the outfit?”

Emmy jerked to a stop with her hand on the door handle. It took her a second to place the deep, gruff voice as coming from the subject. She couldn’t help the look of shock as she turned to him.

He didn’t repeat himself. He waited patiently while staring straight ahead.

This was on his terms. He was asking a question, not giving an answer. He was trying to assume control.

She should ask his name and, when she didn’t get it, walk out. Then she should resume her next cycle later in the day after she came up with a plan. That’s what she should do.

Nathanial’s threat sounded in her ears. His smug, sneering face swam in her vision.

Taking a deep breath, she walked around to the front of him. His gaze lifted until it found hers. He glanced at her outfit poignantly before resettling on her gaze.

“Do you not like women?” she countered, bracing her hands on her hips and bending enough to pronounce her cleavage.

The man huffed and minutely shook his head. He looked back at the wall.

A thrill of fear washed through Emmy. She couldn’t lose him!

Her mind raced before she settled, once again, on honesty. What else did she have? “Men are aroused by this outfit. It sets them up for failure.”

His gaze once again rose to hers. “How?”

“When men see a sexual object, they assume the woman is presenting herself to be taken. By him, of course. They delude themselves into thinking they are her master. That they are in control because their penis says they should be. Then I hurt them. My violence against them is seen as a violation of their desires—a traitorous act. Rage takes over. But they are bound. They aren’t in control. They spiral into a form of madness, thus breaking themselves down for me. I just help the process.”

The man snorted. “Then you only come in contact with weak men.”

“That formula doesn’t work on everyone, but it works on most. It cuts down my labor.”

“And pain works on the rest.”

“Usually.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Were you punished because I didn’t speak?”

Tension tightened up Emmy’s body. She glanced at the door; she should go. She was breaking the rules of a torturer. She’d given him power, and now she was letting down her guard. Letting him into her life.

Slippery slope, Emmy. You are walking a very slippery slope with this one.

She glanced at the door again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the man said in a low growl. “Did you fight back?”

Without meaning to, and unable to help the defensiveness, she answered, “Do you fight back when your boss punishes you? Your leader?”

“No. Because usually I f*cked up and knew it was coming.”

“I see. And if you didn’t mess up? If you didn’t know it was coming?”

His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I’ve never had violence pushed on me from a superior without due cause. If I did, I would fight back.”

“And you would probably be killed.”

“Probably.”

“I would be killed. Without question. Or subjected to something worse. I’d rather take the punishment.” Emmy snapped her mouth shut when she’d realized what she’d said. How much she’d said.

“Anyway,” she said in a brusque tone. “You’ll see more of me, now. Things need to progress. I will no longer stop when you’ve had your epiphany. I’ll continue on until you can’t hold your head up. We’ll see if prolonged pain will loosen your lips.”