The brunette laughed and rose to her feet. “Getting a good workout? And one, and two, and one, and two—tell me, are you feeling the burn?”
Bang, bang, bang, rattle, rattle, rattle—
Mae grunted. Sweat broke out across her face. Her eyesight swam as her body protested at the demands she was putting on it.
“After this”—the brunette smiled—“can we work the core? Core is so important.”
Things were loosening up in the cage, the top sinking as she punched out, popping back when she retracted her knees.
“I swear . . . you remind me of someone.” The brunette came over to stand by the commotion. “But that’s not important—”
With one last, powerful extension, Mae busted the end out, the lattice of heavy wires bouncing on the floor. Half of the top came down on her, and she shoved it off as she shuffled out of the escape route she’d created.
The second she was free, she scrambled to stand up—
Her balance was for shit, her body totally uncoordinated, and she was aware of the brunette laughing as Mae hit the hard floor and tried to stand again. And again.
She collapsed in a sprawl, panting, her head spinning, all kinds of pain pretty much everywhere.
“And where do you think you’re going now?”
The pair of black-and-white stilettos appeared right next to Mae’s face—which was the only reason she figured out she had ended up on her side with her ear and cheek on some cool, cool marble.
“You know,” the brunette murmured, “you ruined a perfectly good cage. I’m going to have to make you pay for it, one way or the other. And I’ll be choosing something other than cash, of course—”
“You won’t hurt me.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Mae lifted her head. Lifted her torso. Tried to lift her whole body, but settled for sitting up against the wall where the cage had been.
Even though her eyes were still focusing intermittently, she trained them in the direction of the brunette.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “You. Aren’t. Going. To. Hurt. Me.”
Those glossy red lips flattened and that voice got nasty. “You keep thinking that, then. We’ll see how long the bullshit lasts.”
With a sudden rush, an invisible force levitated Mae up off the floor and pinned her against the wall. Bone-crushing pressure covered her entire body, a blanket that weighed as much as a car, and as she struggled to draw breath, she tried to fight the squeeze, but there was nothing to fight against.
The brunette walked up and struck a pose, one hip curving out, the opposite hand poised on her waist. Yet her face was drawn in harsh, ugly lines.
“I’m going to do anything I want to you.” Her eyes raked down Mae—and then surprise registered. “Well, well, well. Looks like that big male hasn’t gotten into you yet. A virgin? Really? What a prize you are.” Now she smiled again. “Just what every guy wants, fumbling hands and awkward winces of pain. How sexy—”
“You can’t hurt me,” Mae grunted, “because you need the Book.”
The brunette went silent and closed her mouth. Then she turned on one stiletto and walked over to the display of boxy, two-handled purses with little locks on them. There were easily a dozen of them, in a rainbow’s worth of colors and with just as many different textures.
“You know,” the brunette said, “I’ve used a lot of male virgins over the years. And tsk, tsk, tsk, not like you’re thinking. They were necessary for a private, non-sexual purpose—which sadly is no longer applicable—”
“You need me alive.” Mae coughed. “Because I summoned the Book. You need me to get the Book.”
The brunette looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “I wouldn’t be so cocky, honey. I have other sources for that.”
“Then kill me. Right here and now—”
Mae let out a scream as the pressure became unbearable, the bones in her face threatening to collapse flat, her ribs squeezing her heart and lungs, her pelvis nearly cracking. And just as she began to black out, at the moment she felt herself slipping away, she was able to drag some air down her throat.
As her eyes started to clear a little, the brunette was right in front her again. No longer angry, but pensive.
“Tell me how you did it,” she said.
“Hmm?” Mae wheezed.
“Look at you. You’re not bad-looking, but you’re hardly worth crossing the street for. You have no style, no personality, nothing to recommend you, and no experience in bed. And yet . . . that male. He’s so fucking into you. I don’t get it.”
As the brunette went silent, Mae put some strength in her voice. “That’s what you want the Book for. Isn’t it.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
The brunette’s glare was a promise of misery. Infinite misery. “And you can kiss my fucking ass.”
All at once, the pain and suffocation returned, and Mae knew she’d overplayed her hand.