He straightens up slowly, still staring at me. Once he’s moved away, I sit up and slide off the bed, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. I can do this. I can do it if I don’t let myself panic, even for a split second. If I do, I’ll never regain my resolve. A part of me is simply wondering how badly I’m going to be paying for this later.
The duffel’s already open. I draw it apart so I can get a better look inside, and I almost lose it right there and then. I’ve never seen anything like it before in all my life. It’s part sex shop, part hardware store in there. Knowing Zeth, I have no idea which one of those stores the coils of strapping or the sheathed knives come from, and frankly I’m scared to find out. There’s other stuff in there: ball gags, handcuffs, lengths of rope, a sleek silver bullet shaped vibrator that looks brand new. Along side all of that, there’s a knuckle-duster, a gun and what I suspect to be a Taser. The roll of duct tape really finishes the whole thing off for me.
I hesitate. Who the hell am I dealing with here? This is a stark reminder that Zeth is a whole lot darker than anyone else I’ve ever met. A whole lot more dangerous. He’s never pretended to be anything else, a small voice in my head reminds me. I glance up to find him watching me closely, hands clenched by his sides. It’s almost as if…almost as if he’s done this on purpose. He’s made me look in the bag. To see who he is. He must think I’m going to run. He must literally be waiting for it to happen. That’s not who I am, though. Not right now, at least. Maybe I’ll revert to reserved, timid Sloane as soon as I have Alexis back, but until then…
I pick up the gun.
“Stand up.”
Zeth couldn’t look more surprised if I’d actually shot him with the thing already. “Sloane…”
“I said stand up.” I check the clip, take the safety off, and then I aim the thing directly at his chest. I’m still panting like crazy, still red in the face, but I can feel something shifting inside me. I’m not nervous anymore. Not with this weapon in my hand. Zeth stands up slowly, never taking his eyes off me.
“When I told you to take something out of the bag—”
“Yeah, I get it. You didn’t expect me to pick this. Now take off your shirt.”
He does it, slipping the clothing over his head quickly, as though he doesn’t want to take his eyes off me for a second. I want to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of the half-naked man in front of me, but I can’t let him know what he does to me. Instead I gesture the gun at his pants, raising my eyebrows. He gets my meaning—those, too. He kicks off his shoes and loses the pants, all without looking away.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Shut up. Come here.” He makes his way around the bed and comes to stand before me in his boxers, looming over me. He’s trying to intimidate me with his size, but it’s not going to work. Not this time. It must come as a shock to him; I get the feeling he’s relied on his stature to scare the living shit out of a lot of people for a very long time. I’m gonna take that advantage away from him. “Get on your knees.” This command makes him pause. I don’t think he planned on things going this way at all. Not one bit. He doesn’t do it straight away. I shove the muzzle of the gun into his chest, pressing down hard enough to depress skin and muscle. He gets the picture.
He sinks to his knees.
“Now put your hands behind your back.”
He does that, too. I skirt around him, still pointing the gun at him, until I reach his duffel. The duct tape comes out next. My heart is hammering as I pull out a length, and my hands shake like crazy as I bind his wrists together. I keep expecting him to whip his own hands away and grab hold of me but he doesn’t. He lets me do it, although his breathing has kicked up a notch, coming faster and louder.
I remain behind him, taking a moment to regroup. I know what I’m going to do to him. I know exactly what I’m going to do, and the prospect is at once thrilling and terrifying. I reach out and I bury my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, grabbing hold of it and pushing his head forward. He grunts, but doesn’t react. Not until I press the gun against the back of his head. He stops breathing. I know his eyes are open because his long, dark eyelashes are visible in slanted angle I hold his head in, but he’s not blinking. He’s not moving. He’s just staring at the floor, holding his breath.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I demand.
Zeth blasts a full lungful of air out of his nose. “Oh, really? We’re sharing our feelings? Right now? Come on, Sloane.”
I cock the hammer on the gun.
“Fuck! Okay. Okay. Well, I guess you could probably say I’m wondering if you’re gonna blow my head off. Happy?”
“Great. That’s what you’re thinking. How does that make you feel?”
“What the fu—”
“You’re kneeling on the floor with a gun pressed against the back of your head, wondering if you’re about to die. Don’t fucking tell me you’re not feeling anything, Zeth.”
“Alright, I’m fucking shitting my pants. I’m losing my shit. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a scathing laugh. “Wonderful. I’m glad I’m not the only sadist in this relationship.”