“People like me?” I say. “So if I was just a random person you saw on the street, you wouldn’t want to hurt me?”
He’s about to swat my bare bottom with the cane when I pose this question, and I think it catches him off-guard because he stops mid-swing.
“Do you get more pleasure out of torturing women when you think they deserve it?” I ask.
At first, I anticipate a rebuke from him — either a hard stroke from the cane or just a snarled warning. Instead he says, “I guess so.”
“Then why is it okay for you to enjoy my pain, but wrong for me to want Lance to suffer?”
He glares at me and doesn’t have to reply. I know what he would say: because I’m the one who hurt Lance. Only, I’m not so sure he still believes it.
“Tell me about that night,” he says.
“You already know what happened.”
He nods. “I haven’t heard your side.”
Is this a trick? Considering Byron’s connection to the Prescott family, I don’t believe for a second that Reed and the rest haven’t read the police file cover-to-cover. The deposition I gave, the witness testimony — it should all be in there.
“Why do you want to hear it? You made up your mind about me before we even met. ”
“Is there something else you’d rather be doing?” he counters, sidestepping the question. “I promise what comes next will be more painful than us talking.”
I growl, jerking at my chains. “You’re wrong.”
As if to prove his point, he canes my ass a few times, leaving burning lines across my skin. I yelp with each one, unable to help myself.
“On a scale from one to ten, how much pain would you call that?” he asks, retracing his strokes with a finger.
“Seven,” I reply.
“Only a seven, huh? You really have developed quite a tolerance. And you still think telling me the story would be worse?”
I nod. “Without a doubt. It was the worst night of my life.”
Reed stops brushing my welts and steps back. “Worse than your first night here?”
The stocks…
It feels like so long ago, the month that’s gone by. The fear and pain have subsided, considering everything I’ve experienced since. Yet, that fateful night — the sound Lance made when he…
“Yes. Without a doubt.”
Sighing, Reed says, “Then that’s too bad, because you’re not leaving this room until I hear what happened from your lips.”
My first thought is that I could use a break from all the sewing, and maybe I should hold out for a couple days — but then I look again at the dungeon’s many traps and toys.
“Torturing a helpless woman for information — that doesn’t bother you?” I say, trying one last appeal. If he has any shame at all, maybe it’ll work.
“It does, actually. I’ve punished many, many women, but I’ve never interrogated anyone before. I already feel ugly. Tainted. But I’ll do it.”
Fuck.
I have no doubt that he’ll keep me locked in this dungeon until he gets the story. At least maybe when I’m done he’ll understand…
—
“I’m not so sure about this,” I tell Lydia, practically shouting to be heard over the music.