Page 52 of Total Exposure

“The thrill you got upstairs. That’s the real reason you’re here. So I hope that little tingle was worth it, because if you don’t play with me that’s all you’ll get. Probably for a long time, because you’ll run back to wherever it is you keep yourself and spend the rest of your life in hiding.”

“What is your problem? You’re mad because I was masturbating and you had to watch? Then I stopped and let me guess, you didn’t get off? Poor baby. Not my fault you took this stupid job.”

He’s silent for a little bit. Long enough for me to wonder if he misjudged me. If Lucinda told him to play with me like this, then my temper wouldn’t surprise him. She’s seen it enough over the past year to know that’s just part of me now. Like the color of my eyes.

“Why are you really here?” he finally asks again.

I huff out a half laugh. “Why are you here?”

“You tell me, I’ll tell you.”

Now it’s my turn to think. Maybe I should play? For a little bit, at least. Maybe I can get some answers out of him? A better picture of what he looks like. I’m not leaving, not tonight, anyway. So it would be nice to picture him as he watches. “How old are you?”

“Why?” This time his response is almost a laugh, and even though it’s combined with the static, it almost sounds real.

Yes. I like his laugh. “Because you want to picture me?” he asks. The intercom cooperates a little more now. Like he adjusted it. There’s still static, and his voice is still very much distorted, but I hear most of his words instead of disjointed pauses.

“Yes. You can see me but I can’t see you.”

“I’m here to watch you. You’re here to be watched.”

“Is that your turn-on?” I ask.

Another laugh. “In a way. But not the way you think.”

“Then how?”

“Write me your story,” he says. “And if it’s a good one I’ll give you one back. How’s that sound?”

“Just play your game?” I ask. “Lucinda did not sanction this. I could make you stop, ya know.”

“Then do that. If you want to be a quitter. You’re good at quitting, right? I expected as much. Believe me, I didn’t get my hopes up over you.”

Well, that’s a curious way to respond. Asshole. Psychopath. I think through my options as he remains silent, then say, “I’ll write a story for you.”

“Not just any story, I want to know why you’re here.”

“And if I give you that, then you give me what I want.”

“What’s that, then? What do you want?” I don’t know if it’s the fucking intercom or what, but his tone has gone dark, his voice deep. Maybe that’s called seductive? Maybe it’s called sinister? I’m not sure I can tell the difference.

I hesitate, thinking about how to put this without coming off as desperate.

“Evangeline?” he asks. “What do you want in return?”

“I want to go home,” I whisper. “Walk out of here feeling safe, and free, and not have to think about”—I swallow hard—“gloves, or hoods, or sunglasses. That’s what I want.”

“It’s not a very big ask,” he says, that darkness I heard just a moment ago gone now. “You just have to do the work, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But that doesn’t include telling you my personal story. It’s mine, OK? I have very little left of my old life. That story is pretty much it.”

“I offered myself up in return,” he says. And even though the intercom is skipping words again, making him sound like unreal and artificial, it’s the way he says it that has me intrigued. “Don’t you want to know what happened next?”

“Happened when?”

“After Jordan and I grew up. Do you think there’s no story there? I mean”—he laughs—“come on. I’m here, watching you. Cameras all over this fucking house on Jordan’s orders. There’s a very fucked-up story behind all that. Aren’t you a little bit curious, Evangeline? How filming women like you became our job?”

“Yes.” I say it automatically, heat pooling between my legs. What did they do? And what are they doing with me now?