I went to pee. As I washed my hands, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, looking paler than usual. Despite my dread, I was relieved to almost be past it. A year of anticipation was coming to a close. Again.
Back in the living room, both the couch and the table had been moved to make enough room. Samuel stood shirtless, his body smooth and muscular. I went to stand at the center of the room, four cameras surrounding me.
Samuel checked his laptop one more time, then clapped his hands. “Okay, let’s get started.”
*
“My name is Jonah Carter. The date is June first, two thousand and six. It has been fourteen years since you let me go. I’m still yours.”
I removed my clothes and turned around a few times, the cameras capturing my every movement. When I returned to face the front, Samuel had already put on his black leather mask. He came to stand in front of me, seeming taller than before.
With my pulse increasing, I reminded myself thatIhad chosen this. In the grand scheme of things, wasn’t I the lucky one?
Samuel’s fist collided with my stomach, the pain piercing through me. He would stay clear of my face, but everything else was fair game. The next punch hit my ribs. I sank to my hands and knees, the room spinning and my ears ringing like church bells. He moved to stand beside me, lifting his leg for a kick.
Are you seeing this? Is this good enough for you?
Until I finally passed out, my whole world was pain.
CHAPTER TWO
1992
“Say, aren’t you the guy from that movie?”
Hearing that never got old, though I’d been hearing it less frequently in the last few months. “Guilty.”
The girl smiled. “Wow, you weresogood at that role! What are you working on now?”
“Hmm.” I cleared my throat. “I’m in the middle of a new project, but it’s top secret.”
She put a hand above her breasts, which seemed brand new. “That’s so cool!”
We chatted some more; a typical shallow LA exchange I’d grown accustomed to during the last three years. But I wasn’t there to chat with random girls—tonight was about mingling with the right crowd, as my agent had instructed me to. According to Agatha, this club, weirdly named “Pickles”, wastheplace to be in West Hollywood.
I narrowed my vocabulary to “Yeah,” and “Nah,” until the girl got the hint and returned to her friends. I made my way to the bar to browse the menu. As I feared, the alcohol cost like a full-blown meal. After losing multiple roles in the few months, I was living off of my last year’s paychecks.
I ended up ordering the cheapest wine on the menu and went to sit on a red velvet couch. Mingling had sounded easy enough,but the overly posh vibe made me self-conscious. It didn’t help that everyone was in groups, chatting and laughing while drinking their expensive drinks.
Someone sat next to me on the couch. I expected to see another girl, but that wasn’t the case. The first thing I noticed was his smile; how straight and white his teeth were, perfectly positioned between full, rosy lips. His blue eyes were almost gray, striking against his jet-black hair.
“Hello,” he said, and I noticed how close he was sitting. Judging by his long legs, I assumed he was taller than me. “What do you think?”
I frowned. “Think about what?”
He gestured with his hand. “My place.”
“Are you the owner?”
“Indeed I am.”
“Oh, wow.” I straightened. “Why did you go with Pickles?”
He laughed, and I didn’t know a sound could be handsome. When he leaned closer, I recognized his Tom Ford cologne. “It’s a long story that started with a private joke, but I’ll be the first to admit it is a silly name.”
“Doesn’t seem to be keeping people away.”
“That’s true.” He lowered his voice. “I know who you are.”
