Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,90

to. He’s not himself. He’s using my name. He sounds… strangely stable. And that has me more scared than any of his manic episodes. “No.”

He sniffs, as if he’s not offended. “I’m not going to punish you.”

My stomach drops through the floor because that sentence tells me, blatantly, that he knows what I did. I suspected it, but now I know for sure. The woman must have told him. Hell, he practically warned me they’d throw me under a bus the first chance they got on that very first night watching the arena. “What’s going to happen to her?”

I think I already know that, too. But I want to hear him say it.

Instead, he merely laughs. “I’m not conversing with you from opposite ends of the room. Why is it you can be brave for others, but not me?”

“Because you’re a monster.” You’re a monster, and I can’t believe I used to think otherwise.

“And yet, I have made you happy. I’ve been concerned over your well-being, shown you nothing but loyalty. I’ve been kind. I’ve compromised. Are those the traits of a monster?”

“You also kill people. Like it’s nothing. Like their lives mean nothing and it’s all just a game.”

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor is the only warning I get that he’s moved. I can’t see a thing. His hands grab me, hauling me out of my seat even while I cling to it. And then, just like the rag doll I’ve been since the day I met him, I find myself sitting on his lap.

“That’s because it is a game, Sapphire.”

“Killing? Torturing? Raping?”

“You speak as though I’m the one who makes the rules.”

“That’s because you do.”

He lets out a sigh, almost sounding exhausted. “Quite often I think the world would be a better place if I did make the rules.”

“All I see here is death and torture and rape, and you’re the master at the center of it all.”

“And what do you know of any of that?” he snaps. “Death? Death is a kindness. I don’t see you moping around, mourning the loss of the chicken you ate. Why? Because a chicken is mindless? An animal? Because it doesn’t have the ability to self-reflect, to reason? Some of the men I put to death, I’d rather it was them than a poor defenseless chicken who never harmed a soul. As for your cries of torture, I only ever do what I must. Would you rather be shot cleanly in the head, or have your fingers chopped off and fed to you before being shot in the head?”

What? Surely that is a trick question?

“I’d rather be shot in the head.”

“Correct. Which means the man willing to chop fingers for the sheer pleasure of it will always be the bigger threat. The man who pulls your teeth out, who finds joy in the agony of death, has far more power than the man who shies away. A man isn’t his size, or his strength, or even his intelligence. The measure of a man can be summed up in how far he is willing to go.”

“And you take great pleasure in making sure everyone knows you’ll go all the way.”

“I go as far as I need to,” he replies. “You accuse me of rape. I’ve never taken a woman who didn’t want to be taken. But consider this, Sapphire, and consider it well. There is more than one way to rape a person, and you know absolutely nothing of the rape that goes on up here.” He taps me on the side of my temple. “Still… all this time, and you see the world through the eyes of a child.”

I let out a sigh. “You say that so often, but you never explain what you mean by it.”

“The woman. She was only too happy to tell me of your… indiscretions. I offered her nothing in return. She didn’t hesitate. You seem to have worked this out, and yet, I cannot help thinking you remain concerned with what became of her.”

“What did become of her?”

“She will be dealt with,” he replies, casually. It’s the way that he says it—as if he’s reporting on a change in the weather—that makes the blood in my veins turn to ice. That’s what has bile rising in my stomach.

“And you claim you’re not a monster.”

He laughs. “Ah—no. No, I don’t believe I did claim that. I merely asked you if a monster can still demonstrate certain attributes, a question which you refuse to