by Linnea May
And it’s definitely something I will never fall victim to.
Never.
Chapter 15
Alena
This is way harder than I thought it would be. I keep checking and double checking the time on my phone, watching the minutes slip by while the page in front of me remains empty.
Almost empty, that is.
His task was as exciting as it was difficult.
“Tell me who you are,” he started out. “I want to know who Alena Prey is, and I want to know what her deepest, darkest fantasy is. I want to know everything, no matter how dirty, how forbidden, how depraved you may think it is. Don’t hold back. And don’t fucking lie.”
He said it was up to me how I would present the task. I could record it on audio, I could write it down, I could shoot a video, even draw a picture—though he added that the last option would be his least favorite. That’s fine with me because I’m no artist, and a drawing would be the worst way for me to reveal anything about myself.
My first instinct was to record myself speaking as if I were sitting across from him having a conversation. It seemed like the logical option, but every time I switched on the red little button on my phone to start recording, my voice just... vanished. I tried to talk, but no words came out. It was like someone was choking me.
So I wrote down some notes to refer to because I thought that would make it easier. But as I started writing, I noticed that the words didn’t come naturally here, either. Everything sounded stiff and rehearsed, like I was reciting something that had been written down and I was not speaking from the heart.
And that’s how I ended up here, at a table outside a small coffee house across the street from The Velvet Rooms. I’ve never seen the brick building that houses the infamous kink club by daylight. There’s no sign, no clues indicating the dark secret hidden inside aside from the blood-red velvet curtains framing the entrance.
I check the time again, and my heart begins to race.
One hour. That’s how much time I have left before I need to hand in my assignment. And since I still need to figure out how exactly to do that, I have even less time than that. He told me to deliver my finished assignment in one of the metallic lockers close to the entrance area of the club. The lockers are hidden behind the first set of doors one has to pass through to enter the establishment, and then, much to my surprise, he handed me a key for that door.
But that’s just where it starts. He told me to use the key to enter The Velvet Rooms on my own before the doors are opened for customers at night. Then he instructed me to turn to the left, head down a corridor that I briefly noticed during a previous visit but didn’t venture down because it’s reserved for staff.
There, he said, at the end of the hallway I would find a locked metallic box, which I could open by pressing on a black square above the lock. I was told to open the box, leave my assignment inside it, and fill out a printed form with some private information. That last part, he said, was to prove I trusted him, but I wonder if there’s more to it.
It doesn’t seem fair that he gets to know so much about me and I don’t even know his first name. No one does, at least not at The Velvet Rooms. When I asked Melina, she just shrugged her shoulders and told me that he has always simply been referred to as the Puppetmaster.
I have no idea what to expect because the whole process seems so surreal.
I shake my head, trying to bring my focus back to the task at hand. There’s no need to worry about the mechanics of that weird box inside The Velvet Rooms if I have nothing to put in there, and so far, my paper is still blank. He told me that if I decided to leave him a written note that I was to write it out longhand. I feel like a young schoolgirl who just learned to scribble her first words, completely inept at forming complete sentences, let alone adding some poetic beauty to the whole thing.
“Goddammit,” I hiss, exasperated.
Fifty minutes. I have fifty minutes left to do this, and I’m sitting here like an idiot who has never written a letter before.
Is it a letter, though? Or is it a self-description? A résumé? No, that can’t be right. This is not a job interview.
Who am I? Is that really the question that needs to be answered?
Then it comes to me.
No. The question should be, who do I want to become by being with him?
I look up, dreamily gazing across the street, where the palatial brick building towers like a constant reminder of my unmet desires. There’s something deep within me that I was too afraid to provoke up until now. A menacing chaos—an obscure yearning for the right man’s hand to tame that bizarre little beast hiding in the shadows of my soul.
He could be that man. No, I’m sure he is that man, and I want him so desperately now that the mere thought of never becoming his borders on torture.
If you want something, you need to take it, Alena.
“Write,” I hiss under my breath. “Write it down.”
And suddenly, the pen in my left hand starts flying across the page.
Chapter 16
Raad
Just in time, Alena, just in time.
The timer I set on the lock attached to the box in The Velvet Rooms let me know exactly when Alena pushed the button to open it—and when she closed it once she was done. I’m pretty sure she is the first girl ever who had less than three minutes left on the clock by the time she concluded her task.
I hate the hint of insecurity that this leaves tripping down my spine, running marrow-deep to my core. After all, there was a chance that she would refuse to play along. A chance that she would rather return to her job and forget about the whole thing now that she has gotten a taste of what it would be like to become mine.
I made sure that Mr. Hammond wouldn’t interfere by luring her back to that job. Luckily that man owes me, and it was easy to remind him of our deal when he started to complain that he was losing one of his best employees. He didn’t want to let her go, but he knew he had to if I told him so.
“That girl is a good one. She’s smart, ambitious,” he reminded me. “She brings good ideas to the table and I hate keeping her down like that.”
It’s a complaint I’ve been hearing for months now, and just like every single time before this, I had to remind him of our deal regarding Alena—only made worse by the fact that he still let me down. If he had been a little more careful and just given her a little bit more to hold onto, she would not have quit now and in the fashion she did. She was supposed to be tied to that job for a little longer, until I was ready to take her in.
But now that the damage is done, the least I can expect from him is to support my efforts to adapt the plan. If Alena is free to become mine now, I’m forced to jump at the chance, no matter the cost.
It will be a risk, but a risk I’m willing to take.
She left a handwritten note for me in the metallic box, which surprised me on two accounts. First, I did not think her to be a writer. It is the option chosen by most of the puppet candidates that have come before her, but I thought Alena would be different. I expected that she would be the type to leave me a voice recording, maybe even create a video. She is not a timid girl, not reserved like those who prefer to let the pen speak instead of their tongues.
Yet here I sit at my office desk facing the yard behind my house, the assignments of all three girls laid out on the table in front of me. Two of them are letters. I always have them delivered to me right away, allowing for a swift review after the candidates have completed their task so I can make my final decision.
It’s different this time, of course, because my decision was made the moment I saw Alena’s name on the list, but I don’t let it show in my actions. I’m conducting the hunt in the exact same way I’ve always done it, the only exception being that I put Alena to a more thorough test on the night of the event itself than I usually would.
And with one other major exception… I touched her.
We started our dance prematurely.
> I can still feel the blood running through her veins beneath my touch, agitated by tension and the subtle threat lacing my gesture. I can still see the way her eyes widened and the resolve blossoming on her expression, unwilling to let the fear win.
She’s a strong one, I always knew that—and her letter is just another reassurance of that. One could say that based on first impressions, Alena presented me with the most sloppy work of all three girls. All she left for me was a folded piece of paper, the copy appearing on both front and back in fast handwriting. The second girl, who also opted to submit a written response, made more of an effort to present her writing in an adequate form. Her letter is sealed in a decorative envelope with a lipstick kiss planted on the back, while the third girl left me a USB stick adorned with a red ribbon tied in an intricate bow. I haven’t checked the content of the USB stick yet, nor have I opened the sealed envelope.
But I have read Alena’s letter.
And if I’m being honest, that’s all I need to do.
There’s honesty even in the way she presented her assignment. I don’t want to believe it was negligence that caused her to forgo adorning it with a personal touch in the way she presented it to me. I never cared for outward appearances when it comes to these tasks, because that’s not what counts. What counts is what the girl is ready to reveal to me, how open she can be with me, and how stable her character and mind is. Dancing for me is a challenge that not many can handle.
Lifting my gaze to stare out the window, I’m still holding Alena’s letter in a firm grasp between the tips of my fingers. The last sunbeams of the day still caress the farthest corners of my garden with their warm touch, ready to make way for the moon soon.
Summer is about to end, and like most other people, I don’t welcome this change of seasons. I didn’t grow up in the desert like my mother did, but the heat that kissed her skin is ingrained in mine just as much. I’m most alive when it’s bright and hot outside, in my element when others can barely stand the intensity with which the sun is striking us.
If possible, I try to spend the long winter months in a more welcoming climate somewhere across the globe, preferably in my mother’s home country, though I barely speak the language. My mother died too early to nurture my Arabic roots.
I wonder if I’ll feel the Egyptian sand beneath my feet this winter. And if so, when.
How long will it take? How long until I’m done with Alena Prey? How long will it be until I’ve done what needs to be done?
I hate the darkness that shrouds any predictions in regard to her. No matter what, she will be my last dance, despite the rocky circumstances under which we had to start.
And I have to make it count with her.
I study the form she filled out for me, only scanning it for now to see whether she filled out every single column. From the looks of it, she did, just like every other girl before her. It’s fascinating how these women are so gullible, so ready to give up sensitive information regarding their bank accounts, social security numbers and the like.
There were some—and I’m sure Alena will be one of them—who asked me about it when I brought them to my home to sign the contract, but it was easy to silence any doubts they may have had with excuses that are shallow at best. They never fear, they never question, and they never understand. The nondisclosure agreement is signed just as quickly, putting them at my mercy in a way that they never fully grasp. I’ve always been irritated at how easy it was with some of them.
And they say men think with their dicks? It seems to me that women may be just as stupid in some cases. Though stupidity is not something I yearn to see in my puppets, even when it works in my favor.
I consider at least looking at the other two girls’ submissions, if only to keep up appearances. Weighing the beautifully sealed envelope in my hand, my eyes travel across the table, latching onto something that makes me roll my eyes.
It’s another decorated envelope, unopened just like the one in my hand. However, I don’t have to open that one to know what’s inside. It’s the official wedding invitation from my brother and his betrothed little thing. I know there are people in this world who would be proud in my place, considering how my younger brother managed to turn his life around after all the shit he’s done. He was a criminal, a truly bad guy, his only redemption earned by the way he took the fall for me and later managed to clear his name all by himself in the chaos surrounding the kidnapping of his now soon-to-be wife.
Even after all of that, he never asked to be involved in the family business, which was left entirely in my responsibility. As the firstborn son, I was predestined to become my father’s successor from birth, no matter where life would take us—and whether I was up for the task or not. Nothing ever challenged his conviction, not the terrible loss of my mother, not the emergence of a new wife, and a second son. I can’t blame Nate for choosing the path he chose, because no matter how hard my father was on me, he was ten times worse on him.
But if Nate intends to stay honest and clean, it’s probably best that he stays as far away from the family’s empire as possible.
Because our business is anything but clean.
Chapter 17
Alena
“You what?!”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I spent hours trying to come up with something to tell my sister and explain why I’ll be unreachable for weeks, maybe months. I tormented myself, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, and I among all the excited flutter that his decision left me with, I was so utterly ashamed and worried what she might think of me.
There’s no excuse good enough, no lie smart enough to hide the truth. Despite living far away from each other right now, we’re as close as two sisters can be, and it’s not due to a sense of responsibility or anything like that. That dependency no longer exists between us.
Riley is an adult, just like me, and a quite successful one at that. Career-wise, she’s gotten farther than I ever have because she’s the smart one between the two of us. People used to joke that together we were invincible, referring to her as the brain and to me as the fists of an unbeatable girl-power operation. She always objected, saying that it was an insult, but I’m inclined to agree. It always felt weird that I was the one taking care of her, just because I’m older—just as it feels weird to share the explicit details about my life with her.
And now she steamrolls me with some rather spectacular news herself.
“I left Chris,” she repeats. “And they fired me for sexual misconduct in the workplace.”
For a few moments, neither one of us speaks. My jaw literally dropped at her revelation, my eyes equally wide, and the tension that’s taken hold of me for the past few days evaporates in a sort bewilderment that I’ve never experienced before.
“I’m sorry,” Riley adds. She doesn’t really sound sorry. She doesn’t sound apologetic at all. The way in which she speaks is so confident and nonchalant, as if she’d just told me about a new car she’s thinking of buying, or what color she wants to paint her bedroom.
Sexual misconduct in the workplace? My little sister?
Somehow, I can’t bring these two sentences together in my own head. What on earth did she do for that to happen? Is it related to her leaving her boyfriend Chris, who she has been with for the past two years? Did she cheat on him? Did they do something at her office and get caught? Is that why she left him?
And do I really want to know?
I’m curious, as anyone would be—but I don’t dare ask because I’m too afraid of the answer.
“W-W-What will you do now?” I ask instead, trying not to sound too affected by her words. “Will you be okay?”
I can hear her laughing at the other end of the line. “You don’t want to know what happened?”
“I...I’m just—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupts my stumbling reply. “I’m sorry to steamroll you like this. I wasn’t planning on telling you like this, but since you called...”
&n
bsp; I nod as she speaks, suddenly charged with a very different concern. Could I really disappear from the face of the earth when Riley needs me?
“Actually, since we’re already talking...” she continues, her words weighing heavy with hesitation. “I was going to ask you for something.”
I prick up my ears. “Yes? Anything!”
“Could I stay with you for a while?” she wants to know. “I need to get out of here. I’ve had enough of this place. I need a fresh start.”
She pauses, clearing her throat and seemingly feeling just as uncomfortable as I was when I started this phone call.
“I promise it won’t be for long!” she adds. “Just until I find a place of my own. I already have job interviews lined up and—”
“You have?” I cut her off. “That quickly? Riley, how did you—”
“Well, fine, I wasn’t super honest about the timing of my dismissal,” Riley admits, adding an awkward chuckle. “It’s been... a while.”
“Riley! How could you not tell me?” I scold her, pulled back into my big sister role all too suddenly.
“It’s fine!” she insists. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Like I said, I already have some job interviews lined up in Boston. I just need to get my ass over there ASAP.”
I’m shaking my head. This is so unlike my little sister. She has always been the reliable one, the reasonable, smart, and collected one between the two of us.
She’d never do something like I did. Never.
“So, can I stay with you?” she asks again, sounding hopeful.
And this time I’m the one who responds with an amused snort instead of actual words.
“You know what?” I tell her. “You can actually have the place to yourself, because I won’t be there for a while.”
And just like that, I tell her. I tell her as honestly as I can. I have never mentioned the Puppetmaster in front of her, so I have to start at the very beginning, the first time I saw him, the first time I tried to be with him. I don’t leave out the part where I trip a girl on purpose to gain his attention because I feel she needs to hear this particular detail.
