Maslow’s chuckle tapered off as he reached down, fingers like a shackle around my arm. He hauled me up in a single jerking motion until I stood on my toes.
“Nice try,” he snarled, his breath hot and sour in my face. “But I won’t be cheated out of what I’m due.”
His other hand flattened over my chest, fingers splayed, and then—he pulled.
It felt like my skin inverted. Like my soul stretched thin, peeled away layer by layer. My breath caught, locked behind my ribs as if even oxygen was being taken from me. My knees buckled, but Maslow held me up while drinking deep, draining every drop of Beck’s essence, every scrap of safety I’d stored away.
When he finally let go, I crumpled and fell to the cold cement floor.
Maslow loomed over me. “I don’t want to fuck you,but if I did, I wouldn’t need an invitation.” His voice was alarmingly calm. “Now, get up and go to your room.”
My pulse pounded as my eyes drifted to the door behind him. The steps beyond it would be hell to climb, but I would crawl if it meant I could get away from him. Away from this.
Maslow followed my gaze, then smirked. “Not up there. That’s closed now. I needed the space for storage.”
I met his gaze, dumbstruck. Was this a punishment? It must have been. He’d penalized Beck for using me without payment, now I had to make amends for my part in the trickery. Beck had money, but I had… even less now. Maslow had no use for my body, but there was more he could yet rob me of.
I huddled on the floor at his feet, clutching my stomach as though I expected to find it concave.
“You can use the room down here,” Maslow said. “Just keep it tidy for company.”
The room down here.
The one with no windows and furniture made of chrome and leather. The glamorous cage with restraints bolted to the walls and ceiling and a camera to monitor my every move.
Tears spilled over; I didn’t try to stop them.
I felt like I might never stop crying.
Maslow offered no assistance as I gathered myself off the ground.
Reeling and with nowhere else to go, I went where he sent me.
The walk down the hallway was like a gallows march. My feet dragged until I reached the door and shouldered it open, too spent to lift my arms. Inside, the air was cold and clean. Clinical. It was the opposite of the rich, comfortingaroma of Beck’s suite, and the sights were stark and hard compared to the hotel suite’s lavish fittings.
This space was too bold. It screamed with buckling straps and corded leather whips and lengths of chain that assured me I would scream in here too.
The bed was made, pristine but wrong, and the furniture was as cruel as ever. Metal restraints dangled like waiting hands. I didn’t look at them, but I couldn’t ignore the camera light glaring red in the corner.
Watching.
Recording.
I stumbled to the bed, climbed onto the mattress, and curled in on myself.
A hiccup punched through the silence. Then another.
I cried until my sobs gave out, leaving behind a dull, aching quiet.
And I stayed where I was put, in the place Beck said I belonged.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Zephyr
I’d wanted a few hours to mourn, but not like this.
