Page 41 of Cruel Master

I’m not the only prisoner.

It hits me like a ton of bricks, and I thump to the floor, wincing as my bruised ass hits stone. How many captives are there? Are they all in rooms like mine? Surely not. It’s far too personal to me. But there could be other rooms. Other fantasies.

One question burns above all the others, though. “Saldar. Does he have other captives? Or only me.”

I swear time slows as I wait to see if she’ll answer. I shouldn’t care. I should be one-hundred percent laser focused on getting the hell out of here. But the thought of him leaving my prison and heading to another room, to some other girl trapped in a nightmare of her own making, is just too much. It makes me sick.

I hold my breath, willing the voice not to abandon me.

After a long, long while she says. “No. It’s just you. I think he’d want you to know that, though I shouldn’t have said anything.”

My body relaxes, and I curse my own stupidity for feeling relief. It shouldn’t matter, but it does, and I can’t kid myself otherwise. I drag my mind back to more useful topics. “So, is this place somewhere people can fulfil their fucked-up fantasies? Do people pay to have girls kidnapped,or—”

“I have to go. I shouldn’t have spoken to you. Goodbye, Juliet.”

“No. Wait, please. Don’t go.”

No answer.

I wait and wait, but the voice doesn’t return.

***

Twenty minutes.

It’s embarrassing how desperately I watch the seconds tick down. I’ve never been so exhausted, and even though the aphrodisiac is wearing off now, I’m still aching. Desperate to be touched. Who am I kidding? Desperate to be fucked. If Saldar allows it, I’ll lie on the altar, spread my legs, and welcome him in.

Another pulse of desire racks me, and it’s painful. It’s happened so many times, and my muscles are sore.

He has to fuck me, doesn’t he? Surely that’s what all this has been building up to. I’ll beg him if he wants. I won’t even try to fight the urge.

God, I’m pathetic. He knew what he was doing when he picked me for this.

The puzzle of where I might be being held is the only thing that’s kept me sane. I’m imagining some desert facility deep underground, where billionaire assholes can pay to have their fantasies brought to life. Maybe there are dozens of cells here, some probably much more depraved than mine.

And something else is bothering me, too. Saldar knows me, and it’s not just in a casual way. He knows what makes me tick more than anyone on the planet has the right to. I don’t know how. It feels like he’s been reading my goddamn mind.

Ten minutes.

I stare at the spot where I threw the bowl of stew across the room. Fucking stew. I can’t believe I tortured myself taking all the sex toys out of the box forstew.I cleaned it up as best I could, but I’m not going to dirty my blanket. Not my finest hour.

I got to spend the night starving, as well as unbearably horny, until the morning meal of bread and cheese arrived. I ate it in thirty seconds flat. Will Saldar be pissed I threw the bowl? Hopefully not.

Five minutes.

I’m nervous all of a sudden. Stupid flutters in my stomach. What the hell? My captor is returning. I’m not waiting for a boy to take me to the fucking movies. Still. I drag my fingers through my ratty hair.

One minute.

How should I wait for him? On the altar? On my knees? No, of course not on my knees. Why did I even think that? I’m not that pathetic. The altar, then. I perch on the edge and try to look nonchalant, like I’ve not just passed the most miserable night of my life in a sleepless haze of desperation. Yes. Like that.

Seconds to go now.

Three.

Two.

One.