7. Luna #2
“No.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get to call me a rapist, then cower after demanding I submit to you.
If you’re going to be a hypocrite, at least follow through.
Because I swear to god, I will not be dealing with a sexually frustrated master tomorrow.
You give me whiplash. I can’t tell if you're horny, pissed, or insane.”
Again, I try to get up. Again, he holds me down.
My hand flinches—instincts telling me to crash my palm against Sawyer’s sternum—but I just wrap my arms around myself. Close my eyes. Breathe.
Count to four.
Open my eyes.
“If you haven’t done what I asked by tomorrow morning, you will have no master to deal with. I assure you, that is not the better option, so…” I wave to the doorway. “I suggest you use the walk to consider who you’ll choose—”
“I already told you who I’d choose,” he snaps.
No one.
My gut clenches.
“You cannot be serious.”
A muscle jumps in Sawyer’s cheek as his jaw locks. I search his eyes. See no fear. No uncertainty.
“You’re actually willing to risk your life banking on my unwillingness to kill you?” I laugh through the cotton stuffed in my chest. “I don’t issue empty threats, Sawyer. If there’s anything at all you should know about me, it’s that.”
“So kill me.” He says it with a tone so calm it punctuates the room. Punctuates my chest.
My lips fall as he gets up and retrieves the knife. He glides it from the sheath as he sits, sharpened steel grating along leather.
He could slit my throat before I’d remember to lift a hand.
“Here.” He flips the blade and catches the metal; extends the handle toward me. “Go ahead.”
I blink at the blade. Flip my hair as I turn away with a humph. “For an excellent liar, you’re terrible at bluffing.”
“Look at me.”
Teeth sinking into my inner lip, I inhale. When I turn toward Sawyer, his face is as serious as his voice.
Liar.
He’s an incredible liar.
“Look at my chest.” He brings the knife to a burn scar above his pec and follows it across his sternum. “I’ve already proven that I’d die for those women.”
“You’ve also already proven that you’d enslave them.”
“So call my bluff.” He flattens the knife against my chest and pauses a beat before pulling away. It bounces off the bench and clatters on the hardwood. The sound lingers as Sawyer and I stare at each other—neither blinking.
For a moment… I’m convinced.
The next, I’m certain he’s lying.
He’s too selfish. And too delicate. And too smart.
Three weeks in the mines, and he never raised his voice once; never so much as glared at a Keeper—always with his head down, his eyes at his feet.
His will may be indomitable, but his survival instincts outrule his pride. There is little doubt that they will outrule his conscience.
And yet… Every second of silence carries tension so thick, it steals the oxygen in the room until my breathing turns shallow and my unblinking eyes dry.
Speak, I will him. He doesn’t obey.
Blink.
Break.
Please.
“Okay.” I look away as my lungs quiver. “Tomorrow morning, someone will take you to the mines.”
When he goes to stand, I reach for his chest, my palm flattening against a scar. “But I don’t want that,” I whisper, voice crackling.
My eyes close with a cringe that I don’t hide. “You think I asked you here for sex, but that isn’t true. I asked you here because I’m desperate.”
“I don’t care.”
Sharp. Final.
Not a single attempt to fake empathy.
“I know.” My eyes open as I nod. “I hurt you. Lied to you. I can’t blame you for being angry. I don’t blame you for thinking I’m a monster.”
I inhale a breath; let it shake. “In a way… That’s why you’re here. I’ve tried duplicating your methods, but in every instance, I’ve had to slit the subject’s throat.”
My eyes point to Sawyer’s lips as I watch for a twitch—for a slight tug of muscle. “I can’t make people fall for me like you can. I spent three weeks studying your methods up close, and even knowing what you were doing, I found myself feeling unusually close and trusting toward you.”
No movement.
“You’re talented, Sawyer. With you, there is a chance for harmony.
Without you, The Shadow Sanctum becomes little more than a breeding farm—raping girls and chaining them to bedposts until viable offspring pop out.
That is the last thing that I want my home to become, and the last thing I want myself to become.
Despite what you think, I do feel compassion. I’m not a monster.”
No movement.
“But my people require new blood. So…” I splay my palms, shoulders lifting. “I suppose we must work with the skills we have. When the women from your island arrive, I’ll be sure to tell them you were noble.”
Movement.
A moment stretches while life churns behind Sawyer’s eyes, a gentle crease forming between his brows. “What?”
I lean forward ever so slightly and mimic that gentle confusion. “Hmm?”
“What do you mean ‘when the women from my island get here?’ How many times do I have to say, I’m not giving you their names.”
“I have their names.” I smile, not quite evil but amused. “The whole world has their names. Granted, it isn’t the list I want. I prefer the unidentified women, but I’m not just going to go snatching runaways from under overpasses. I tried that already.”
Movement.
But no response.
“Since these are the women who came forward about you, I imagine they’re the ones best primed for rape. And the ones you’re not so protective of.”
He huffs. Shakes his head. Stares. “You’re bluffing.”
Correct.
“Marianne McDonald. Twenty-two. Heroin addict. Mother of one.”
Sawyer’s face falls.
“Annabelle Storm. Thirty-six. Heroin addict. Mother of two… Good for you for not being ageist.”
I hold up three fingers. “Iris Clampton. Twenty-nine, heroin addict, mother of one. Am I sensing a pattern?”
I blow out a breath and hold up a fourth finger. “Jaqueline Ki—”
“Stop.”
My brows raise while Sawyer’s throat contracts, his eyelids fluttering closed. A breath sits heavy in my lungs, but instead of sighing, I let it out in a slow, shallow exhale.
Thank God.
“You’ve made your point.” His eyes open. “You’ve done your research. I seriously fucking doubt you’d go through the trouble of tracking down women who have already proven to be poor candidates. But that’s your bluff. Cool.”
“You want to call it?”
He looks off, his clenched jaw the only sign of anger.
A minute crawls by while I watch. Wait.
“Most of what I do is online. I wouldn’t need to be here to help you. If you paid me well enough, I—”
“Please.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t insult my intelligence. If you leave, I will never hear from you again.”