Little doll?I fought to suppress a shiver at the absolute ownership and intimacy in that pet name.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I understand.”
He hummed, a quiet sound that might’ve been approval.
“I’m certain you skimmed your contract, Miss Jones,” he said. “Most of you did. But I don’t believe you fully grasp what you agreed to when you clicked ‘accept’ and packed your bags to join me in the Game.”
A fresh wave of heat crawled up my neck, and my cheeks burned.
Of course he knew I’d skimmed the contract. Fuck.
“You consented to remain on the property for the full duration of the Game, barring your elimination of course,” he said. “Moreover, you agreed to be, in the language my lawyers insisted on, a ‘willing prisoner’. You agreed to submit to any reasonable punishment I deem appropriate when you attempt to bend or break my rules. You also agreed to perform any and all duties reasonably expected of a wife, whenever I see fit that you do so.”
My heart hammered against my rib cage so damn hard it hurt.
I remembered the language now. The legalese. The little voice in my head that had whispered this is insane, this is insane, this is insane while my gaze skimmed the contract that had been delivered to my email inbox after I’d clicked accept.
I just nodded, not sure what he expected of me.
“All of this,” he said, “you agreed to of your own free will. No one forced you to sign. No one forced you to come here.”
“I know,” I said. My voice came out hoarse. “I’m not saying — I’m not trying to back out.”
“Good,” he murmured. “I dislike cowardice. It is one of many traits I despise, as a matter of fact.”
He took a step closer. I felt it more than heard it, the way the heat of his body brushed the front of mine without quite touching me.
“Tonight,” he said, “I am interested in three things.”
Suddenly, I felt a whisper of air before his knuckles grazed my chin, tipping my face a fraction higher. The touch was light andcontrolled, like he was handling something breakable that he could easily choose to destroy at any moment.
“First,” he said, “I want to know why you’re here.”
“For the prize money, obviously,” I said, because that was the obvious answer, the one everyone probably gave.
He huffed once, amused.
“Everyone wants the money, Miss Jones. Be more specific.”
My eyes burned behind the blindfold.
“I need the money for my grandmother,” I choked. “She’s in hospice. Bayview. I’m behind on payments, and they’ve been… kind, but kindness has limits. If I win, she never has to worry about the bills again for the rest of her life, however long or short that may be.”
Silence stretched between us for what felt like an eternity, then he made a soft sound I couldn’t quite read.
“Honesty,” he said at last. “Good girl.”
God almighty, that fucking phrase did things to me I wasn’t prepared to examine. His thumb brushed once over the point of my chin, in a slow, possessive caress, then he withdrew.
“Second,” he said, “I want to know what you’re willing to endure to win.”
My stomach knotted and I pressed my lips together for a moment before squaring my shoulders and answering.
“Whatever the Game requires,” I said. “Within reason.”
He chuckled, a low, cold sound that did unsettling things to my insides.
“Within reason,” he repeated. “I am the one who defines what is ‘within reason’ here, Miss Jones. Not you.”
