Page 7 of Knot Your Damsel

“A request, then. Don’t split us up. And you don’t get to whore either of us out.”

“That’s two conditions.” He leans closer to her and sniffs her again, taking in her scent, and I fight everything within myself not to punch him in the face.

She’smine.

He knows it pisses me off, and he still keeps doing it. Pushing my buttons, trying to get me to step out of line.

Is he trying to get me killed so he can have her all to himself?

Then he leans back, looking at us both, like he’s considering what she said. “But I’ll grant them. I won’t split you up. And I won’twhore you outas you so elegantly put it.” He laughs, the first time he’s done it, and I don’t know if I find this or his smirk creepier.

“Right. Now that’s taken care of. If you two could follow me?” He turns around and starts walking to the door. There, he waits for us, his gaze cool. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Right.

I start hobbling after him, my arm over Vera’s shoulders to try to keep the pressure from my injured foot.

I make sure to keep myself between her and the dead body. I don’t need her to look at that any more than she really needs to.

“Good. You seem to know how to follow orders.” Mr Page smirks again as we reach him. “Let’s keep going.”

We follow him up the stairs and down a hallway, until we reach a set of doors. He opens one of them and motions for us to go inside.

We step inside a luxurious bedroom. With a massive bed to one side, a huge window overlooking a balcony on the far end and various pieces of furniture strewn around the place.

Is he planning to cash in those sexual favours already? Is that why he’s keeping us around?

What the fuck did we just agree to?

3

Vera

The carpetin Mr Page’s bedroom is thick and warm, even thicker than in his office, my feet feel like they’re cradled by the stuff.

The room smells like some expensive incense and old wood. You know, that rich wooden scent you get from well-cared furniture that’s older than your grandparents.

Mr Page motions for us to step further into the room and then closes the door behind us, walking to the middle of the room as he looks around.

“This should do for now. I don’t believe either of you are in any state to run away, so I won’t put any guards outside the room or below the balcony.” He eyes us, going serious. “But I would advise not to attempt it anyway. My men tend to be of the ‘kill first, ask questions later’ variety, especially when dealing with people they don’t know very well.”

He saunters over to the balcony, opening the door and letting in the fresh air.

I have a feeling that it’s not just them who have that attitude, I suspect they get it from somewhere… If I go by what I’ve seen of Mr Page’s temper.

“Why are we here?” I glance around, trying not to be too obvious.

It’s clear that his favourite colour is red, as the carpet and most of the fabrics around the room are red, and the wood is all a complementary rich dark colour.

He’s got one of those beds you only see in period dramas, with the four posts, a canopy and even curtains. In front of the window overlooking the balcony are a table and two chairs, also looking like they’re straight from a period drama, perfectly matched to the colours of the bed.

Around the room are a few dressers and tables, all from the same dark rich wood. Though, I suspect that one of the doors going off this room is a walk-in dressing room as I’m sure he doesn’t store his expensive suits folded up in a dresser.

This room alone is worth more than our whole house… How rich is this fucker?

“Right!” Mr Page opens another door, opposite the bed, smiling almost kindly. “You two can clean yourself off in here. You look horrible and reek of smoke.” He pulls a face.

Which is rich, coming from a guy covered in blood splatter, including on his face.

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