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To the evil Mastermind, the world is a matrix of puzzles. Games. Whatever he wants, he can get it by manipulating a code or an algorithm. His perfectly toned and maintained body is a machine for transporting his brain, and for decoding and delivering ever higher levels of endorphins, serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin. For him, other people are handy tools for stimulating those hormones. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of jazz, especially American jazz from the be-bop era, and a passion for obscure and cult comedy movies.
And all of that takes me exactly nowhere. All I know is that I could be in almost any kind of trouble with any of them. Orany two. I could be married to one and mistress for another. Or I could have ben seeing all three. If they weren’t holding me prisoner and I didn’t feel I had to escape at all cost, I’d have to say that ‘all three’ would be my first choice and favored option.
Realistically, I can’t see that ever playing out. Damnit.
But perhaps I can use it anyway. Divide and Rule. Or is it, divide and conquer?
CHAPTER FIVE
My body stings and tingles with all the memory of the feelings I got from him. The press of his body, his bulging muscles as they squashed and bruised mine.
His kiss left a need as hungry as an open wound. My heart still beats time, chasing the rise of my pulse as it hammered to meet his. I could be feeling that all over again. If he were here, I could feel that way forever.
I need him back here. My whole body craves him. Yearns for him. For all the comfort and safety I have, hidden, submerged and unconscious in the thick, liquid darkness, I would throw it all away for one more kiss like that.
I need him.
My chest pounds.
I need him.
My breath quickens.
I need him.
My lips tingle and burn. My tongue wants to lick my lips where the memory of his mouth sealed on mine.
Spinning clenches of frustration drive me nuts. I feel my chest rise and my back arc. And I know that’s a delusion. Ahopeless, empty dream. Fighting for air, I take a long, rasping breath and at the end of it I shout.
I break the surface again. Noise pounds in my ears. All that’s in my mind is his hot, living breath. His breath in my body, my breath in his.
But all I can hear is the two-beat drum of my heart and the pulsing rush of the blood in my veins.
The doctor is here — fuck that guy. Can’t he do anything useful?
And the merciless Emperor. And my dreamy devil Mastermind.
Talking about me.
The Emperor demands, “Now should we do the tests?”
“Believe me, I want to see her get better. Maybe almost as much as you do.” There’s an edge in the doctor’s voice. A crack that sounds like fear. What could make the doctor afraid?
A great rolling swell snowballs in my gut. Could that be the key? Swirling possibilities. Not all of them are good.
“What’s happening?”
“Her stomach is palpitating. It’s probably nothing.”
The Mastermind leans over, like he’s peering at me. I feel like a specimen in a lab dish. “She looks like she’s going to puke.”
“No,” the doctor is dismissive, “If she did that she would choke on her own vomit.”
The snowball spins. Swells. A toxic mix thickens. It starts to push up.
“Pull out the tubes,” the Emperor says, “Get her in the recovery position.”
The doctor says, “Better you leave the doctoring to me…”
