mind and makes it difficult to see what’s coming. In my father’s house, there was no room for rage, only the performance of it. This is real.
It spiders out over my skin and takes residence in my spine like a cancer, like a thirst that can only be slaked one way.
The truth—a memory. More than one memory, stacked like cards. One after the other. Cronos would make me feel this way; he would drive me to the very edge, and then we would visit a brothel. He only had to help me the first time. The test, he would say, is to hide it so well afterward that no one will ever suspect you. I learned to pass his fucking tests.
And now I’m failing it.
I thunder through the whorehouse, searching for her. It’s after lunch, and the dining room is clear. A pit at the bottom of my stomach spins stories about the quiet. One of my staff sees me coming and disappears.
I shouldn’t have gone.
The spa. Yes.
I throw open the door so hard the glass shakes but doesn’t shatter. “Brigit!”
She stands up at the other end of the room, face white. In the frozen silence of the room, I swear I can hear her breathing. Relief goes out like the tide, and bloodlust rushes in. “You don’t have to shout,” she manages.
I laugh out loud. The funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. “You’re done here.”
Eyes follow the volley of our conversation. “My mascara isn’t dry.”
She catches my eyes, and the thought that fills my mind must make it to her, because she lays down her mascara wand with infinite gentleness and hurries for the door. It was that or drag her out by her hair. Good decision.
We go out of the spa and to my private elevator, which waits for me on the first floor. A proximity sensor on my phone makes the door slide open for us, and I lead her in. The door slides shut. Brigit’s breathing quickens. She’s right to be nervous, rubbing at her thumb like that. Is it me or the elevator or both? I probably won’t find out. These obsessions never last long. They can’t, because they can consume a person.
On the top floor, the elevator lets us off directly into my rooms, which take up the entire penthouse level. Brigit sucks in a breath. “This is where you live?”
“What did you expect, a whore’s bedroom?” When I bought the building, I had the whole thing gutted. Nothing my father ever touched exists anymore. It’s all been destroyed. Burned. The only remaining piece of his influence is me, and I can feel it at the core of myself, threatening to surface. “We’re going this way.”
Brigit follows, as obedient as I’ve ever seen her. Wherever she came from, it wasn’t a place like this—all white, with sleek, dark furniture. The farmhouse I grew up in was all peeling paint, a pretense of homey shabbiness, and fuck that. Everything here is clean. It makes for good contrast to the monstrosity of my soul. In the city, empty spaces are the most luxurious. They also have the benefit of making it easy to see if something is lurking. There are very few shadows here. Only my paintings, and a few other objects. No clutter, no dark spaces.
Which will make it easier to see when I break her.
A switch on the wall opens the blinds to their full extent, letting in the maximum daylight. Brigit shields her eyes with her hand. “Does it have to be so bright?”
“Yes. I want to see what you look like when you’re performing for me.”
She drops her hand. “Again?”
“Again. Only this time, it’s going to hurt a lot more.” I put a hand around her neck, letting my thumb wander up to the underside of her chin and tipping her head back. “Some men like a scared little rabbit in the bedroom. That’s fine. You’ve already proven that you can come while you’re being finger-fucked. Show me how much pleasure you get out of a thick cock splitting you in two.”
She swallows, and this time it nearly undoes me. “And if I don’t... have any pleasure?”
“Then you won’t pass your inspection. And if you’ve wasted my time, then you’ll owe me for it.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t have any money. You know that.”
“Then I’ll extract payment in whatever way I see fit.” Something about her eyes tears off the last of the façade I’m always wearing like a mask. I’m more