“This isn't a negotiation, Ms. Lane; put it on.”
“Yes, Master,” slips past my lips as I reach for the scrap of black fabric hanging over the barre. I can almost feel his smile from wherever he is. It permeates the air like a hot breath during a slow fuck.
A few minutes later, he's beside me. He takes my hand and slings my dance bag over my shoulder.
“Step down,” he says when we reach the stairs at the side of the stage. I tentatively feel my way down each step. “Where are we going?”
But he says nothing. He just leads me up the aisle and out through the concession area. I only know because of the way the sound of his shoes change when we go from carpet to hard floor. Then outside into the cold night.
My breathing is coming harder as unease winds its way through me. I hear a double beep on a car, and a door opens.
“Get in,” he says. He helps me into the car, then shuts and locks me inside. My hand reaches out instinctively for the door, but the child locks are on.
A moment later, the other door opens, the locks snap down again, and the car starts up. I reach to remove the blindfold, becoming increasingly panicked by this change in our pattern.
He grips my wrist, hard. “No.”
A moment later, a rope is being tied around my wrists and then looped and tied around my hands so I can't remove the blindfold. I'm crying now. I can't help it. I'm scared. I haven't been this scared of him in a long time.
Sebastian's identity is no longer a mystery, but somehow he seems wilder now. Because I've seen his face. What if he's decided I'm a threat? But if that were true, he would never have let me out of his sight. He wouldn't be talking like we're going to dance together.
I know I'm being crazy, but being bound and blindfolded in his car while he drives us to god knows where makes it hard to think rationally. What if he just takes me out into the woods somewhere, kills me, and dumps my body? It's not as though I'm the only person he can dance with in his big ballet comeback. Even though I thought it was special between us, maybe he doesn't feel the same.
Maybe he's crazy. He's obviously crazy. He blackmailed me. He's made me do all these things... for weeks... blindfolded... How could I have allowed myself to trust this man even for a moment? How could I have allowed myself to forget the way this all started? This is not a man playing by the rules of society, so why do I think he wouldn't hurt me? Conall hurt me! I lived with that and danced with that for three years. So maybe he won't kill me... but that doesn't mean he won't hurt me.
“Please, tell me where you're taking me. I-I'm not going to say anything. I swear. Please, Master, I swear. I won't tell anyone about anything...” I trail off because I'm becoming increasingly afraid that the more I talk the more he may begin to see me as a bigger threat.
We drive for what seems like forever. He is silent. He doesn't try to calm me. He doesn't reassure me that I'm safe. Why won't he reassure me that I'm safe? Because I'm not!
They say don't let an attacker take you to a second location. Is he an attacker? Is that what he is to me? My body hasn't seemed to think so. In fact, until this exact moment, my body has treated him like a welcome lover, not a potential true threat.
And wasn't the opera house technically the second location? So are we going to the third location now? Is that worse? Where the fuck is he taking me?
“Master? H-how did you know about what I did to Conall?”
I can't believe I've never asked this question. I've been so consumed with keeping my secret that I haven't pushed him for answers. But now things feel so precarious. It feels like I'm about to die. And if that's true, I need to know these things. I wait in the dark silence of the car, thinking he won't answer, but finally he speaks.
“I saw him getting aggressive with you earlier that day outside the company. I pulled your file from the computer and went to your house that evening. I was about to ring the doorbell when I saw him stumbling to the bathroom through one of the front windows. I watched the rest and followed you from there.”
“W-what were you going to do when you came over?” I need him to keep talking.
But he doesn't answer me. Silence descends, and I start crying again. Why won't he talk to me? Why is he taking me off site?
I keep telling myself over and over that he's not going to take me somewhere and kill me. Why would he? He knows I won't report him. And wouldn't it look suspicious if I just disappeared?
“A-are you done with me?” I ask. “Please... you said if I did what you said... u-until you were done that you would let me go. You said you wouldn't report me and...” I'm rambling now. I'm so fucking terrified. I can't seem to rationalize my way out of this fear.
“No, cupcake. I'm far from done with you,” he says.
I hold onto this endearment even though I'm unsure if him not being done with me is a good thing or not.
Finally the car stops. I flinch when his car door slams. It has a sort of echo-y quality—like we're in a parking garage. This causes me to tense. Why would he bring me to an abandoned parking garage? Is it abandoned?
He opens my door, and before I can protest, he's scooped me up in his arms and is carrying me. I hear a ding and a metal door slide open.
“Service elevator,” he says.
Service elevator to what?? Are we at his house? What is going on?
