5. Sawyer
SAWYER
Fifteen minutes twenty-seven seconds.
That’s how long it takes for a Keeper to replace the next on the lawn outside my barred window. Fifteen minutes twenty-seven seconds. That is a long time.
My shoulder sways against a bar with a rusty joint, the force of my body weight weakening it imperceptibly. It would take days to wiggle the steel free, but it’s best not to assume how long I’ll be here. Every path to the exit must be explored. Every effort counts.
I watch the Keeper wander below. Whatever weapon he’s carrying—if he’s carrying anything at all—is securely slipped away.
Once he’s out of sight, I start a new count. I make it past six minutes before the creak of my bedroom door startles me, my forehead banging against a bar.
I rub the heel of my palm over the forming lump as a set of boots start into the room. But I’m not in a hurry to turn around. I’d look no less guilty.
The blank piece of paper Luna left for me is crumpled next to a metal leg of a table, a decapitated pencil half rolled to one side of the brittle laminate top. She couldn’t even spring for a desk to sell my soul on.
“Come.” A man’s voice. Unrecognizable.
I turn to find a black-clothed grizzly bear—round face and thick, dark beard. Leash in hand.
The pulse in my swollen forehead quickens as my eyes shift between him and the leash. “Come where?”
His lips thin. No answer.
“The Head Keeper said I have until morning to provide—”
“Come.”
Just one word, spoken more forcefully than the last. And yet, new meaning takes shape. It promises punishment. Pain.
The mines.
A shiver crawls up my spine and fans the back of my neck. My shoulders tense to steady the shake.
Already.
Already, she knows it’s hopeless.
“I was told I have until morning. If she’s not going to live up to her end of the deal, how am I supposed to trust—”
The Keeper lunges forward. His hand grips the back of my neck before he throws me to the floor, elbows crashing, and bangs my face flat to the wood. The bruise on my forehead deepens as he shoves hard, his knee grinding into my back.
I want to curse.
I don’t even groan.
“You will do as Her Grace commands. She commands you. Now.”
My eyes close as I suck in a slow breath and lay my hands at my sides. The pressure on my head releases only for fat fingers to take my hair and yank until the nape of my neck kisses my spine.
My eyelids don’t so much as flutter. My breaths slow. Steady.
He clips the leash to the collar while my teeth begin to tap and numbers play in my head. Six appears—bright and yellow and fat—as the Keeper’s knee leaves.
He heaves me upright by the leash, and my eyes open as I balance. Without him giving the command, I start toward the door and focus on the numbers in my head.
Twelve.
Sixteen.
Twenty-four by the time we step outside into the freezing night air. The sound of metal scraping concrete cuts through the silence that follows a snowstorm. A Cultivator shovels the walkway clear, but when we step off the porch and go to take it, the Keeper at my side drags me off the path.
Snow slips into my shoes and bites at my ankles as we cut a trail uphill toward the forest. Toward the mines.
My heartrate tries to climb.
Fifty-seven.
Sixty-three.
We walk along the treeline while my shoulders quake and toes numb. My socks grow damp as more snow finds shelter in my shoes. If Luna were kind, she would’ve given me boots instead.
Of course then, with the black shirt, I’d start to look like a Keeper.
Interesting that she chose black.
One hundred thirty-nine.
The Keeper jerks on the leash to steer me away from the forest, and we cut a path increasingly familiar, even with the world wearing a white veil.
My shoulders fall with an exhale as the training house comes into view. The second story window glows with what could only be lanterns, Luna’s silhouette shifting behind the glass.
I kick snow off my shoes as we enter the house and shake my legs like a dog. My hands rub together while my toes wiggle to life, but the Keeper only gives me a second before carrying the leash’s handle over his shoulder and marching up the stairs.
I stumble after him until we reach the training room where Luna waits—perched on the bench, legs delicately crossed, palms cupped on her knee, her soft lips held in an indecipherable line.
At our entrance, she stands. Gestures to the pole. “Put him there. Collar off, body secure, arms free.”
“Yes, Head Keeper.” He bows before manhandling me to the pole. I try to meet Luna’s eyes, but she won’t look at me.
Once the collar is on the floor and my torso is tied to the pole, Luna makes a sound of approval. “Good… Now wait outside for my command.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Her hands clasp behind her back as she watches him leave. As soon as the door closes, she wanders my way. Expressionless. Eyes never touching mine.
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask. As if it isn’t obvious.
In answer, she places the belt around my neck, her nose inches from mine. She tests it with a light tug, then traces the tip of one jittery finger over the belt’s edge—vanilla scent lifting from her touch. Same as her soap. Her candles. Apparently, her.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Abandoning the belt, she trails the length of my sternum. “I was thinking about all the time we spent in here, and it had me wondering… Has Sawyer ever played his own game?”
The corners of my mouth curve as an amused burst of air pelts her nose. But I don’t speak.
“I bet you haven’t.” She drags her nail down the hollow valley between two of my ribs. When she reaches the end of bone, she descends a rung and repeats. “I bet you have no idea what it feels like for someone to leer at you while you think you're going to die.”
“That must’ve been really hard,” I whisper, taking care not to move my neck too much during speech. Every strum of the vocal cords causes a tiny ratchet of the belt—imperceptible, in the beginning, but I know better.
Shut up.
She sucks in a deep breath. Glides her knuckles up my chest. Caresses along my jaw. Pushes beneath my chin to stop my tapping teeth.
“It was,” she drawls. “But not as hard as it will be for you.”
The belt tightens as a laugh bellies out of me, my breath slapping Luna’s lips without so much as a flinch to show for it. My hand twitches with the itch to wrap around her throat, but it can’t. It won’t. Temptation is the point. I’m not surprised she figured that out.
“Looneytunes, baby… This is my game. I wouldn’t have invented it if I wasn’t willing to play. Please…” My eyes dip pointedly to the floor. “Go ahead.”
The slap comes without any change in Luna’s expression. It’s sharp, quick, and forceful, jerking my head to the side before I can process any movement of her hand.
My face warms, but the sting of the slap vanishes when I try in vain to suck in a breath.
Nothing. Not a whistle of air.
Do not turn.
Do not struggle.
An acid taste floods my tongue as my throat contracts against the belt. My lungs burn and ache while Luna takes my face and brings me to look at her, making the situation worse.
Can’t help it.
I raise my hands to the belt while tiny, garbled snorts escape my mouth and nose.
Luna just watches me with her face tilted in sadistic fascination—a psychopath pulling apart a butterfly’s wings.
The welt on my forehead throbs, vessels bulging with unrelenting pressure until they feel as though they’ll burst.
Red!
Stupid thought.
I have no voice.
There are no safewords.
Luna isn’t finished.
My vision blurs, and black specks float in my eyes while panic dims to fatigue.
As my hands lower to my sides, the belt releases, and my head bobs forward. I jerk up with a gasp so sudden that I choke it back up.
“We said no pet names.”
The words have no meaning as air seesaws through my mouth, but as I catch my breath, my brain flickers to life. My face morphs from tingly to hot as I pin Luna with a glare.
She secures the belt back into place—true to her word about making this worse for me than it was for her.
At least I gave her a break.
“No slapping,” I croak, my throat already bruised. “If we’re going to play, play fair.”
Lines break out between her brows. “Who said we were playing?”
No hint of amusement. No softening of playfulness. Her eyes remain steady as she speaks, and all her uncertainty from earlier seems to harden to pure conviction.
My chest flexes to prevent a shudder, but I can’t ignore it. Ignoring it is ignoring reality.
This woman is dangerous.
Act accordingly.
My core braces as she once again finds pleasure in exploring my body, her middle finger ping-ponging down the center of my abs. When she slips her hand inside my pants, I hold my breath. Keep perfectly still.
Then release it and focus on my every inhale. Deep breaths enter and exit my lungs at a steady pace while I monitor the width of my trachea. Air wheezes through the pipe—damaged but working. Not crushed.
Luna rubs her cold hand up and down my cock with the eagerness of a Daddy-issued co-ed, her thumb slapping my pelvis with every forceful thrust.
My chest warms with the urge to laugh.
While my mind nags with the faintest and most ridiculous feeling of failure. Obviously, I did not teach my captive how to give a handjob.
She continues assaulting my flaccid dick for another minute while I stare straight ahead, numbers floating through my mind.
I feel it the moment she grows discouraged. Her hand slows. There’s a short pause, three glorious seconds where she battles with confused defeat, only to rise again with newfound determination.
Her body molds over mine while her lips part against my ear. Instead of jerking, her palm grinds my junk with a subtle sway of her body—heavy, sex-fueled breaths tickling. She flicks my earlobe with one sweep of her tongue and cracks her breath with a whine.
My cock stirs.
No.
I close my eyes and snap a slideshow of the first vile, dick shriveling things my mind conjures—castration, rotting flesh, Raven.
“Please,” Luna moans in a voice matching neither of her alter egos. “Please fuck me, Sawyer.”
My cock gradually fills her hand. I grind my teeth and keep on breathing, keep on directing my thoughts away from now. Away from the soft graze of her breasts along my arm, the vanilla warming my throat. The gentle curve of—
Shit.
“I’ve missed your cock,” Luna whines, making me jump in her hand. She squeezes my length, then softens her grip and glides up and down—still too forceful. But my dick refuses to protest. “Can I use my mouth? Will you let me?”
Yes!
No. Jesus Christ, no.
Liar.
Deceiver.
Vixen.
My breath shakes so hard that I stiffen. Assess the belt.
It’s the same. It isn’t the reason my breath shook.
It’s just her. It’s…
My eyes close as my hips shift with her rhythm. Just once. Just one moment of weakness, one lapse of judgment.
That’s all it takes.
My eyes shoot open as my hands find Luna’s stomach. She rears back to look at me as I go to shove, but I freeze as the belt tightens. Her hand snakes from my cock to my balls, her eyes deadly as she squeezes with warning.
My hands lower to my side. “You’re wasting your time,” I wheeze when my pride won’t allow silence. “You’re fucking repulsive.”
Her grip slips as something twitches to life in her eyes. There’s a slight flutter of her lashes. A faint whistle of breath.
She drops her gaze to my chest, and the hollow of her throat dips as she swallows.
I think she’ll back away. Compose herself. Be smart enough to hide the utter obvious signs that she wants my approval, as well as my obedience.
She doesn’t.
Instead, with my balls in her vice grip, she squeezes.
Hard.
My jaw drops open as I rise onto my toes, my airway cut off immediately at the sudden movement. The pain moves from sharp to throbbing as I shove Luna’s chest and send her stumbling. It’s only a second before I’m beckoning her back, my hands on the belt, my face silently begging her to release me.
She doesn’t.
No surprise.
This time, when the world blackens, she doesn’t come to my rescue.