Kent comes to my side, grabbing my right arm and pulling it forward as he moves to the other side of the table. He still holds my arm firmly in his grip as he goes, making be bend over the table to move with him –
Which, I suddenly realize, is precisely what Kent wanted.
When I’m bent at the waist, my torso stretched across the table, Kent produces a set of handcuffs attached by their chain to a metal loop on the table’s edge. While I watch, he snaps the handcuffs tight around my right wrist, attaching me firmly to the metal table.
Then, he looks at me. “Your other wrist,” he demands, holding out his hand for it across the table.
“No!” I shout, scared but also suddenly furious. I’m not going to be complicit in my own torture.
“Fay,” he says, his voice threatening. “This will be much easier on you if you’re obedient.”
In response I tighten my lips and stand up as straight as I can, curling my other arm behind my back. “No.”
Inside of my head, a very quiet voice is screaming at me to just do as he says – he won’t be cruel to you if you do what he says! – Just tell him what he wants to know and you’ll be fine! –
But I’ve been here long enough to know that Kent Lippert is going to be cruel no matter what he does – it’s in his blood, or some other intrinsic part of him.
And god damnit, I’m sick of being the good little girl who does as she’s told in this world. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere yet, and it’s not going to start now, just because he’s got me chained to a metal table in his basement.
“Fay Alden,” Kent says, lowering himself to look me in the eye. “Give me your arm. Now.”
“No,” I throw back at him, matching his tone and his glare.
I shock myself here, again. Moments ago, I was trembling as he pulled me down the stairs. What the hell snapped in me to make me so suddenly defiant?
As Kent’s mouth pulls back in a frustrated snarl and he storms around the table, grabbing my left arm and pulling it back with him as he returns to the other side of the table, I realize that it’s this –
This –
As I watch the anger on Kent’s face, I realize that I’ve riled him. Kent Lippert – always so calm, so in control, so even-keeled in the face of danger, opposition, hell even gunfire –
Kent Lippert reacts when I stand up to him. It pisses him off.
And part of me really, really likes pissing him off.
Bullies, I think, snarling myself, they hate it when someone finds a chink in their armor. And I’m the chink in his.
This, I could use to my advantage.
Still, there’s not much I can do as Kent pulls my left arm around to the other side of the table, clicking the other half of the handcuffs around my wrist. Then, he stands back, studying his handywork.
I pull back on the chain once, testing it, and seeing how firmly it holds. The handcuffs bite sharply into my wrists, making me wince, so I lean forward again, resting my elbows on the table and looking up into Kent’s face. Casually, I clasp my hands together.
I see him open his mouth to speak, but before he can his eye falls on the engagement ring on my left hand. Quickly, he moves to unlink my hands and pull it off my ring finger, slipping it into his pocket.
Without thinking, I feel a retort coming to my lips.
“What, Kent,” I say, my voice soft. “Can’t beat me with your wife’s ring on my hand? Something feel wrong about that?”
Even I’m shocked at the words that just came out of my mouth. Jesus Christ, who am I?
I see him flinch – just barely – but then he raises his eyes to mine, his face perfectly calm. “That’s enough, Fay,” he says. “I’ll be asking the questions.”
He folds his arms and I hold his gaze, not moving an inch.
“What was that note,” he asks, his words quick.
“I don’t know,” I say, matching his pace.
“Then why,” he pushes, his voice harder, “was it in your room.”
“Because Fiona gave it to me.”
He presses his hands to the table. “Then you do know what it is.”
I narrow my eye at him. “I know what it is as far as I know that it’s a piece of paper with bad poetry written on it, sure,” I say. Again, I surprise myself with my attitude and confidence – it by no means matches what I feel inside. “But as for what it means, or what it’s for, I don’t know.”
“What,” he says, bringing his face closer to mine, “did she tell you to do with it?”
I lower my voice almost to a whisper, forcing him to lean closer. “She told me to give it to Alden.”
I see Kent’s lips curl back from his teeth at that. But before he can ask another question, I continue.
“But obviously, since it was still in my room,” I whisper, lowering my eyes to his lips as I speak. “I didn’t.”
I hear a low rumble of dissatisfaction in Kent’s chest as he pushes away from the table, turning his back to me, clearly thinking this through.
I stay where I am, leaning my weight onto my elbows and forearms, watching him, my hair spilling around my face. I shake my head, trying to push it back, but it doesn’t work.
“Why,” Kent says, over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you give it to Alden.”
“Because,” I say, my voice deadpan. “I don’t know which of you to trust. I’m still deciding.”
He whirls on me then. “After all I’ve done for you, Fay – everything I’ve given you –“
“Oh!” I say, laughing up into his face now, shaking my manacled hands. “Yes, thanks so much, Kent – you’ve been a real angel to me these past few weeks – I just feel so cared for when I’m being chained to a table in your basement -“
This sets him off.
I can’t help myself from smiling, a little, as he storms to the right, coming around the table. I try to turn, to watch him, but he’s too fast –
Kent grabs me by the back of my neck, pushing me down so that my chest is flat on the table, my cheek likewise touching the cold surface. Again, he’s controlled enough to ensure that I don’t slam my head on the metal surface, but I can hear his breath coming fast now, his chest heaving –
“God damnit, Fay,” he says, “I could make this so much worse for you – you’re treated like a damn princess in this house –“
“Don’t you get it, Kent?” I say in response. “I know that you only treat me well because if it got back to Alden that you weren’t, that he’d move to take me from you. And you like having me here in this house. Like having me as your little pawn, to hold as a threat against him.”
Kent pauses for a moment, and then I gasp and wince as he pushes on my neck harder, my face pressing hard against the metal.
But then, to my surprise, he releases me.
I take a deep breath as I feel the pressure lessen on my neck, feel him take his hand away. I hear him move back a few steps, starting to pace behind me.
“This, Kent,” I say, panting a little, stretching my neck to soothe the ache there. “This is why I kept the note, taped it behind my desk, instead of giving it to you straight away. I kept it because I know that this lurks around every corner – you treating me like an animal.”
“Maybe,” I continue, my voice cold, “if you gave me the respect I deserve to begin with, I would have given you my allegiance from the start – given you the note, instead of keeping it as leverage in case I needed it.”
I hear silence behind me as Kent stops pacing. For a minute, all I can hear is the sound of my breathing.
Then, I hear three slow steps as Kent comes up behind me.
I feel him there, the warmth of him behind me, as he slides one hand over my ribs and the other over my shoulder and collar bone to wrap around my throat, pulling me upwards as far as I can go, until my arms go taught against my chains.
“And I told you, darling Fay,” he says, his quiet voice itself a threat, “that respect in this house is earned, not given. So, let’s see if we can teach you a little lesson.”
He lowers himself so that I can feel his taught stomach against my lower back, his voice close to my ear now. “A little lesson,” he whispers, “about respect.”