up on the wall. I stuffed them into a canvas sack and hung that sack as a counterweight. Then I looped a noose around Rocco’s wrist, kicked the pin free, and sent both stones and Rocco plunging five hundred feet down to the jagged rocks below.
So in a sense, the Bell Tower was my instrument of murder.
I don’t know if Dean is aware of that fact.
Guilt eats at me as I climb those loose and blasted steps once more.
My steps echo in the dark tower. I didn’t bring a candle, and I can barely see five feet in front of me.
I fail to notice a gap in the steps. My foot plunges through the empty hole into the blackness below. I stumble, hitting my knee on the next step above and banging my elbows for good measure.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
So much for staying clean. I try to dust off my soot-smeared knees, wiping my palms on the side of my skirt.
The wind blows through the holes in the tower, making a creepy moaning sound. I hear the echoing bounces of rubble dislodged by my feet, tumbling down the stairs behind me.
Shivering, I scale the last few steps.
Dean is waiting for me at the top of the tower. He leans up against the vast bronze bell, arms folded across his chest. The bell no longer hangs suspended with a rope dangling from its clapper. It crashed down at some point, now tilted at an angle on its side, half its mass supported by the creaking wooden floor, and half protruding over open space.
Music plays from a speaker in the corner, quiet and low. I can barely make out the lyrics, but the beat crawls under my skin like a burrowing insect.
I’ll Make You Love Me — Kat Leon
Spotify → geni.us/bully-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/bully-apple
“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” I ask Dean.
“So we can be alone,” he replies.
“Aren’t you afraid the whole place is going to collapse?”
“No,” he says.
I don’t know if that means he thinks collapse unlikely, or if he doesn’t give a damn if it all falls down on our heads.
I lick my lips nervously. Whatever part of me wanted to see Dean tonight has abandoned me entirely. Now all I’m seeing is the malevolent glint in his eye and the cruel set of his mouth. And those bone-white hands, shapely and beautiful, but capable of horrible things.
“What’s your proposition?” I ask.
Dean uncrosses his arms, taking a step toward me. The dropping of his hands is like a bird of prey unfolding its wings. It makes him infinitely more dangerous.
“It’s simple,” he says. “I want one month.”
I swallow hard.
“A month of what?”
“A month of true slavery.”
I fidget in place, the ancient wooden boards creaking under my feet.
“I’m already doing all the things you asked.”
He closes the space between us, looking down into my eyes.
“I want more.”
My heart is in my throat, like a bird in the hand, trying to escape.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper.
Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. He holds it between his thumb and index finger, letting it drop and hang suspended from his hand.
A strip of leather with a single metal ring in the center.
A collar.
“I want you willing,” he says softly. “I want you obedient. And I want you completely under my control. For one month. From now until Christmas.”
“And after that?” I say.
“Then you’re free. I’ll never bother you again. And your secret is safe forever.”
I consider this carefully, the collar swinging before my eyes like a hypnotist’s watch.
I don’t take his offer lightly.
Dean’s games are not like other people’s games.
Everything he does is deadly serious.
If he wants a pet, then that’s exactly how he’ll treat me. As an animal that belongs to him.
On the other hand, if he says it’s over at the end of a month . . . I believe that, too.
Whatever else he may be, Dean is not a liar. He’ll keep his word.
“Yes,” I say, the word barely more than a breath of air.
Dean hears it all the same, and his eyes gleam with triumph. It’s the look in the devil’s eyes when some poor soul accepts his bargain.
I almost snatch back my agreement, but it’s too late. Dean is already drawing the collar taught between his hands.
“Take off your clothes,” he says.
“W-what?”
“Strip,” he orders. “I want to see what I’m getting.”
I gape at him in horror.
The music throbs from the speaker, ordering me to obey just as much as Dean’s imperious stare.