44 Kimmy
The room was bigger than I expected. The walls were matte black. The carpet was soft and dark red. The air smelled like latex and leather and oil. Music played somewhere in the background, volume low, just enough to add to the ambiance.
The only light came from two wall sconces—fake candles glowing deep red. In the center of the room stood a leather ottoman and a plush, overstuffed chair. Off to the side was a low table with a silver ice bucket that held a bottle of wine. A full-height mirror dominated the wall to my left.
I watched myself in it, trying to decide if I was still in there somewhere.
Every instinct screamed at me to run, but logic kept pushing me forward.
I touched the pendant at my throat, carefully, not to leave any fingerprints.
My eyes continued to study the rest of the room, the darkest corner of it where chains looped over iron hooks.
On a shelf somewhere behind the chair, a parade of toys marched from small to obscene: dildos, plugs, clamps, more things I didn't have names for.
My gag reflex made an appearance.
I swallowed it down and tried not to move around too much in case someone was watching me.
You looked nervous if you paced. The trick was to hold still. Stillness read as confidence, or sometimes just vacancy. The kind of vacancy men paid for when they wanted to do certain things to a woman's body.
In the mirror, I examined my disguise and the outfit Cosmo had given me. The wig looked fine. The makeup was good enough to make me unrecognizable.
The club-issued pink dress—if you could call it that—was a micro-mini that barely covered my bra and panties. More of a wide belt than a garment paired with black platforms.
I looked like someone who'd seen a hundred too many TikToks about the baddest bitch in the club. I looked nothing like myself. I looked nothing like anyone, really.
The door opened without a warning.
Why would he be polite anyway?
I reminded myself to act chill as I slowly turned around to face Caius Valmont.
He entered like he owned the oxygen. Not a big man—average height, stocky, but built like he could deadlift a horse without breaking a sweat.
Expensive suit, tie loosened, shirt open at the throat.
His hair was as black as the wig on my head, but his was flecked with gray, especially at the temples.
I felt my heart dropping to my knees, felt adrenaline spiking, anger flaring up.
His eyes landed on me. They were darker than I remembered, almost black. They lingered a little too long at my face, which made me wonder if he recognized something underneath the makeup, but I kept my expression blank and smiled at him.
"I was told there's a nice surprise waiting for me tonight," Valmont finally said, shutting the door behind him.
"Hope you like what you see," I replied, trying to keep my pitch as high as possible.
"We'll see, won't we? He walked to the chair, sat, and crossed one leg over the other. A flicker of gold winked at his wrist—a watch, probably worth more than my car.
He let the silence build until it went from uncomfortable to unbearable.
His voice was unremarkable, the kind that wouldn't register if you heard it on the radio. But in person, it vibrated with a resonance that made my skin crawl.
I produced a smile. "I'm game for whatever… What should I call you?"
"You can call me Master."
"You got it." A first wave of nausea was coming up. "Master."
He gestured with a finger. "Turn around for me, Princess."
I did. Not fast, not slow, just a turn that let the tight hem of my dress flirt with the tops of my thighs. I tried to imagine myself on a merry-go-round, centrifugal force peeling away all the fear.
When he didn't say anything, I stopped, put a hand on my hip, and let my other hand trail up to my collarbone.
"Nice," he said, and this time his eyes flicked to my breasts.
I moved to stand closer, but not all the way. I'd been told by Cosmo never to approach the throne unless summoned. So I waited.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"Should I?" I kept my voice light, just a hint of challenge. Seven had said men like Valmont couldn't resist explaining things to women who played dumb.
He smiled, but there was nothing warm about it. "You will."
He let his gaze roam, taking in my legs and my platforms. "Take off the dress," he commanded.
Blue balloon is tired, a voice in my head whispered.
Shut up.
I peeled the dress off and let it slide to the floor, then kicked it aside.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my own reflection in the mirror and almost laughed. I looked like a backup dancer in a porn music video.
Valmont uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Dance for me."
I wanted to spit in his face. I wanted to hit him so hard his teeth left a mark on my knuckles.
Not yet, Kimmy. Not until there's enough footage to destroy this disgusting human being once and for all.
I moved, slow and liquid, the way Brynn always moved when she wanted to make a man crazy. I swayed, rolled my hips, ran my hands up my thighs. I bit my lip and pretended I was on the set of a movie playing a woman who thought he was the only man in the world.
He didn't blink. Not once.
I moved closer, one step at a time.
When I got within arm's reach, he grabbed my wrist. Hard. His grip was absolute. A surge of memories pushed their way forward. I remembered how he held me down as he raped me. I remembered how I hurt the next morning and every day after that for the past three years.
Fury rose up from within me. Fury I'd never felt before. At that moment, I was convinced that if I got my hands on his throat and ended up strangling him to death, I wouldn't lose a single second of sleep over his end. Even in prison.
He ran his thumb over my pulse. "What's your name?" he asked as I pushed down that insistent gag reflex.
"Carla."
"No. Your name is Princess," he said. Then, "Do you know what happens to girls who don't pay attention?"
Blue balloon is tired.
I met his gaze, recapping the various scripts Seven had given me regarding Valmont's preferences. "I don't. Will you show me?"
"That's right," he hissed out. "They get punished. If they're lucky."
I nodded, as if this was the world's most reasonable thing.
He stood, and I felt his shadow roll over me. He was only a few inches taller, but he wasn't a weak man. I remembered it all too well. There was something uneasy in the way he moved—no wasted motion, every step balanced.
He went to the shelf, picked up a leather whip.
Not the worst thing in the world, I thought to myself. Blue balloon is tired.
He swished it through the air, testing its weight.
"Turn around," he ordered.
I did.
He tapped the whip against the back of my thigh, gentle at first, then harder. I let my body react the way I thought he wanted—just a twitch, just a flinch.
He smiled. "Perfect."
He circled, moving behind me, then in front. "So you say you worked for Mr. H before?"
"He told me I'd be your type."
He laughed at that, a dry, hollow sound. "I hope he's not wrong. But it's yet to be determined."
He flipped the whip in his hand, reached down and traced the line of my jaw with the handle, then down my neck, then between my breasts.
I masked my disgust with another smile.
"Why don't we test Mr. H's theory, huh?" he said like it was a suggestion.
"As you wish."
He flipped the whip again and slid it between my knees, then used it to nudge them apart. I checked out and shifted to give him what he wanted, heavy boots scraping the carpeted floor. The adrenaline coursing through me was caused by the thought that all this was being recorded right now.
While he cupped my chin with his free hand and forced my head up until our eyes met, I imagined his name in the tabloids. "Get on all four."
It was humiliating, but I did it anyway. I'd expected something like this. Seven had warned me that it wasn't going to be a walk in the park.
Valmont grinned, teeth white and perfect. "Now we're talking." Then he moved back to the chair, sat down, and said, "Crawl." The whip was next to him on the armrest.
I shut off my brain and did what he'd told me to do until I was between his legs.
"Unzip my pants."
I did that too.
"Now sit on my cock, Princess."
Blue balloon is tired.
I stood up and straddled him, ignoring the growing bulge beneath his boxers and thankful for the panties.
He started touching me everywhere, my breasts, my thighs, my back, and my arms. And all I could do at that moment was try not to throw up on him. The footage was good, but not good enough. Sure, men cheated on their wives, especially rich men. But it needed to be scandal-worthy and life-shattering.
"Are you scared yet, Princess?" he asked, licking his lips.
"I will be if that's what you want, Master," I replied automatically.
He bent down and pressed his lips to my collarbone, applying enough pressure to leave a mark.
"You taste like secrets."
Act dumb and desperate for money.
I giggled as I bit the inside of my cheek till I drew my blood.
Valmont tilted his head. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing."
He looked at me, eyes narrowing. Then he slapped me, open palm, across the face.
Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to shock.
I blinked, then smiled.
Apparently, he liked that too.
He picked up the whip and ran it down my arm. "Do you know what's going to happen next?"
"No."
There was a moment of absolute silence in the room, then out of nowhere, he pulled me up by my hair.
On no! Not the wig!
This was my last thought before it came off. He flung it across the room, then wrapped his hand around my throat, thumb digging into the hollow under my jaw.
My pulse skyrocketed. I blanked out.
Valmont stared into my eyes again. His head was tilted at a strange angle. His face went slack, eyes widening just a fraction.
He saw it.
He recognized me.
Think, think of something.
He dragged his thumb over my mouth and cheeks and smeared some of the makeup.
"You little bitch," he whispered, almost in awe.
The grip around my neck tightened to the point where I couldn't breathe anymore.
"I know you," he said, louder now. "I should have killed you three years ago."
He shoved me back, hard. I fell against the ottoman, smacked my elbow, and dropped to the floor.
I didn't cry out. The camera hidden in the pendant was still recording. I only needed to make sure I kept it safe. Yes, the audio was transmitting live and it would still be enough. But I wanted for people to see the real Caius Valmont.
"You didn't get enough last time?" he hissed, grabbing the whip.
Blue balloon is tired. "I'm here to kill you," I blurted. If he thought I was stupid, it would be better than him guessing I was recording.
He laughed like a maniac and swung the whip at me. "Kill me? You're one fucking dumb bitch!"
I barely had time to shield myself with my arm, protecting my face and neck where the pendant was located.
It stung badly. The entire left side of my body was on fire.
I gritted my teeth and braced for another blow.
He swung again as expected. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
I blocked the hit again.
He crouched in front of me, close enough I could smell the rage coming off him. "You think you'll be alive after this?"
I stared at him, not blinking, chin tilted up.
This threw him off.
He punched me in the face. It wasn't a slap this time. My head bounced back and I felt blood flooding my mouth.
Then he got up and started pacing.
I sat up, spat the blood onto the carpet.
"You think you're so smart?" He halted to a stop to roll up his sleeves.
I smiled, let him see the blood in my teeth.
Blue balloon is tired.
He lashed the whip across my legs.
He hit me again, then again and again, and the pain became a single, perfect note, vibrating through my body.
Finally, he stopped, panting.
He walked over, picked me up by the arm, and dragged me to the chair.
"You want to play games? I'll play."
He twisted my arms behind my back and used the cuffs to lock my wrists in place. Then he shoved my face into the armrest, spat on the back of my head, and stepped away.
I heard sounds of a belt coming off, pants dropping.
I tensed every muscle, bracing for what came next. I couldn't see anything. My vision was blurry and my head spun.
Blue balloon is tired.
Blue balloon is tired.
Blue balloon is tired.
Whatever he'd do next… I somehow didn't care. It'd be recorded, if not video, then audio. And soon it'd be in the media, and the rapist would get what he deserved.
The sound of the door opening broke through my thoughts.
Silence ensued around me.
I forced myself to look up, despite the pain in my body.
There were two silhouettes in the doorway—a woman in a green dress and a man in a black tux.
The woman gasped, one hand at her mouth.
The man's face remained neutral, except for a sudden frown between his eyebrows.
Valmont recoiled, pulling up his pants in a panic.
"What the hell is going on, Caius?" the woman asked.
"Why are you here?" he spoke in a strange, almost scared tone. "And who is this douchebag?"
There was more, but I couldn't make it out. I was falling into the abyss of pain.
The last thing I remembered was the man in the tux crossing the room toward me. The handcuffs fell off.
Then I was up in the air, carried out of the room bridal style. I floated down the dark corridor. As I tried to make out his features in the haze of double vision and muted light, I saw the gray eyes and a tiny scar in the corner of the upper lip.
"Seven?" I muttered through the bloody agony in my mouth.
"Don't talk," he said, and it was that same voice I'd heard so many times before.
He was Seven. And he was so beautiful. Even the ache in my body couldn't dull the strange dark excitement that swirled through me from the thought he didn't care to hide his face with me.
"I'm getting you out of here, Ponytail."
"Hey?" I called again.
"You really shouldn't be spe—"
"Blue balloon…is…very…tired, but it got you…awesome footage."
They were my last words before I lost consciousness.