The Director

by Lily White

  I wasn't strong. I was scared beyond comprehension. But I hadn't yet admitted it - to him or myself.

  Maybe I just needed to be honest for once. Not for his benefit. But for mine. I was tired of not feeling anything because I was afraid of admitting I was terrified.

  "Because it's the right thing to do. And because I'm a fucking idiot. But really, what does it all matter? It all washes out in the end when I'm no longer making you money and my time runs out."

  The strength of my voice died off, each word becoming a weaker construct, a ghost of what it should have been. "And if I'm able to do one good thing in this place, I will. Because, in truth, I'm scared. Not just scared, I'm terrified. There's no use pretending otherwise. Not anymore, at least."

  Stepping toward me, Ethan didn't so much as blink. His eyes were too focused, his expression pulled taut by whatever thoughts were running through that messed up head of his. I took the opportunity to study him back, to dedicate to memory each line that marred his skin, each silver hair at his temples that betrayed his age. It was unfair how those symptoms of a longer lived life only served to enhance his appeal. They made him more human.

  Cupping my cheek with his hand, he gently angled my face up to his. And with a silky tone of voice that I would never openly admit weakened my knees, he said, "For once, you're being honest. I see you, Emma. I've always seen you staring out from behind false eyes and lying lips. But even in this brief moment of raw honesty, you are mistaken about what's inside you. You don't wear weakness well, so stop trying to cram yourself into a costume that doesn't belong to you. You're not scared. You're tired. You're broken down and whether you realize it yet or not, you've been forced to your knees."

  Pausing, he let his words sink in, let them roll across the air until all I knew was the flavor of them. "But you're not the type to stay on your knees, are you? You're not the type to be dominated so easily. And until you see that, I'll continue playing my games to show you what truly exists beneath your skin."

  My bottom lip quivered, both from pain and anger. Ethan's thumb swept over the fullness of it, the taste of his skin seeping into my mouth on a delicate tendril.

  "Is that what this is to you? One big game?"

  He smiled at the question, the type of smile that would have melted my heart if I hadn't known it was pure evil. Like me, Ethan was a liar. Only where I raged, he seduced. And where I broke down and admitted defeat, he swept in for the kill.

  "No. This is a challenge. One I gladly accepted the second I laid eyes on you."

  Much like last night, a moment occurred between us that was too heady to tolerate. The heat of his palm sunk into my cheek, spreading like a virus, weakening me until I lost the ability to function or think clearly. In him, too, I saw another person staring out from behind the mask of indifference he wore. Except there was a slow burn to his inner self, a mysterious dancer that spun and twirled always remaining just outside my understanding because he would never stop moving long enough for me to see him fully.

  The moment ended abruptly, Ethan's hand sliding from my face, his strong, broad body moving to cross the short distance of the room until he was standing by the door. I was stuck in place, still caught in whatever hypnotic web that moment of clarity had weaved.

  "Let's go," Ethan said, shredding the web with his back to me and his hand on the knob of the door. "We have new arrivals to meet."

  Shuffling forward on bare feet, I resigned myself to whatever tasks I would endure as his assistant. They would tear me apart, I was sure of it. But I had no other choice. Choice had been taken from me the minute I was ripped off that street in Boston.

  Still, one question rolled in my mind as Ethan stepped aside to allow me to walk though the door. Turning back to him, I lifted my eyes to say, "You never answered me."

  Arrogance blended with just a touch of humor was the arch of his brow. "Answered what?"

  "Will Melanie be kept fully safe? Unused for anything as long as I cooperate?"

  Stepping close to me, his chest brushed mine as he lowered his head to speak against my ear. "How cooperative are we talking? Would you be willing to spread your legs for her safety? Pretend to like it despite what's being done to you?"

  My heart fractured into tiny, tinkling shards. "If I have to."

  A beat of silence. "Even if the man between your legs was me?"

  A tremor coursed through my body, such a tiny thing for how thoroughly it shook me. "Y-yes," I stammered, unsure why, now, my voice chose to break apart. I'd already been used in that way, had been ripped open and stitched back together. But the thought of it being Ethan between my legs...

  I didn't want to consider what it made me feel.

  He laughed softly, the husky sound like music against my ear. "It's too bad, then, that you're not in a position to make demands or request conditions, because I would have enjoyed watching you pretend you didn't like what I was doing to you, even when I knew how much you actually did."

  Abruptly, he stepped away, cold air chasing in to cover the areas where I no longer felt his heat. Catching a glimmer behind his eyes as I peeked up at him from beneath my lashes, I scowled at the games he still played.

  He only grinned in response. "Let's go, Emma. We have work to do and I'm not the type of fool that so easily gives up my advantage."

  He winked and I scowled harder.

  EMMA

  "Put this on."

  Catching the clothes Ethan tossed my way, I stared down at the pale cream silk shirt that wouldn't cover much of my skin, as well as a black skirt that was two sizes too small for my body. "What are these for?"

  He glanced at me from across the costume room he'd led me to from the bedroom. "It's your outfit for today. You're not on stage and you're not in the cages. It's only appropriate you dress the part of an assistant rather than a slave." Returning his attention to a closet he was digging through, he added, "You are a reflection of me today and I can't have you wearing a basic t-shirt."

  My jaw went slack, confusion caressing my thoughts and forcing a softness to my words. "You're serious about this? It's not just some ploy you've staged to torture me?"

  Snatching a box from the closet, he turned to face me, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Did you just admit spending an entire day with me isn't torture on its own? If I'm not mistaken, I think you're beginning to like me."

  He tossed the box in my direction. I had to drop the clothes to catch it. "You're mistaken."

  Grinning, he teased, "If you say so. Get dressed."

  Opening the box, I pulled out a pair of red leather stiletto heels. Holding one up, I looked at Ethan in question. "What are these?"

  "Your ruby slippers." Leaning against a far wall, he crossed his arms over his chest, one foot moving so that he could hook the ankle of his right leg over the left. Even when casual, he was challenging.

  We stared at each other for what felt like hours. Finally I asked the question tumbling about in my head. "Are you going to turn around so I can get dressed?"

  His eyebrow arched. "Modesty, Emma? You can't be serious after everything we've been through."

  Huffing out a breath, I couldn't deny he was right. If any person had seen every intimate part of me, it was this man. He'd been the one to inspect me when I first arrived - the one who had so callously complained that I was used property.

  Ruby slippers. He was such a charming ass. Never forgetting anything because he'd stored it away for the precise moment when that kernel of memory would become useful.

  Dropping the shoe in the box and the box to the floor, I snatched the clothes from where they'd fallen, tossed them on a chair at my side and slipped the t-shirt from my body. It hadn't been my intent to peer up at Ethan at that moment, but still I found my eyes sliding his direction, my mind identifying and taking note of the way he watched me. There was heat behind his steel gaze, I was almost sure of it, but one could never truly tell with Ethan. He had a way of making you believe you saw something that was never actually the
re.

  While the shirt he'd given me left little to the imagination, the skirt was like a vice squeezing my legs together. It was so damn tight, I wondered how I would manage walking, especially on four inch heels. I sat down to strap the shoes to my feet, hoping they wouldn't fit. Unfortunately, they did...perfectly.

  By the time I looked up, Ethan was standing in front of me, a hand extended to assist me from my seat. I would have thought him a gentleman if I didn't know better. Accepting it, only because I wasn't sure I wouldn't topple over as soon as I was on my feet, I ignored the spark that shot across our skin. This place was slowly stripping my mind from me, leaving me stumbling through the insanity that was Ethan Cole.

  "You look lovely." His compliment was delivered on a deceitful tongue.

  I didn't bother thanking him. Believing anything the man had to say would be purposefully giving up my sanity. Nothing was real in this place. But holding on to that knowledge was becoming harder and harder with each passing day. It made me wonder how many of the women trapped here had already been pulled into madness by the strong undertow of Ethan's deceit, by the pulse of inhumanity that promised them this life had become their new reality.

  Fighting against the pull, I was still discovering how to escape, still mapping all the different hallways and doors that could lead to a breach in their airtight security.

  Perhaps Ethan's new form of torture would be the very thing that gets me out of here. But I would have to earn his trust, which meant I would have to wear another false mask he would undoubtedly see through.

  "Let's get this over with," I finally muttered, my legs trapped together and my feet aching in the heels.

  There was dark humor in his voice, "Don't sound so excited."

  Ethan led me out of the room and down several hallways before I recognized where we were. Mentally mapping each step, each turn, I followed along, my expression tightened the closer we got to a door that wasn't familiar from one side, but would be from another.

  Opening it, Ethan stepped out first, leaving me to close it again. My forward motion stopped the instant I heard the sobbing coming from the women. Memory crept into my head - emotion drowning me as I was returned to the day I had been one of those women standing in a single file line. Today, there were only three; a blonde, a brunette and a redhead.

  "I'd like all of you to remove your clothes, stand side by side, and you can drop the histrionics. They won't do you an ounce of good in this place."

  Businesslike and astute, Ethan's tone had lost the trace of humor I normally heard when he was speaking to me. The memory of that particular tone traced a finger up my spine. It was so cold, like a slap of winter's worst cruelty against your naked cheeks.

  Glancing over his shoulder at me, he winked. My stomach dropped into my feet. How was it so easy for him to speak to these women without any hint of humanity, but then turn and be playful with me? Somehow, it only made me more confused. My heart wanted to like him while my mind screamed that he was a vile, heartless beast.

  Stepping up to the stand in front of the blond woman, he cast a glance at me again where I stood frozen by the doorway. He angled his head to indicate for me to move to his side. I did so on legs that had lost circulation beneath a vice-like skirt, and ankles that weren't balanced enough for tall heels. Managing not to break my neck, I took my place and scanned my eyes over the women, pity a pulsing beat in my heart. They looked back at me silently begging for the help I couldn't give them.

  Ethan's eyes were focused on the blonde. "Open your mouth."

  She did so after several failed attempts. Snatching her chin between his thumb and fingers, he turned her head this way and that, searching for what, I wasn't sure. Were the women required to have good teeth? Did it really matter when all the camera would catch them doing is scream?

  Releasing her, he said, "Feet apart, hands to your side."

  She struggled to take the position, her body trembling as he examined her. I knew what was coming next, the worst invasion of all.

  "Turn around and bend over. Legs kept apart."

  The woman did as she was told, her will already broken by whatever had been done to her before she was brought to the studio. I knew she hadn't been raped, or Ethan would have made mention of it. But that was only one degrading act among many. Who knew what other horrors she'd already lived and seen?

  "Straighten up. Do you have any health conditions I should be aware of?"

  Shaking her head, the women's eyes darted between Ethan and me. I didn't dare meet them, couldn't allow her to find any small hope that, like me, she wouldn't be a beaten slave.

  "Go stand in front of the door to the left."

  We moved on to the redhead in the center to go through the same routine. Like the blonde, she passed Ethan's scrutiny and was directed to the left door. Approaching the brunette woman, I noticed instantly how young she looked, the terror in her wide eyes clawing at my heart.

  Ethan must have noticed as well. "How old are you?" he asked before leading her through the motions. The charm in his tone softened her eyes. I pitied her for that softness. She had no idea she was facing a jackal.

  "I - I'm eighteen. Well, today I am."

  "What's your name?" he asked, breaking from the script I remembered from the day I was brought in here.

  "J - Joanna."

  Tears wept from her eyes. I hadn't even considered how the women felt during birthdays and other holidays in here. The thought hadn't had time to cross my mind, but then again, with the way the days blended together I wasn't sure any person could keep track long enough to know those special days had come and gone.

  "Happy Birthday, Joanna," Ethan crooned, his malice wrapped in soft velvet. Subtly elbowing me, his eyes met mine with the demand that I say something as well. My eyes narrowed as the words became trapped in my throat. He merely cocked an amused brow.

  Knowing Melanie's life was on the line helped to loosen my tongue. "Happy Birthday," I said curtly, not meaning a word of it.

  By this task, he was making me part of this place and I resented him for it. The first ribbon of anger weaved through me, not enough to set my body on edge, but enough to be a whisper against my thoughts.

  "I'll need you to open your mouth for me -"

  As Ethan went through the motions of the examination, I spaced out, unable to endure the psychic pain pouring off the poor young girl that had only now become a legal adult. I wasn't sure where she was snatched from or how, but I knew intimately the humiliation she felt in this moment.

  Once Ethan instructed her to stand again, I forced myself to pay attention. "Do you have any health conditions I should be aware of?"

  Her eyes flicked to mine, embarrassment a color across her skin. "Mental or physical?" she asked softly.

  Ethan and I both snapped our gazes to her. "Either," Ethan finally answered.

  She shrugged her shoulders. "I have anger management problems," she said, refusing to meet either of our eyes while admitting it.

  I didn't need to look at Ethan to know his mouth had pulled into a wide smile. "How unfortunate." Based on the tone of his voice, he hadn't meant it. "You'll have to stand in front of the right door."

  The girl moved to do as she was told while I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep silent. She didn't deserve the right door. There wasn't a single woman who hadn't been driven to mental issues inside this place. She didn't deserve death for it.

  After the women were in place, Ethan called out to the guards, "Take them inside." He shot me a curious glance before opening the center door for us to walk through. As soon as it was closed, I couldn't stay quiet any longer.

  "Why did you send that girl to the right door? She was barely an adult. She doesn't deserve that!"

  Twisting slowly to stare at me, Ethan's jaw ticked. "I can't be sure, but was that a complaint?" He cocked that brow of his I now wanted to rip from his handsome face. "I could have sworn we had an agreement that complaints weren't allowed."

  Th
e ribbon of anger in me was now pulled taut across my body, like a violin string that could be plucked. I knew the color of it highlighted my cheeks, the force of it radiating from my eyes in daggers aimed straight at the heart of Ethan.

  Ignoring the subtle warning, I argued, "She's just a kid."

  "She's eighteen."

  "That's too young," I argued at his back.

  He rounded on me, our faces suddenly too damn close. "She's prey, Emma. She always has been. And regardless of her age, she's now a part of this place, for better or for worse. We are not a hotel, despite your demands. We do not bring in women to protect them and keep them safe in their cages. They are fodder for the predators. Hopeless souls that will eventually be destroyed. Would you have preferred the girl have gone through the left door and been subjected to years of abuse rather than suffering the hour it will take to dispose of her? Each one of you has a time limit of twenty-four years old. That poor child, given her age, would have endured six years of this abuse rather than one or two. Is that what you want for her?"

  His words froze me in place, but not because of the girl. "What do you mean twenty-four years?" I asked softly.

  "I mean that when a woman reaches that age, she's sent to studio B for her final performance. It's happened to every woman who came before you, will happen to every woman who is here now, and to every woman that comes after you. It's a rule set in place by the studio heads and there's nothing you or I can do about it. So, I apologize for finding a reason to give that a girl a quick death, but five years is too long for her to endure this abuse even by my standards."

  He turned around and walked away, leaving me standing in place. The ribbon of anger inside me expanded into a thick cord, small threads of rage, indignation, and fury tugging into place until it grew thicker and heavier.

  I stood stunned, not only by the acrid emotion spinning and building inside me to a point of dizzy chaos, but at what Ethan had admitted during his explanation. My brows drew together in response to the whisper of truth that dragged the tips of its ghostly fingers across my thoughts, the tiny window that was opened so that I could peek beyond the shadows of Ethan's professional mask, the small kernel of doubt that had lodged between my teeth until I wanted to pick at it incessantly.