Chapter 5 - Truth or Dare

Deira looked around her apartment. For most people, leaving a place they had lived for years would be difficult, or so she assumed. She felt nothing. This had always been a place to sleep, eat, and store a few things, nothing more. The location assured her acquaintances would not be eager to visit which suited her.

No amount of cajoling or bribery by her brothers had succeed in getting her to move to a better neighborhood. Eventually, they had stopped trying. They had both moved out of the city long ago and couldn't understand why she refused to do the same. They never would.

The last place she had cared about was her mother's house. It was warm and comforting and life had been normal there. After her mother's death, Deira had found solace in the memories scattered about the house – the curtains they had made together, the way the spices were arranged just so, the carefully chosen art. Her father had seen the same things as a painful reminder of his loss, but he couldn't quite let go. So he had destroyed as many of the happy memories as he could and his family along with them.

She had been at college when her father had sold the house, returning only to collect the few things she had left behind. She had been to his new house, a thousand miles away, only twice since Kara had disappeared and not at all since her funeral. He did not seem bothered by the long silence. He had a new life and a new wife. She told herself that the ease with which he had let her go was a relief. Considering her new life, it was better for everyone in her family to remain distant.

Packing was not difficult. She had very little worth taking. She filled a gym bag every day for two weeks, transferring the contents to boxes at the storage facility across town. Since her job had let her go as soon as she had given notice, there had been plenty of time to take care of business. Her knives had been replaced, though she had not been able to find any to fit the wrist sheaths. Those had been custom, and she knew better than to contact the guy who had made them for her. She also knew better than to ask Gage to give back the one he had taken in the alley.

Dinners with him had been interesting. She had not expected him to be a good cook, nor to be presented with flowers at the door. He had said he was being thorough, and since she'd seen the police watching on more than one occasion, she believed him. She would have believed him anyway. The man was hardly a romantic. Still, the occasional flowers were nice.

They had revised the plan. She would move directly into the new apartment. She had been relieved to hear it. The less time she had to spend with him, the better. The idea of attempting to sleep in his house made her twitch. It wasn't his killing people for a living. She could hardly be squeamish about it, considering she had done it – for free – and would again. When she spent time with him, the control she had spent years honing went straight out the window, something she could not afford.

He sent her home in a cab after each "date." Well, home to a place she would never have lived. She went in one door and out the back. She didn't want to know what Gage would have over the doorman to make him look the other way. She had bribed the same guy to hold mail and discourage visitors for Ms. Sedoso, and the price had been high. The doorman had said he did it for Mr. Randall as a favor. He seemed to collect a lot of favors. Deira suspected none of the people who owed him were any happier about it than she was.

The knock on the door surprised him. Gage picked up a gun before hitting the switch to turn on the security cameras. Some people backed away if they noticed the tiny red light. Others didn't react as well. Most people never noticed the light at all. Looking at the screen, he swore softly and lowered the gun.

"You should not be here," he said as he opened the door. Deira stepped inside, noticed the gun, and moved past him into the kitchen. Slowly.

"Can't your 'girlfriend' drop by?" She smiled sweetly, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Our dinner is tomorrow." He closed the door.

"That won't work for me," she said.

"I'm sorry, princess. I was not aware I was on your schedule. Go home. I have work to do." He walked past her, put the gun in a drawer, and closed it with his hip.

"Yes, well, there's a problem with that. My apartment is currently being tossed, so going back seems a bad idea."

"I assume, since you are here and not bleeding, you were not in it when you found out." There were only facts, no implied concern.

"Brilliant deduction," she snapped.

"So they know who you are." His voice was flat.

"Possibly. It's not like I live in the best neighborhood. It could be random. I didn't stay to find out. Should I have?" she asked.

His lack of reaction irritated her. He found it amusing.

"Did you come straight here?" The question seemed simple enough but they both knew it was a test.

"I'm not an idiot. I've been all over the city, trying to figure out the next step."

"Theirs or yours?" he asked.

"Ours," she countered. "This isn't just my deal anymore, is it?" She glared at him.

"No, it is not. What was left in your apartment?" He would not indulge her tantrum.

"Very little. Some clothes, the stereo, furniture. No personal papers or identification." She recited the list without inflection.

"Phone?"

"On me, as usual." She recaptured the tone of a bored teenager, or perhaps she had never fully relinquished it.

"I meant a land line."

"Land line?" She snickered. "I haven't had one of those in years. I don't see the point. So the only phone I have is my cell, which is pay as you go so there are no records. Good enough?" Her misplaced anger leaked out every time she spoke.

"That makes it harder for them." It was unlikely they would bother to do the work necessary to track a cell phone. Then again, he would take the time to do it, so it was possible. "I do not like this."

"No? I'm thrilled, myself. What the hell am I supposed to do now?" She was in danger of losing the last remnants of control. He always enjoyed those moments.

"What are we supposed to do, you mean. I thought we were clear on that." His apparent calm put her on edge, which was exactly what he wanted. "The new flat will not be ready for a week."

"Flat? How very continental. Where are you from, anyway?" She should not have asked, and knew it.

"Hush. I need to think. Sit down."

He tried to order his thoughts, but she was like intrusive white noise, even when she kept her mouth shut. He checked his calendar, then closed the computer on the counter. He would have to move things around, but it would not be difficult. He could see her simmering and trying to contain it. She was too reactive. No discipline.

"You will have to stay here." he said, wishing there was another way.

"Joy." She grimaced.

"And inside."

"Great. I've always wanted to see what house arrest would be like for the rich. I can enjoy your big screen TV. Eat bonbons or something," she taunted.

"I will keep you busy," he said.

"Oh? Doing what?"

"Whatever I ask you to do." He smiled at her. She tensed. "Yes?" he prompted.

"Yes." She glared at him. "Since my credit cards are canceled, I can't get a hotel. My other option is sleeping on the street, so I don't see that I have much choice."

"Good girl. You can start now. Come over here." He kept his eyes on her as she moved reluctantly towards him. She should resist.

"Yes, master," she said, not bothering to mask the sarcasm.

"You do not want to play that game with me, princess. You would not like it," he said mildly.

She stopped moving. His accent had never been so thick before. He was usually very careful about how he spoke. He did not seem to notice the change.

"What is it you want me to do?" She kept her voice steady.

"Kneel," he commanded.

"I'm sorry?" She did not move. His eyes seemed to have changed with his accent. They were much darker than usual.

"Drop to your knees." He obviously enjoyed her hesitation. "Can I say it another way you would understand?"

The signs of stress were clear to him. She began to breathe faster. Her heart would be racing. The adrenaline kick would take over. Fight. Please. He knew she would not.

She sank to her knees, dropping her gaze. The bright light made her hair seem paler. She lifted her face and fixed him with a glare. He did not look away.

"Now what?" she snarled.

He waited in silence until she could no longer hide her discomfort. To her credit, she did not move, did not speak. Eventually, her anger faded to dull acceptance. A little fear and pain and she folds. He shook his head.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"You," she answered.

"Very observant," he drawled. "What else do you see?"

She looked around the kitchen. There was nothing particularly different about it. Gleaming white counters, polished chrome fixtures, black and white prints on the walls, stainless steel cookware on a pot rack, everything in its proper place. Cataloging the extent of his compulsive clean streak wasn't particularly interesting, but it beat staring at him. After a few seconds, she began to actually see things.

"Your computer is on the counter. You didn't close it all the way, so it didn't go into sleep mode. There's a glass, half full, by the sink, probably water since I've never seen you drink anything else except coffee. You left the security cameras on, split screen to show front and back entrances. I assume the switch for it is at the edge of the counter. The drawer where you put your gun is open a crack." She turned her head to take in the rest of the room.

"And there's a gun in a holster under the table." She looked up at him. "Has it always been there?"

"Yes."

"Which is why you sit in that chair when we have dinner." Her eyes widened a bit.

"Yes."

"Did you expect me to try something?" she asked quietly.

"Yes." His answer surprised her more than the gun had. "It would be foolish to expect otherwise."

"But not anymore?"

"No, not anymore."

"Why?"

"Because I know you well enough by now to know I do not need the gun." He grinned.

"True." She grinned back. "And I know you well enough to know it won't be there the next time I look for it. Neither will the gun in the drawer."

"Very good, princess." He cocked his head, regarding her. "Are you comfortable down there?"

She snorted in response.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"World peace." At this point, flippant was the best she had. "In the meantime, I'd like to get off the fucking floor."

He extended his hand. She had to lean forward a bit to take it. Cautiously. He grasped her wrist, pulling her up, slightly off balance. She stumbled towards him, but his hold on her wrist stopped her shy of collision.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Very." She did not waver, did not look away.

"I thought so." He had not let go of her wrist. "So am I."

They stood there for a moment before he released her.

"I'm going to go wash up," she said. "Slowly. That should give you time enough to relocate the guns." She brushed past him, flashing a smile, and was pleased to hear his chuckle as she closed the bathroom door.

He relocated the guns. Glancing at the knife block he decided there was nothing to do about it if he intended to cook while she was his 'guest.' There were reasons he lived alone. Many reasons. Her presence over the next week would be a distraction. There was nothing to do about that either.

"You don't know I wouldn't like it," she offered as they sat down to eat.

"Like what?" He looked at the plates. He had served nothing objectionable.

"Playing the submissive." She sipped her wine.

"Do you?" He arched an eyebrow. This was not the dinner conversation he had expected.

"That's not the point. The point is you don't know. More than once you've told me I wouldn't like something you could do. When it comes to severe pain, you've got good reason to think that. But the other things? You don't know me well enough to know what I would and wouldn't like." It wasn't a challenge.

"I can make an educated guess," he said.

"But it's only a guess. That's rarely enough to go by," she objected.

"It would not be enough, if we were normal people. We are not." He was willing to leave it there.

She wasn't. "Considering our deviant nature, doesn't it make it more likely we would do things normal people don't?"

"Faulty logic, but I will go along. If you were naturally submissive, you would not be planning to murder people." It was not entirely true, but truth wasn't what she wanted.

"I don't think submission is something one comes to naturally." She swirled her wine. "But dominance is."

"Yes," he said quietly, "it is, though it comes more naturally to some than others."

"It can also be learned. And I think in you it was." She looked up.

He went rigid, his right hand clenched.

"Both can be learned." His voice was scarcely above a whisper. "You should think carefully about how far you want to take this. My 'education' is not a matter for academic inquiry."

"Yet you make assumptions about me based on a very short acquaintance. What's the difference?" This was a dangerous road.

"Ah, there is your mistake. My assumption was not based on what you might do. It was based on what I am capable of doing. Most people do not want to find out." He had relaxed slightly but held her gaze. "You do not want to find out." I do not want you to.

"Probably not," she conceded.

"And yet, you continue to push. Why?" He reached for his water, using it as an excuse to unclench his fist.

"Curiosity, I guess." She shrugged.

"Some things should not be explored. You want to keep that in mind." He set down his glass, then carefully laid his hands on the table.

"Considering you've admitted a willingness to kill me, I don't see what I have to lose."

"There are worse things than dying," he growled. He took a controlled breath.

"Like what?" She reached out and stroked his hand from wrist to fingertips.

"Don't," he warned. "Don't think I'm someone to play games with. I play to win or I do not play." He withdrew his hand. The other option had been to grab her wrist and haul her towards him. He didn't want to do that. Not this one.

"I don't see the point in playing at all if it's not to win," she said. "Besides, the way I see it, I'm already down a few hands. You've made it clear I may spend the rest of my life paying you back. I might as well see what I'm in for."

"You think you have to trade yourself for the debt." He shook his head. "That is not how it works with me."

"Nice euphemism. So, no sex for payment. Good to know." She sat back and smiled, having gotten the information she'd wanted.

"Well played, princess." He tipped his glass to her. Such a lovely smile.

"So, where do I sleep?" she asked.

"With me," he answered and cleared the dishes from the table.