But this life I’d been consigned to was somehow criminally insane and insanely boring at the same time. My first few days in captivity, I’d asked for the TV remote or a least a crochet needle and some yarn. Ellie had just laughed at me and said, “Fuck you, bitch. This ain’t Club Med.”
So, there was literally nothing else to do.
That was why I watched, I told myself the first time I did it and tonight too. I was bored, and that was why I let his gator-jaw gaze hold mine, completely magnetized as he fucked the redhead, pressing his big body into hers from behind and working a hand between her legs. It wasn’t because of the nasty lust that continued to tug at my insides, despite my endless weeks of captivity.
It was the boredom that made me ache. Made me wonder what it’d be like to be the woman Hades pressed into the nearest surface…to have his staff inside of me with his hand between my legs…to feel whatever the redhead was feeling when she suddenly began bucking between Hades and the wall like she’d been possessed by one of the many demons that supposedly roamed the streets of New Orleans, even as she called out to God.
Hades finally broke eye contact with me after that. “That was good, cher. Real good. See how my pet enjoyed the show?”
He sped up his thrust as he said that and came with one last punch of his hips. Hades ran his sex like he ran his deals—outside that one time with the Eastern European boss. Perfectly smooth, perfectly in control. Everybody but me came out feeling like a winner in the end.
After he pulled out and disposed of the condom, he gave the redhead sweet, honeyed words that made her smile and made my insides curdle. The strange emotion gnawing at my guts was shame, I told myself. Not jealousy. Definitely not that. Because I hated everything he was doing to me with all my soul.
Doors opened and closed. Then Hades came back into the room alone.
I kept my back turned. I didn’t have to watch what came next. By this point, I’d memorized our nighttime routine.
Hades went to his desk and grabbed the Colt revolver he kept there in an unlocked drawer as a flagrant reminder of how little power I had in my situation.
“How’d you like that reddie, Persy?” he asked as he walked back over to my cage. “You pass a good time? You want me to bring home more like that if Fate decides to grant you another tomorrow? Or is tonight the night you beg me to fuck you? Make sure you don’t die a virgin?”
I didn’t answer at first. I refused to answer.
Damn him. My head swam with a different kind of hunger, and my sex frantically clenched and unclenched beneath the thin skirt of tonight’s slutty dress.
I felt sick with lust, and I hated, absolutely hated the urges that washed over me every time he made that offer.
“No! I don’t want that. Especially with you,” I eventually bit out. “If you’re going to kill me, just kill me.”
He’d been so charming with the redhead. But all I got was cold, dead silence. Followed by the sound of him spinning the snub-nose revolver’s chamber and then cocking it to shoot.
Then came the moment when he pressed my father’s gun through the cage’s thin bars into the back of my head.
The first few times he did this, I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on not crying.
This time, I just breathed into my knees, wondering if tonight was finally the night.
Click!
I flinched at the sound of the trigger squeezing—I still hadn’t learned to control that. But when I opened my eyes, I was, once again, still alive.
“Not this time either.” He sounded a bit surprised and somewhat amused. “You’re either very lucky or very unlucky. We’ll find out for sure one of these days.”
With that, he went on to the next part of the routine.
Nothing else to watch. My eyes followed him to the bathroom.
He always left the door open. And tonight, just like pretty much every night that had come before it, I once again lost the battle with myself to do anything—anything other than watch him showering off his magnificent body. I especially hated myself for letting my eyes linger on the thing hanging long and heavy between his legs before I forced my stare up to his upper half.
From what I’d seen, the Reapers’ tattoo ethos ranged from none at all to completely covered. Hades had gone the minimalist approach. Just one sleeve that you’d never know about unless he took off his leather jacket—or you got to watch him shower every night.
“Beaux rêves, Persy,” he said when he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms.
Sweet dreams…
My dreams turned out fine, but I jolted awake at the sound of his voice shouting in the dark.
The first few times this happened, it had scared the stuffing out of me. But by now, I recognized the situation upon waking.
