EMMA

One of my favorite memories of winter was the crackle of fire in the hearth. Warmth would carry out from the dance of shadow and flame to heat my body, sparks would erupt as the logs broke apart, the embers a red glow dotted by white ash over the brick of the fireplace. It was where I could toast marshmallows, where I could drink a steaming cup of hot cocoa, the sweetness chasing over my tongue and down my throat. Snapping and popping that blistering wood became a soft lullaby promising me safety, serenity, the love of the family and friends that would arrive on Christmas Day to spend time with me in front of the next roaring fire my father built.

Hearing that sound dragged me from oblivion into the present, it kicked at my heart rate, pulled a large breath into my lungs. It flicked at my eyes begging for them to open. It seduced me from my peaceful sleep only to drop me into harsh reality. Pain became a pulsing rhythm, my body recognizing its condition as my mouth opened on a groan. Finally, my eyes fluttered open to see that I wasn't alone.

Ethan sat in a large, brown leather chair, his legs crossed at the knee, a crystal tumbler held in his hand where the dance of firelight could glisten against the amber liquid of whatever liquor he was drinking. But rather than staring back at me, he gazed into the fire, lost to whatever thoughts consumed him.

Shifting over the couch where I lay, I drew his attention. He didn't smile or speak, just watched me struggle to sit up, the blanket lying over me slipping down to reveal a threadbare t-shirt covering my body to the knees. Shocked that I was given something to wear, I glanced up at Ethan in question.

"I didn't want to risk you ripping your stitches and bleeding. You would have destroyed my couch. I figured the t-shirt would help prevent spotting should blood weep out."

His couch. He wasn't worried about me, about my injuries or my comfort, just the soft upholstery of his stupid fucking couch. Voice groggy and rough, I replied, "Last night you told me you didn't care."

He sipped from his drink and swallowed it down. "That was a cheap chair. The couch costs significantly more. And I happen to like it. I often rest there after a long day filming."

Several minutes passed in silence. Not exactly silence, really. The fire continued to crackle, the logs breaking down into heaps of embers at my right. It must have burned for a while to reach that point already and I wondered how long I'd been asleep. Whatever Ethan had done to knock me out couldn't have lasted that long. Could it?

"What did you use on me?" The question sliced through the peaceful quiet of the room. At first, Ethan didn't appear as if he'd heard or cared to answer, but eventually he turned his head to look at me. The firelight danced across his face to cast shadows down his cheeks making them appear sunken and hollow. Even still, he was gorgeous with a strong, square jaw and cheekbones that swept up so high they were the perfect frame for his grey eyes. Against the soft flicker of the fire, his eyes were luminescent, glowing like a cat's would when caught in a beam of light.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he finally answered, the baritone depth of his voice lazy and tired. It only made him sound more charming, as if this moment revealed a truth to him beneath the cold, uncaring exterior. It was unfair, really, that a monster like him should have a hidden spark of humanity. His good looks didn't bother me as much as that spark - that potential for vulnerability calling to parts of me that would have been attracted to him if circumstances were different.

Even now, knowing what I know, and having experienced what was done to me on stage, I found myself relaxing in his presence. I was the stupid girl letting her guard drop when faced by a complex man who had soft sides to him that were unreachable without fear of being shredded by his razor sharp edges.

"On stage. What did you use to knock me out for so long?"

He finished his drink, a quick tilt of the tumbler to his lips as the amber liquid poured down his throat. Setting the tumbler on a side table with a soft clink, he slid the tip of his finger around the rim. The silence stretched so long that I assumed he'd ignored the question. It surprised me when his deep voice finally filtered across the space between us.

"I used a taser, but that didn't knock you out for long. Just long enough for a sedative to be administered. While you were out, we patched you up and brought you in here to sleep off the effects."

"Why here and not my dive motel with the sink-toilet combo?"

His mouth stretched into a small grin, the corners twitching with humor. "Did you like that? I found it monstrous when I first saw it, but you can only make due when dealing with small spaces."

Discontent narrowed my eyes. Aggravated by how blasé he was over treating women like animals, I couldn't hide my sarcasm. "I guess it's better than the plastic buckets in the cages."

"Ah, well -" His voice trailed off, his gaze dragging back to the fire as he brushed off the inhumanity.

While he appeared at ease with the not-so-comfortable silence between us, I was practically gnashing my teeth. "Why am I here? You didn't answer me."

A flash of a smile before his face was hard lines and sharp edges again. I must not have processed how near we were to each other, how quickly he could close that small distance to grip my cheeks with his hand. Lips pushed out until they puckered, tears welled in my eyes at the sudden pain. Bringing his face down until we were nose to nose, he stared at me with sleepy eyes while mine had rounded into saucers.

"Never mistake the power dynamic between us. You have no right to demand anything in this place, especially answers from me." Ethan was practically lifting me from the couch by his grip on my face, the sweet smell of liquor bursting across my skin on a warm cloud. "I do not answer to silly actresses whose egos have outgrown them."

My heart stuttered beneath the pressure of my sudden fear. Stunned so that all I could do was stare at him unblinking, I wasn't prepared for him to release me as quickly as he'd grabbed me. I fell back against the couch, reaching up to rub at the burn across my cheeks as he stalked off to his desk.

Slamming down his finger on the button of a console sitting on his desk, he demanded, "Send me a guard." He released the button before anybody had the chance to respond, his weight dropping into his executive chair.

It was obvious when Ethan Cole made a demand, he expected everybody to be sitting there waiting to hear it so they could jump to fulfill it immediately.

"Why you're here doesn't matter. You're awake now, so you can go back to wherever I decide to put you."

The door burst open before I could say another word.

"Take her to the cages," was Ethan's snapped command.

The guard approached me with the rhythmic pound of boots across the wooden floor, each beat vibrating with more strength as he drew closer. Reduced to the victim once again, I curled my fingers around the blanket, dragging it up to cover myself as if that thin and flimsy barrier would somehow protect me. Needless to say, it didn't, the guard snatched my arm with his meaty hand and yanked me to my feet before I could utter a sound in protest.

"Drop the blanket," he barked.

Caught in the rush of time between the lazy stillness of waking up by the fire and this moment where I was being forced from the couch, I'd refused to release the warmth of the blanket. Its end dragged on the ground behind me, the edges still gripped between my fingers. I tilted my chin to look up at the guard to find his teeth bared in anger that I hadn't immediately obeyed his curt order.

Still, I couldn't let it go, couldn't make a connection between my brain and my hands to uncurl my fingers and allow the blanket to drop entirely to the floor. The guard, obviously unhappy with my refusal, lifted a hand to slap me across the cheek. I flinched and braced for the violent strike, clenching my eyes shut and waiting for my head to snap to the side from the blow. It didn't come, and after several tense seconds, I peeked out from beneath my lashes to find Ethan standing at the guard's side, his hand wrapped over the guard's wrist preventing it from swinging in my direction.

"I'll say this one more time," Ethan crooned with a dangerously slow and deep voice. "This particular woman is not to be damaged unless it's on stage and on film. Disregard my instruction again and I'll make you a star on that stage. Do you understand me?"

The guard swallowed and nodded his head, several more seconds passing before Ethan released his hand and stalked away.

Tripping over my own feet, I followed after the guard, being half dragged in the process, while Ethan stood at the side of his desk watching. The edge of the blanket slid over the floor behind me like my own little captive in this nightmarish landscape.

"Wait!"

Ethan's booming voice stopped us both in our tracks. He was going to take my captive. I just knew it. The son of a bitch couldn't even give me that small comfort in the cages where he was sending me.

Why? Why the hell was he dismissing me back to that cold tundra of a prison after I'd done everything he wanted? What kind of cold, heartless dick does something like that?

The kind named Ethan Cole, apparently.

Striding forward, graceful as a stalking cat, he stopped within inches of me, the scent of his cologne mixing with the scent of liquor on his breath. "I'll let you keep the t-shirt and blanket on one condition: that you behave like the good little girl you're supposed to be and stay out of trouble until such time as I need you again. Do not overlook my generosity, Ms. Hart. It's not something I do often. What the director giveth, the director can taketh away just as easily."

Despite my hatred of him, I thanked him with my silence. It took effort on my part, my teeth clamping down on my tongue to keep from barking out a bitchy response. It would have been more of a fuck you to toss the blanket to the ground and refuse his supposed kindness, but I also knew those cages were small freezers that sucked the life out of you as soon as you stepped inside them. I would be shooting myself in the foot to give up at least this small comfort just to prove a point.

"And you will be watching your film once I have it edited and finalized. Birth is the beginning of a new era in this industry, and I believe you'll be more compliant once you understand what it means to me. Until that time, however, you'll be sitting and thinking about how you can avoid angering me in the future. There are rules and you will follow them."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Think before speaking. I was learning quickly that I had to temper my responses with this man. "I'm sorry. Nobody told me any rules, so I wasn't aware."

His lips stretched into a knowing grin. "Ah, there she is, the actress I've come to know and love. I'd say it's good to see you're learning how to speak to me, but I don't believe it for a second. Although, I do appreciate the attempt. For that, I'll let you keep the blanket...but not the shirt."

My jaw dropped as Ethan's head shot over to look at the guard. Silent command given and received.

The blanket was yanked from my grasp without much effort on the part of the overly muscled meathead dressed in black fatigues. And before I could utter the words I can undress myself, he was yanking the thin shirt from my body, pulling my arms up above my head with the sudden and forceful tug. My arms slapped back down at my sides, my breasts jiggling from the movement, Ethan's eyes fixating on them for only a brief second before he bent down in front of me to grasp a corner of the blanket between his fingers and present it to me like a participation trophy that was as important to him as a fly he'd swat to death to stop its buzzing.

Who was I kidding? He wouldn't swat the fly. He'd order somebody else to do it. The task was too demeaning for someone of his stature.

Leaning forward to speak against my ear once I wrapped my hand over the edge of the blanket, he whispered, "Despite our misunderstanding, I still hold strong in my belief that your idea of average is quite beautiful."

He stalked off, returning to his desk and taking a seat in his leather chair. Kicking his feet onto the surface of the desk, he crossed his legs at the ankles and relaxed back to fold his hands together behind his head. "Have a good night, Ms. Hart. I hope you sleep well."

The guard grabbed me to lead me from the room, but a thought occurred to me after thinking what Ethan has said. It had completely failed to grab my notice before this moment, but I couldn't exactly blame myself. I'd been forced through hell. That had to have some effect on a girl's psyche.

Reaching out, I grabbed the doorframe and gripped hard to keep from being yanked away from it. My head snapped in Ethan's direction, my mouth opening on a question that drew his attention up from the paper he was reading.

"Birth? What do you mean Birth?"

A faint smile stretched his lips, a deep dimple indenting his cheek that was made darker by the stubble that covered it. "It's the title of the film I made of you."

Holy shit. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd been so frozen with fear onstage, my mind had failed to understand the title the woman with the clapboard had called out. "I don't get it. Nothing was born in that film. Death would have been more appropriate."

Amusement glimmered behind Ethan's cold, grey stare. "That's where you’re wrong. But I'm not surprised by your failure to see it. A killer was born on that stage today. A killer that has been inside you all along and was just waiting for the opportunity to come out."