Page 121 of Villainous Intent

Cipher set the soldering iron down, the tool sizzling in its stand. “See what?”

“The room. The Playroom.”

I don’t know why I asked. Maybe I wanted to stand in the space where I’d lost my mind and try to find it again. Or maybe I just wanted to see if he’d let me back in, or if that door was closed now, too.

He turned fully then, leaning his hip against the workbench. His gaze swept over me like he was assessing the flush on my cheeks and the way I was hugging myself.

“You want to go stare at the bed where I fucked you?” he asked.

“No.” The denial was sharp and immediate. My face burned, the heat spreading down my neck to where his marks still tingled under my shirt. “I don’t want to pine over the sheets, Cipher. I just want to see the room.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes, heavy and unrepentant. Then he shrugged, turning back to his work.

“Fine. Go look at it. Smell the sex on the sheets if that’s what you need to do.” He picked up a pair of wire cutters. “But once you’re done, go back to your quarters and stay there until seven. I have work to do and I don’t have the patience to hold your hand while you process your feelings.”

“Fine,” I managed, hating the way my voice shook.

I turned on my heel and walked out, the doors sliding shut behind me. I kept my back straight, refusing to let him see me crumble, but inside, I felt hollow.

Twenty-Two didn’t say a word as we walked to the elevator. He just waited for the doors to slide open, and gestured for me to enter.

The descent was short, just one floor down. I stood, trying to pretend I wasn’t feeling a mix of residual anger from the lab and a sickening, swooping anticipation for what I was about to see.

When the doors opened, the corridor looked identical to the one above.

“Second door on the left,” Twenty-Two said, remaining planted in the elevator.

The first door I passed was unmarked, but I slowed as I walked by. It was his bedroom. The place where I’d woken up alone this morning. I stared at the door for a second, wondering if I’d ever find myself in there again before I forced my feet to keep moving.

The second door was waiting.

The moment I stepped within range, the door slid open and I stepped across the threshold. The lights snapped on, a deep, saturated crimson.

Last night, I’d been blindfolded for the preamble. I hadn’t seen the room until I was too worked up to look at anything other than Cipher. Seeing it now, sober and standing on my own two feet, was disorienting. It felt like walking inside a beating heart.

I wandered past a rack of leather restraints that hung against the wall like silent sentinels and moved toward a dark wooden cabinet.

I tugged the handle and it opened smoothly, revealing velvet-lined drawers. I pulled the top one open. It contained knives. Dozens of them. They were arranged by size and shape, gleaming under the red lights. Scalpels, hunting knives, heavy tactical blades.

I picked up a stiletto blade. The handle was textured, a diamond-pattern grip designed for traction.

I set it down immediately. Wrong.

I passed over another, a combat knife with a rubberized grip. Not that one.

I moved through three more, my hands trembling slightly. I hadn’t seen the knife he used on me, only felt it. I knew the weight of it as it dragged over my skin. I knew the smooth, cool surface of the handle that had stretched me open. It had been perfectly smooth, warming only slightly from the heat of my own body.

None of these looked right.

I shoved the drawer shut. He hadn’t used a piece from this collection.

I turned away from the cabinet, and there it was.

The bed.

It dominated the center of the room, a massive island of black silk. It was perfectly made, the sheets pulled tight.

I walked toward it, stopping at the foot of the mattress.