I turned to him, a glare in my eyes. “You aren’t going to let me finish eating? Are you that barbaric?”
He smiled before he pulled his hand away.
He actually pulled his hand away.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“About me?” He never asked me questions before. The only time he did was when he asked for my name. Other than that, he had no interest in me as a person.
“Yes.”
“There’s not much to say. Ever since I became a slave, my extracurricular activities have gone downhill.”
He chuckled, amused. “What about your life in America?”
“I worked as a mechanical engineer for the state of New York. I helped with building schematics and bridges. I graduated from NYU and lived with my boyfriend for the past year. I don’t have any family because I was taken from my parents and put into protective services when I was ten. I grew up in a foster home until I became an adult.”
“What an interesting life.”
“I guess. Or some might think it’s pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” he asked.
I looked around the dining room. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, made of pure crystal. The wine glasses we drank out of were lined with gold. The silverware and plates were fit for a king. “I’ve never known luxury like this. I’ve never known wealthy people or pretty things. My life must be dull in comparison to yours.”
“Probably,” he said in agreement.
Asshole.
“But I think you’re interesting.”
“Because I have tits and an ass,” I said harshly.
He smiled. “Yes. But for other reasons too.”
“Like what?” I kept eating and tried to hide my excitement. This plan was working. He was forming a bond with me, an affection. I could feel it.
“You’re the first slave I’ve ever had that fights back. All the others give up the second they walk in the door. You have a fire inside you that keeps me warm. You have an intelligence in your eyes that makes you special. You definitely wouldn’t have been trafficked unless you were tricked.”
Unless I was tricked? What did that mean? I held my question back because I didn’t want to go on a tangent. This conversation was going so well, and I didn’t want to hinder it. It wasn’t worth it. “Do you believe in fate?”
“I believe we make our own fate.” He drank his scotch.
“Sometimes I think I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time. But would that have happened unless it was meant to happen?”
“Under that assumption, that would mean you were meant to be a slave. And I know how much you hate it. It doesn’t seem like your belief in fate served you very well.”
“But what if I get something out of it?”
“Like what?” he asked incredulously.
“I know you do something illegal.” I looked him square in the eye. “I know you make your living doing dishonorable things. What dishonorable things do you do?”
He leaned forward, intrigued. “Why do you ask?”
“Living here has made me drawn to power. I hate being the victim. I hate being the slave. All I wanted to do was hurt Francine. Not because she hurt me but because she thought she was better than me. Everything has made me realize I’m not any different from you. I’m just on the wrong side.”
He studied me closely. His eyes searched my face, looking for something I couldn’t see.
I hoped he wouldn’t call me out on my grandiose lie and beat the shit out of me right there. My body was still healing from the trauma those men put me through. I couldn’t take any more torture. I would snap.
But he didn’t accuse me of anything. “You like power?”
This was going somewhere, and I had to keep pushing. Instead of answering, I just nodded.
“You want what I have?”
I nodded again.
“Why?”
I didn’t have an answer, at least not one that would make sense. “There’s no reason. Power is a state of mind. Power is the ability to control people. It’s a high you can never come down from. It’s a medal you must constantly work for. It’s a title that can be stripped. It’s just...fascinating. I know I’m stuck where I am, and there’s no way I can get out of it. But sometimes...I picture myself beating someone. Sometimes I picture myself enslaving someone. Sometimes...I get high off just the thought.”
His eyes were glued to mine, and he hardly blinked. Something happened deep inside him. His opinion of me changed, but I had no idea what it became. He downed his scotch before he placed the cup beside his resting hand. “There’s something I want to show you tomorrow.”
“What?” Was it a torture room?
“You’ll see.”
***
Bones didn’t come to me after dinner. He went into his study and did whatever the hell he did in there. I was left to my own devices, spending the evening in my room alone.
It was nice.