Chapter 6
POV: Dane?
I watched her fall asleep easily, with her stomach full, curled up in a ball and tucked underneath the blankets.
Part of me wanted to go check on her, to sneak into her room, and make sure her breathing was regulated but I knew not to.
For now, I had to watch from afar.
I had to analyze her behaviors. I had to analyze her emotions. I had to figure out what was going on in that pretty little mind of hers before even she knew.
I watched her sleep for a few more minutes, memorizing the way she breathed with soft and steady inhales.
After a few more minutes of watching her sleep, I decided it was time to get some shut eye myself. I made sure to grab a voice monitor to put at my bedside, just in case she started yelling at the camera in the middle of the night.
My clothes came off easily, and I tucked myself into bed wearing just a pair of boxers.
Tomorrow would be a new day and with hours came the possibility that she would crack—that she would fail a test as quickly as she passed one.
The thought dreaded me more than it should’ve.
I’ve been through this 15 times—with 15 different women.
Though I’ve watched her—learned her habits—her likes—her dislikes—and the in’s and out’s of her life as well as her personality, I didn’t know the true depth of her, since I hadn’t yet seen through that surface.
She was beautiful—quirky and different.
But those qualities only took you so far in life and in the relationship I sought.
These next few days would change everything and it could make or break my decision.
Something inside me affirmed my belief of Gabrielle, that she could be my endgame.
I rolled over to my side and let the thought lull me to sleep.
I woke before the sun rose, 4:00 am, and I was wide awake, already thinking of monitoring her and my next test.
I decided that I needed to up the ante this time—aggravate her some more and see if she breaks this time.
Because in truth, we all have a breaking point.
She was still rolled in a ball, covered in a double layer of blankets, her cheek rested against the pillow.
I snuck in the room, a bag in hand, filled with everything that would infuriate a woman like Gabrielle, coupled with her lack of control and left it in the center of the room for her immediate viewing.
I admired her for a moment from a distance, her round cheek was pressed into the pillow, her lips slightly parted, and her eyelids fluttered as she slept.
She looked innocent. When I knew she was far from it.
The thoughts that lived in that girls’ mind were definitely not innocent—she probably dreamed of stabbing a man in the throat, in the name of catching a serial killer, and even keeping a lock of his hair as a trophy.
I could imagine that she was fantasizing of doing the same in an effort to escape me.
As I closed the door behind me and snuck one last glance at her, I knew that the peaceful, quiet, angel-like girl I admired now, would be far different when she saw the contents of the bag.
And I smirked at the thought.
It only took 2 hours for her to wake up, and loudly at that.
She practically rolled out of bed and almost fell on the floor, rubbing her eyes and running her fingers through the knots in the back of her long blonde hair.
“Good morning,” I announced through the speaker, causing her to jolt.
She glared right at the camera.
“I left you a surprise.”
“Is it a severed toe of one of your victims?” she asked snarkily.
That made me chuckle.
“Better.”
She flipped off the camera before making her way slowly to the bag.
She stared at it for a few minutes before finally deciding to dig in, and when she did, her face was priceless. Thank god, I had a constant recording on loop. I’d forever cherish her look of disgust.
She dumped the contents out of the bed, throwing a few that wouldn’t fall out and looking right at the camera with such hate.
“You’re a fucking sociopath, you know that right?”
I didn’t respond, instead I kept laughing off camera, trying to regain my calm tone. Eventually, I hit the button and said, “I figured you could use the items to occupy yourself.”
“Occupy myself? Because you kidnapped me?” she scoffed, holding the dildo up to camera view. “You’re disgusting—Clark—or whatever your name is!” Then she dropped the dildo and held up the lube. Then the red lacy lingerie. Then the brush.
“You could use the brush the most,” I said through the camera.
She propelled it at the camera, missing it, but even if she did hit it, she wouldn’t break it, that thing was indestructible, I would know, I made it.
“And the makeup.”
“Fucking asshole!” she seethed.
“Though you look beautiful regardless, Belle.”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” she launched the lube at the camera this time.
“I think it suits you.”
“Fuck you!” she seethed, screaming and stomping around her feet.
Her anger was amusing. But it was predictable.
I made my voice deeper, intentionally, for her to get the hint. “Why don’t you take a long hot bath and enjoy yourself?”
“I’m not the least bit horny being kidnapped by a fucking creep!”
“Would you rather have me come in and take care of you myself?”
“Don’t you dare touch me!” she yelled, kicking around the bag’s contents making a mess, like a spoiled little child.
“You know what—-whoever the fuck you are—you’re a fucking coward that’s what you are! A coward that needs to kidnap women and keep them chained—in hopes that they’ll beg you—that they’ll offer their bodies to you so you can get off! And that’s sad—really fucking sad! I feel bad for you!”
I took this as the perfect opportunity to irritate her some more. “Sounds like someone is sexually frustrated.”
“Far from it!”
I watched her throw the bottle of lube, dildo and lingerie at the wall and eventually plop down onto the floor with a look of defeat.
Eventually, she got to her feet, clutching the brush, shower gel, bath bomb set, and silky black robe and went off to the bathroom.
“I’m sure you’ve got cameras in the bathroom too, you fucking creep! I hope you like the show!” she yelled out from the closed bathroom door.
I didn’t believe in watching women in a private space. The bedroom wasn’t off limits, but the bathroom in my mind was.
“The bathroom is free of cameras, Belle.”
“Liar!”
“Scouts honor.”
“You have no honor!”
Ouch.
I’d like to think I do.
I don’t force women to have sex with me.
I merely conduct a series of tests to see if we’re compatible then return them back into the world as if none of this ever happened.
But none had made it to the final phase—choice.
When I decided that they met the criteria of ‘the one’ then I’d offer them a choice—go back to their normal life with zero memory of me or a life together.
Her comments enraged me.
My jaw clenched as I held back my finger from pressing the button.
I’ll leave her with silence. That’ll make her furious.
After 5 minutes, I heard her yell out, “I hope you rot in hell for this!”
I laughed, shaking my head and went off to set out her breakfast. Blueberry waffles with a side of bacon and a styrofoam cup of coffee and plastic cutlery.
She was still in the bath when I unlocked the door and set it inside.
As soon as I shut the door behind me, I heard the sound of fast moving footsteps.
I pressed my back into the door and let out a deep chuckle. “Gotta be faster than that, Belle.”
She pounded against the door as if it would budge. “You’re an asshole.”
She was a spitfire, full of rage, full of fight, full of everything I desired in a match.
I could live with the insults—the rage—the hitting, if it meant that she’d moan my name like a prayer after she cooled down.