Chapter Twenty-One
Ember
When we get back to Max’s apartment, he tells me to shower, and then leaves for his office. I briefly contemplate making a weapon to kill him with, but ultimately decide against it.
Not because I don’t plan on killing him, but because I need a better plan in place first. Such as turning to Scarlett.
Pissing her off might not have been a good idea, since I might still be able to press her for information on the weak points in this place. And, also, because if Max was being truthful, she’s a pretty impressive specimen.
I take the temporary freedom to shower on my own, search the bathroom drawers for any weapons to use in the future—there’s nothing in the unlocked drawers, not even a fucking toothbrush—and then take a seat on the bed.
Another person might be irritated with the lack of entertainment here, I don’t mind as much as I should.
Dagon rarely gave me anything to entertain myself with, and when he did, it was usually a trick of some sort.
I’m comfortable in my own company—I enjoy silence much more than any of the other shit I’ve had to grow accustomed to.
Unfortunately, the silence doesn’t last long. A small flutter starts up in my chest when Max opens the door and strides in. Must be something health-related. There’s no way I’m excited to see my captor, and certainly no way that I’m actually enjoying his company. That’s just not possible.
Max settles in the doorway, folding his hands into his pockets. He spends a full minute staring at me in silence, not saying anything, expression blank.
Finally, he says softly, “Kneel.”
It takes me a moment to comprehend his words, and when I do, I release a laugh. “Pardon me?”
He doesn’t seem offended. “On the floor, in front of the bed. Hands on your thighs, head tilted down.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Not in the slightest. You have thirty seconds before I make you.”
I spend most of those seconds fighting a war with myself.
He wants me to submit to his depravities, and if I refuse, he’ll hurt me.
The pain isn’t a deterrent; what deters me is the possibility that he’ll do something to hinder my ability to escape from here.
I have a mental clock ticking down the hours until I have to get out of here or face unimaginable consequences. Now isn’t the time to antagonize Max.
So, I push away my dignity—something I’m quite used to doing—and force myself off the bed and onto the floor. I assume the degrading position Max requested of me, hands on my thighs, fingernails digging in so harshly they dent the fabric of the pants he gave me and nearly dig into my skin.
“Head forward, please,” Max reminds me.
Just take it for a bit longer, Ember. Then, you can kill him and get out of here. I tilt my head forward and glare daggers at the floor.
“Beautiful,” Max says. “Good girl.”
Something odd tickles my chest at that. I refuse to think it’s warmth or pride—he’s humiliating me, not building me up.
“When I tell you to kneel, this is what I mean, and I expect for you to listen to me the first time I say it. Any deviation will result in punishment. Do you understand me?”
I dig my nails harder into my legs, until I feel them biting into my skin. “Yes.” I manage to make the word come out flatly, devoid of anger or emotion.
“Yes, sir,” Max corrects.
Mother. Fucker.
“Yes, sir,” I echo.
“Good girl.”
I hear his footsteps traveling closer to me, but I know better than to look up and meet his eyes.
“You were very bratty today,” he says, stopping in front of me. I glare at his shoes, imagining cutting off his toes and listening to him scream in agony.
The mental image is quickly followed up by a strange rush of…
guilt? No, it can’t be. I don’t experience guilt—not anymore.
I do what I need to in order to survive, nothing more, nothing less.
If I felt guilt for everything I’ve done, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Feeling guilt would put her in danger.
“I’d like an apology,” Max says.
“I’m sorry,” I say instantly.
“Let me correct myself; I’d like a meaningful apology.”
“Can’t help you with that.” I pause. “Sir.”
“That’s alright. We’ll get to the part where you’re desperate to apologize.” Something stirs in my core at the devious promise beneath his words. “Stand. Keep your head down. You haven’t earned the right to look at me.”
Just get through it, Ember. I slowly push to my feet, still glaring at Max’s shoes, forcing myself to enjoy the visual of cutting off his toes. Then his feet, and legs. I think I’ll perform a vivisection on him, too.
“Stop thinking about killing me,” he says, sounding vaguely amused and not at all afraid. “Lift up your arms.”
After taking a deep breath, I do so. He fingers the hem of my shirt, then slowly drags it up and over my head, dropping the material to the floor.
Next, comes my bra, and then, my pants and panties.
He strips me with slow deliberation and silent enjoyment, not saying a word, but practically seething satisfaction.
Once he’s done, he tells me to get on the bed.
“Somebody’s being awfully compliant today,” he says. “You must really feel bad… or you’re plotting something. Which is it, Ember?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not particularly. Get on your hands and knees.”
I inhale a deep breath, give my head a shake to calm myself, and assume the position.
“Arch your back a little more.”
My jaw clenches and my hands fist the bedsheets, but I follow through, arching my back and pushing out my ass.
Max’s sharp intake of breath makes me feel something new and not entirely enjoyable. It makes me kinda warm at the notion that he finds me attractive… and it also frustrates me, because I am so beyond sick of being stared at like a piece of juicy meat by men.
“You are so fucking stunning,” he says, tone gravelly. “A masterpiece.”
My body tenses. Dagon often calls me his masterpiece, which is the ultimate devaluation of who I am and everything I’ve survived.
Max rounds the bed until he’s standing beside me. “Look at me.”
If I look at him right now, I might claw his fucking eyes out. “No, thank you.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
I jerk my head sharply to the side, glaring at him. I take a moment to imagine popping out his eyeball and severing each six of the cords that connect his eye to his brain.
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Care to tell me why you’re angry?”
I stay silent.
He nods mildly. “Alright—we can discuss it later. Communication is the best way to get what you want with me, Ember. I’m not a mind reader, and I’m not particularly interested in your adolescent silent-treatment.
It’s unbecoming.” He pauses, waiting to see if I have any response.
When I don’t, he goes on. “I’m going to tie you up now.
What I’m planning will severely restrict your movement—you’ll be lucky if you can wriggle an inch—so if you need the bathroom or some water, speak now. ”
I’ve already relieved myself, and I’m used to running on minimal food and water, so I stay silent.
Maximus goes on to do exactly what he told me he would; binds me until I can scarcely move a fucking centimeter.
My feet go into cuffs attached to a bar, which he anchors to the bed.
My hands go above my head, tied to the headboard with cuffs, forcing me into a face-down, ass-up position.
My breath hitches as I test the restraints—barely any give.
I should’ve fought back. Being restricted like this makes me panic. I should’ve actually clawed his eyes out instead of imagining it, I should’ve—
“Has anyone fucked your ass?” he asks conversationally.
I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw, biting down on my tongue to keep from calling him a string of creative expletives.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.” His palm smooths over the curve of my ass, and my hands clench into fists.
If that’s what he wants to do, all I can do is deal with it and take the added trauma as fuel to find highly creative ways to kill him.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to fuck it… yet. Just going to stretch this hole a bit.” His fingers delve between my folds, and I jerk when I realize something about this has turned me on. I’m fucking wet.
Deep shame washes over me. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know my brain is fucked up in countless ways, but this? Maybe I should just get myself killed and spare myself any more of this humiliation—
“Dirty girl,” Max chuckles, teasing my clit. “You get off on being restrained, don’t you?”
I don’t acknowledge that comment. Not even to myself.
“I’m going to start out with a small plug.” His thumb returns to my ass. “You’ll get lube—not because you’ve done anything to deserve it, but because I’m not feeling that sadistic right now.”
I hear the noise of a cap, and then, something cool drizzles through my crack.
I breathe deeply. Force myself to continue breathing deeply as he gathers the sticky, slick lube and starts rimming my back hole with it.
I keep my body very still, every muscle tense, and try to think about anything other than this humiliating moment.
Killing Max—then finding a way to free her and kill Dagon.
I envision myself cutting Dagon into pieces while keeping him alive. Maybe skinning him first. It’d take a long time, but I’m more than happy to spend a few days—
Max sharply slaps my ass. “Stay present with me. Don’t get lost in your thoughts—I want you to feel what I’m doing to you.”
I repeat: Motherfucker.
His thumb slowly pushes into my ass. I wince at the strange sensation—it’s like there are a million nerve endings back there, all of them firing at the same time. It’s not enjoyable, but it’s not exactly not enjoyable. It’s certainly not painful. It’s just goddamn weird.