by Lily White
Without pulling his eyes from mine, he ordered, "Take her to the room tonight. Not the cages. She'll be performing tomorrow and will need her strength."
Before I could protest, I was jerked to my feet from the couch, spun toward the door and practically shoved through it. I barely managed a backward glance at Ethan before being forced down the hall at a breakneck speed and deposited in the small room with its sink-toilet combo and a mattress that was lumpy.
The door slammed shut by the time I'd gathered my bearings, my mind stuck in shock by how quickly everything had changed from one moment to the next. What the hell just happened back there?
Dropping to the bed, I curled over myself as tears poured from my eyes. Everything I'd seen, everything I'd felt and Ethan had used against me, came thundering back at such a speed that I was caught in the tidal wave that crushed me. Violent sobs tore from my throat, pure sorrow leaking out on hot tears that wouldn't stop coming.
I cried myself to sleep that night, sobbing so damn hard that by the time I fell into fretful dreams, they were of me drowning in my own endless heartache.
ETHAN
Too close.
That had been too damn close for my comfort.
Even now after Emma had been dragged from my lap and shoved down a hall out of view, she still called to me with the fire behind her eyes and responsive body. I could feel the tension of her muscles against me, could scent the hint of sex that was wet between her legs. And as I leaned back against a pillow, I grit my teeth to feel the strain of my cock against the thin material of my slacks.
She was everything to me and nothing at all. Beguiling me while seducing me, she was still so blind to how simple it had been for her to ruffle my feathers, to draw a reaction from me that I hadn't given any woman since I left reality behind to live among the sewer rats in this lifestyle of pain without remorse.
And oh how close I had come to giving in to the want inside me for a feral woman that didn't know how simple it had been to seduce.
It was with great restraint that I'd pushed the button on that remote calling the guard. She would have let me ride her if I'd wanted, would have let me flip her over on her stomach, pull her t-shirt up her body and sink myself inside.
I'd lied to her tonight much like I'd lied to her on that stage after finishing her first film. Hatred can cause the body to react. It can force blood through the veins, shuttling it to all the sensitive places. It can force a woman into submission when it was mixed with toxic want.
Emma hated me, there was no doubt about that, but in her body, that hatred became a living, breathing need so untamable that she would happily scream from pleasure as well as pure rage. She was the type of woman who would gladly rip out my throat while kissing me, her nails digging into my skin while her teeth came down to bite on my lip, a growl emanating from somewhere deep inside that she didn't even know existed.
She was feral and raw, volatile and so damn passionate that it didn't matter what emotion she was feeling, it would still pour out of her in such blinding, brilliant colors that any person standing in her vicinity would be doused in dark rainbows and sucked into the void of her pure agony.
My heart bled for truth because truth was too violent to hide behind beautiful masks, and it was why my heart ached for a woman who was too damn wild to be constrained by falsehoods.
Emma was only the actress when she was hiding from herself. It was a mask she'd been made to wear by a civilized society and the polite mannerisms shoved down every person's throat. But to remove the plastic wrapping and reveal the raw material inside, you would come away with a woman so fiery that she would burn your hands just to touch her.
That is what I knew of her that she still couldn't see in herself, and that is what I planned to bring out of her the next time I set her in front of my cameras. That is the stark truth of her life that I wanted her to witness when I played the film back for her, and God help me, that is the part of her that I had to fight not to tame with my body.
I would destroy that part of her if I allowed myself to taste it because that fire couldn't exist when a woman was seduced to drop to her knees. Because despite how much I wanted her - or how much she wanted me - we were too closely connected by the same untamed pulse of life that flowed in our bodies.
Like two skilled warriors meeting in battle, we would cancel each other out, both walking away so injured that we'd never fight the same again.
I couldn't allow that to happen to her, so I'd hit that button calling the guard instead of pulling her tight to my chest and warning her of all the things I would do to her body regardless of whether she hated me or not.
It hadn't been easy. She'd almost broken me with the tease of finger sliding delicately up the line of my cock. I'd almost broken her by ripping the shirt from her body and pulling her warm heat down the length of it just so I could watch the emotions roll across her face in absolute wonder.
Too close. That had been too fucking close. And I had been left to feel the pain of it.
Slamming my palm down on the couch, I shoved myself into a seated position, my upper torso bending down over my knees as I breathed out all the frustration teeming inside me.
I wasn't a man without needs, but I had an iron resolve - especially when it came to a woman like Emma and what I knew she could do for my art. Because, in the end, my vision was all that could matter.
I'd known my entire life that I would go into directing. There'd been no question of that as I failed science, history, and mathematics. All the classes that were useless to me in the grand scheme of things. I'd only paid attention in literature and art, in English and other specialized classes that I knew would enhance my prowess and skill behind a camera.
As excited as I'd been about starting my career, the years worked hard to disillusion me to the field. What I'd imagined would be raw clay for me to sculpt and shape into whatever my mind could conjure had become a chore I had to suffer each day I directed more liars to cry their fake tears and deliver bullshit lines that meant nothing in the long run.
I'd offered new stories, new visions, new ways of looking at the world around us, and the producers had shaken their fat heads, crossed their arms over their chests, and told me they preferred I recreate something that had already been done.
All for the almighty dollar.
All because society demanded the opiate of fantasy in order to appease their fruitless and boring lives.
While my career had been skyrocketing and awards had been shoved down my throat, I had been dying inside at the injustice of what it meant to be an artist in modern times. People didn't care for tragedy anymore, all they wanted was the happy ending that helped them sleep through the night.
But we don't live in a world where the good guys always win and the bad guys are sent back under their rocks to lick their wounds. And that made every film that I directed because I'd been left without a choice a giant, despicable lie.
That was, until I'd been approached by a man hiding in shadow, an email sent to me that was untraceable but oh so seductive.
How would you like to direct whatever you want? The actual occurrence of true horror and helplessness that can't be found in the films you so tirelessly vomit out?
It was like he had reached into my heart and head to extract every painful thought that had been silenced inside me. Who knows how many directors he'd written this message to before me? What I did know is that I had been the one who responded.
It was very shortly thereafter that I disappeared from Hollywood and had flown to the studio to begin a new underground career. I know this particular building will be burned to the ground in another year, and we'll pick up our operation and move it somewhere else. These films aren't exactly legal in any country where we make them. But until then, this will be my home, a hidden place away from the rules and regulations placed on my form of art.
Art shouldn't have rules, it should be allowed to become a living, breathing entity all on its own, recording and
reflecting the world that existed at the time it was made.
The first few months had been a dream. Sure, I had to check my own sense of morality at the door for what we were doing. I had to pretend not to know what the films were used for. But I was willing to do that to finally brush my hand down the soft cheek of my vision.
I'd been in love those first couple months. But then, like any repetitive thing that becomes tiresome and routine, I'd started losing heart in this endeavor.
Until Emma came along.
I knew at first sight that she would be a new beginning. I knew that she would be the one who took the oxygen from the air and breathed new life into my aching lungs. I knew my heart would race for the first time in what felt like eternity.
I hadn't been wrong.
And there was so much left inside her to explore and extrapolate.
So, for now, the contact I'd allowed with a muse like no other had been far too close for a true artist's comfort.
EMMA
I'd expected to be slapped awake the following morning, as was typical with this place. If it wasn't an actual hand striking my skin, it was the flash of glaring lights and the screams of the women being taken for their films. But despite my expectations, I woke softly the following morning, with a gentle hand brushing the hair from my face, a small voice whispering my name until I was dragged from the fretful grip of sleep.
"Come on, Emma. Wake up. What is this place? Why did they bring us here?"
Blinking my eyes open, I turned my sleep-hazy gaze toward the sound of that voice. Melanie sat on the bed next to me. Between one second and the next I was caught in the slow movement of a woman first awakened and shooting up in bed to grab Melanie's shoulders and ask questions.
"What are you doing here?"
Her eyes were rounded with fear, her hair a limp chord of tangles falling over her shoulder. "I don't know. That's why I woke you up to ask. The guard came and got me this morning. I thought I was being dragged off to make a film. But instead, he stuck me in here. What is this room?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but was disrupted by the door slamming open and a two guards carrying in trays of food. Setting them by the opposite wall, one gruffly announced, "Breakfast. You have ten minutes to eat."
They were gone and the door slammed shut again.
Locking my eyes to hers, I shrugged. "They're not kidding. You should eat before they march back in here in ten minutes to flush it down the toilet-sink."
Her brows drew together. "The what?" Turning, Melanie finally saw the steel monstrosity that was supposed to count as a proper bathroom. She stared for a long while before finally muttering under her breath, "Well, I guess that's better than the buckets."
"That's what I said. Come on, let's eat."
To my surprise, Melanie had been given the same selection of food as me, which was far better than what they served in the cafeteria. But seeing that she'd been allowed something even slightly nutritious made me concerned about the reason why. Every move Ethan made was well thought out and calculated. Which meant Melanie's presence inside my room couldn't be a good thing.
We finished eating just as the guards swept in to collect the trays, a smiling Ethan gliding in behind them. Leaning against a wall, he tucked his hands in his pockets, his eyes locked to mine as the guards shuffled through the door and left the three of us standing in tense silence.
"Morning, ladies. How nice it is to see both of you."
My eyes narrowed, my hands fisting to hear his tone of voice. When Ethan sounded cheerful, there was hell to pay. "Why is she in here?"
His eyes shot to Melanie and back to me. "As collateral. It wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't already told me you would rebel today. So, while you slept through the long and lonely night, I sat up plotting." His expression twisted, his lips curling with sardonic humor. "You really should learn not to reveal your cards so soon, Emma. It gives other people time to act against you."
"You will do anything I ask of you, my beautiful girl. I have ways of bending your will. It would be in your best interests not to push me to use them."
Son of a bitch.
And because I'd given Melanie the blanket that night, Ethan had known just who to go after to gain my cooperation.
He'd been right during our silent conversation. I had given up my advantage.
Still, I couldn't help but push him for answers. "What could you possibly threaten that isn't already being done to us? You film women being raped and murdered. It's not like you can pull out some other horrible torture from your bag of tricks. This won't force me to be your little puppet."
"In fact, I can...and it will." Smile gone, his expression became serious. "This is what I'm proposing. I understand that for all the hard work the guards do around this place, they haven't been properly rewarded. So, I thought, why not give them a few days of appreciation? A free for all, if you will, but with only one particular prisoner. Every guard we have, maybe even a few of the studio heads, like the man you heard the other night. Hell, I'll even allow the cooks and janitors to come in and have a taste, if that's what they want. Every single one of them. As often as they like. Without breaks. Without rules. Without concern for the amount of hours or days this woman will suffer their abuse. It won't be a half hour or even an hour tops before I call cut, it will be a never-ending conga line of sick, perverted, painful fucks. Do you understand how that could be worse than what you've already seen in my bag of tricks?"
When I didn't respond, he smiled again. "I see I have your attention. Would you like to know how you can prevent that from happening?"
After opening my eyes that had clenched shut while listening to what he'd planned, I glanced over to see that all color had drained from Melanie's face, her body leaned against the wall beside me because she couldn't trust her legs to hold her up.
"How?" I finally asked, my will broken so easily.
"By not only behaving when it's your turn to be on that stage, but also for spending the day with me as my assistant. I want you to understand every aspect of my job, down to the finest detail. And I want you to do so without comments, complaints or rude little accusations that make me feel bad about myself."
As if that could ever happen. Ethan feeling bad about himself was like a lion crying over the gazelle he was shredding with his teeth.
If my heart hadn't been trampled on already, it would have been crushed by that one statement. An entire day spent witnessing Ethan's insanity. I wasn't sure I could survive it.
But what choice did I have? I wouldn't let him destroy Melanie. Not like that.
"Fine," I breathed out.
"Good." Moving slightly to his right, he extended an arm to knock on the door. It popped open a second later, a guard filling the doorway with broad shoulders and black fatigues.
"You can take the second one away now. Put her back in the cages where she'll be kept safe." He'd emphasized the word safe as a pointed reminder of our newfound agreement.
Once we were alone, I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my chin in defiance. "How safe?"
He stilled, his head slowly rotating my direction, a brow arched arrogantly above his eye. "I'm sorry. Had we not finished discussing the terms of our arrangement?"
Playing word games with him wouldn't get me anywhere. I decided the direct approach might work. "I want to add a condition."
The corner of his lip twitched. "This should be interesting."
"I don't want Melanie used for films either. As long as we have this arrangement, I want her completely safe."
"I'm not sure you're in a position to demand that. I've already told you what will happen if you don't cooperate today."
My own brow arched. "For today. Those were the terms. But I suspect that you'll want your little cash cow to cooperate longer than that. So, that's what I'm offering. My cooperation, for as long as you can use me, in exchange for your promise that Melanie won't be used in a film again."
His brows pulled together in
consternation, his observant eyes searching my face. "You would do that? Sacrifice yourself to help some woman you only met a little over a week ago?" His voice was genuinely confused. "Why?"
Ethan often refers to me as an actress. He'd used the name at particular times that, until now, I didn't fully comprehend. At first, I'd assumed he called me that because I was just another character on his stage. But at the moment, I wasn't so sure anymore that his use of the title had anything to do with my forced occupation.
Arguing with him had become second nature. So much so that it was a familiarity between us. I wasn't terrified of him like the other women - or, if I was, my mind had found a way to turn off that terror in an effort to shelter the rest of me.
I'd been terrified when I was snatched off the street and stuffed into a van. I was still terrified after being raped, shipped across an ocean and walked single file into a building. Yet, even that hadn't compared to the terror of watching a woman get shot, seeing Melanie raped on stage, or watching an asthmatic woman die in front of me.
It wasn't as terrifying as being turned into a killer for the entertainment of seedy men.
It was too much, and I think at some point, the shock of it all had shut me down. It was as if my brain protected me against a meltdown and psychological snap by closing off emotion. Without that emotion, I was nothing more than a shell of the woman I'd been before all of the terror, and as that shell, I'd worn a mask of indifference. Since walking into Ethan's office that first night, I'd pretended to be someone I'm not.
That's why he always called me an actress, not because of what I was forced to do, but because I was as fake as all the other starlets he'd hated in Hollywood.
