Page 32 of StoryTeller's Tale

Nor has just a kiss ever turned me on, or got me to the point where the slightest touch to the right part of me might make me explode in a blinding white light like fire set to magnesium.

A slow hand clapping suddenly breaks through the fog that seems to be surrounding us, breaking into our bubble and reminding me where I am.

As StoryTeller pulls back, slowly in his own time, he grins at my murmured complaint and quietly whispers, “To be resumed.”

After one last, soft touch of his lips to the corner of my mouth, he turns, his arm pulling me tight to him. I never want him to let me go. If this is my future, my punishment, I’ll go willingly.

“Touching,” the leader of the Dominators says, his mouth turned up in a sardonic grin. “Think we’ll leave you lovebirds to reconnect for a while.”

As Fang and one other I know is called Trots start to push the door of the cage closed, instead of protesting or trying to force his way out, StoryTeller just stands still and raises his chin.

“I thought we had a bargain.” I feel his voice rumbling against my chest. “You reneging on that now?”

“Not at all,” Knuckles replies. “But you’ll forgive me if I want to check things out. Make sure what you’re offering is compensation enough.”

“I want my cut,” StoryTeller says brusquely.

“I’m sure you do.” Knuckles laughs. “But I think I’ll keep it hostage for now.”

StoryTeller flicks at his ear as though a fly’s bothering him, a gesture I don’t understand. Then again, I don’t comprehend a word of what they’re saying, of whatever compensation he’s talking about, or even why StoryTeller is here in the first place. Let alone why he’s pretending I’m someone he knows intimately. I am certain, though, being locked inside this cage with me isn’t the way he expected the situation to play out.

But the Wretched Soul, who I should be terrified of, just shrugs, seemingly unbothered, replying confidently, “Everything will check out.”

“Well, you can just stay here, making out with your ol’ lady, while I go make sure of it.” He turns, gestures to the others, then marches toward the stairs.

StoryTeller waits for the Dominators to leave, then, seeing me open my mouth to let all my questions come spilling out, he places a finger to my lips and his eyes signal an unspoken instruction to keep quiet. He leads me to the back of the cage, sits on the rough ground, and pulls me down beside him.

Now, reality has brought me back to my senses. I realise kissing me had all been an act just to impress our audience. Of course, such a magnificent specimen of a man wouldn’t really want to kiss a girl like myself. Now there’s no longer anyone watching or a reason to act a part, I try to evade his arms, but he doesn’t let me go, instead tightening his hold on me.

“Who are you?” I hiss.

“Shush.” He puts a finger to his lips this time, then jerks his head, his eyes looking to the roof of the basement.

I follow his eyes, don’t see anything, but gather his meaning fast. “They’re listening?” I ask quietly.

“Probably got cameras as well,” he murmurs directly into my ear, as though he’s whispering sweet nothings. Nipping my earlobe, probably for effect, he continues in a low, but oh-so commanding voice, “Just go with it, huh? Don’t contradict me, and we’ll both have a chance of getting out of here.”

“Why are you here?” Copying his example, I nuzzle into him, conscious that for some reason, he wants any possible camera to see that we’re close. While I tell myself it’s all a ploy and worth going with if there’s at least a chance of getting free, it’s actually no hardship. I’ve never been so close to such a perfect example of manhood before, and even under the circumstances, it seems churlish not to take advantage.

“I’m here to get you out.” His rich voice oozes confidence, as if he has no doubt in his plans.

Strangely, he cups his hand to his ear and frowns. He grimaces before his attention comes back to me.

“Give me info. How many Dominators have you seen?”

I rise to the challenge. “Well, there’s Knuckles, he’s the leader, and Tats acts like his second-in-command. Then there’s Fang, Limey—”

“Foghorn,” Carole supplies from the next cage.

I toss her a nod to thank her, then finish, “A guy called Trots, and there’s one who I think is a prospect. He’s called Handle.”

“Six members, one prospect.” StoryTeller repeats, then again touches his ear. I wonder whether he’s got an infection or something.

“Hey, you,” Carole calls out, rattling the bars of her cage. “You going to get all of us out of here?”

StoryTeller stands, leaving me feeling bereft on the floor. He stares at Carole for a moment, then glances around at the occupants of the other cages. A couple of women are looking at him, eager for his response. The other two are so lost in their own misery, it looks like they couldn’t care less.

Finally, his eyes turn to Carole again. “No.”

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