EMMA

"No," I stated with as much strength as I could manage. "You're not."

Ethan's eyes searched mine, the lights of the studio reflecting in the grey, transforming the color into luminous silver. A line formed in the skin between his eyes, his full lips slightly parted on words that hadn't yet arrived.

His fingers caressed my cheek, sliding to follow the line my jaw.

Gently, far too gently, he answered, "I am."

That was that. No need for debate. No need for complaints. No need to remind him I didn't want to kill.

He was doing it.

And that was that.

Pulling his hand from my face, he stepped back, the room coming into focus as I remembered the beat of activity going on around where we stood. Wiping a tear from my face, I looked up in time to see Joanna's body carried off stage. My eyes slid over to the man who killed her so savagely. He stared down at me like I would be next. Anger flowed through me, the cold bite of rage nipping at my skin and freezing my heart in place.

I hated that man. Hated the nightmare my life had become. Hated that the only person who showed me kindness in this entire place was the one standing in front of me gently telling me that I, too, would be thrown to the wolves.

Absorbing that anger, I allowed it to rush through my veins, to heat my skin to the point of burning, to light my eyes with such wild fire that I knew I'd spill that monster's blood for revenge. Dragging my gaze away from his dead eyes and snide smile, I locked my stare on Ethan.

"You did this on purpose," I said, the cutting accusation so obvious in my voice that it caused Ethan to flinch.

Canting my head, I smiled, the expression pure malice toward the bastard that believed he had so expertly pulled my strings without me noticing his intent. "Tell me, was the entire day planned for this particular end? Or was my job as your assistant just icing on your sadistic fucking cake?"

Dropping my eyes to his lips, I fully expected he would grin and flash his straight, white teeth, but instead, he stood silent and still, not answering until I met his glimmering gaze again.

"I want you to live, Emma. I don't know that man up there. I've never met him and from what I've been told, he paid top dollar to be given the chance to be the man who puts you in your place. I can't trust him. And I can't trust that you won't give up today in a feeble attempt to teach me a lesson. He will kill you if you give him the chance. You need to understand that."

There was only truth behind his eyes, truth and the subtle flicker of something else. "What I did today was for you. Regardless of whether you choose to believe it. I need you to be as angry as possible, Emma. Not just a spitting cat, but a lion."

My heart had managed to crawl into my throat while he talked, the hammering a torrid beat that drummed through my body. "You could have just told me that and saved me the threat against Melanie and forcing me to take part in these horrible fucking games. You made me choose one life over the other and I hate you for it."

His palms were hot against the skin of my shoulders. "Hold on to that hatred. If you need me to do more horrible things before sending you up on that stage, I will. I can't watch you die, Emma. I won't. And if I have to butcher every woman in this place just to make you go cold, then that's what I'll do to keep you alive."

Fuck! For a second there I honestly believed I saw concern flash in his eyes. Not just concern, but fear. Holding on to my hatred of him was like trying to hold on to wild horse, it kept kicking and bucking, constantly slamming into me just to run away.

"What do you care?" I demanded, strength finally returning to my voice because I wasn't just angry with him, I was angry with my entire life.

Just like that, the concern was gone, his expression pulled into the professional mask he wore so well. "I don't," he answered, the cold contempt having returned to his tone. "And we've run out of time to talk about it."

His fingers wrapped around my bicep, not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to be a credible threat. Trying to shake him off would be a wasted effort, so I simply followed after him, allowed him to lead me to Studio A without another word.

Once inside, however, I pulled back, my wide eyes scanning the stage to see that my bedroom had been reassembled down to the same tiniest details. "Where's the originality?" I asked, the spitting cat in me stalking out to sharpen her claws.

Ethan smiled, his bright white teeth flashing beneath the dark color of his beard for only a second. The bemused expression was gone before he bothered to turn back and glance in my direction. "It's better to let the fools believe this is real. It will prevent certain viewers from finding the studio, from even knowing the studio exists. You, my beautiful girl, are the newest of predators. One who lures men to her room for rough sex and kills them for the attempt. A femme fatale, if you will, a Lolita who seduces with her rage."

That didn't make sense. If they were playing this off as real, as if I were just some girl out there in the world with a taste for blood and sex, how were men throwing money at the studio to be the next one to rape me and make me beg? I asked the question. Ethan's eyes followed the activity in the room, his answer distracted.

"Some know of this place. Friends of the studio heads, I assume."

His attention pinned to the whirl of activity and his focus back on the production of his film, Ethan glided forward, the power in his stride easily seen in the perfect set of his broad shoulders, the flex of muscle in his thighs from below slacks tailored to his sleek body.

I didn't follow because I was done playing his assistant - done playing his games. Kicking off my ruby slippers into a corner, I padded barefoot to stand against a wall. Perhaps in the rush of activity, nobody would notice I was no longer the shadow at Ethan's back. Eyeing the door I knew led to another hallway that would lead to another door, I mapped how long it would take me to run that maze and find the front entryway.

Was it possible for me to slip away unnoticed? The thought flit through my head before another joined it. What would happen to Melanie if I actually managed to escape? How many more people would die if I didn't?

I was back to that loathsome quandary, back to deciding whether the value of one life meant more than another. Ethan, in his cold rage, could have Melanie killed as soon as it was discovered I was missing. But how many other lives could I save by finding someone in authority who would help me put an end to this horrible place?

Chewing my lip, I darted my gaze to Ethan where he stood among his crew pointing out errors they made, or giving them some other instructions that would ensure perfection for his film.

Not one person had their eyes on me, not even the guards where they stood at the other side of the room by another door. I knew the door they guarded was a direct route back into the heart of this place, a faster route, I was sure, an easier avenue for escape. But if I were to weave back the way Ethan had led me in, I could still find that center door leading to the entryway. Unsure if the exterior door would be unlocked, I still felt the need to at least try.

A huff of breath escaped my lungs, teeming with all the negative emotions I swallowed in this place, the ones that left me drowning. Could it be so easy?

Most likely not, but that didn't mean I would ignore the one brief moment I had to run off, to slip into the shadowed hallways and hopefully through a door leading me outside. Decision made, I cast another quick glance in Ethan's direction...to find him staring directly at me.

As if he'd read my thoughts, his lips pulled into a sleepy smile, one lined by the male arrogance that was distinctly his. Shaking his head subtly, he warned me against taking that first step toward the door leading out of the studio.

My shoulders withered in bitter defeat. He crooked a finger in lazy invitation for me to walk in his direction instead.

Once I was close enough, he shifted to whisper in my ear. "You weren't thinking of sneaking off, were you?"

"Of course not," I lied, my voice strong despite the tremor in my body. I tried to lie to myself that the tremor was fear and not a reaction to the warmth of his breath against my neck. For as much as I hated him, he still affected me on some deep level that I refused to name or acknowledge.

"Funny," he said, half laughing. "I could have sworn you were." Letting out a dramatic sigh, he added, "I guess that's a good thing, especially considering you wouldn't make it far with the security cameras around the building that are monitored at all times."

My eyes closed on that thought, the tiny hope I had of making it out of this place crushed by that one statement.

Straightening his posture, Ethan said, "Filming begins in a few minutes. You need to get in costume."

"What costume am I wearing?"

His eyes met mine for a brief second before sliding down to the shirt I was wearing, his gaze following the low neckline that stretched between my breasts to my stomach. "You're already wearing it. All you need to do is remove the skirt."

He'd planned this day down to the smallest detail, even having me wear the costume he knew I'd need once he was finished leading me through his daily routine. "I happen to like the skirt."

A bark of soft laughter broke free of his lips. "How is a man supposed to get between your legs with that ridiculous vice holding them together? Remove it." A tap of his palm against my butt only emphasized the demand. I glared at him and he grinned before shrugging a shoulder. "It's two sizes too small for you. But I don't regret the error. It was amusing watching you attempt to walk in it all day."

Bastard...

Struggling to remove the thing, I couldn't deny the relief I felt to slip it off and breathe easier again. My thighs tingled from where they'd been pressed together, air brushing up my legs to cool the heated skin. Kicking it away, I refused to care that it was sitting in a pile on the floor as a slippery hazard to anybody who happened to rush by.

The flurry of activity around us was coming to a slow halt, only the occasional crewmember running past to see to some last minute issue he needed to resolve. My eyes kept tracking to a door on my left, instinct telling me the monster I'd just watched kill another woman was sipping his coffee, patiently waiting for the chance to kill me. I wouldn't let him. Even to teach Ethan a lesson, I wouldn't let that son of a bitch touch me.

"What's my weapon for today?"

"You have two," Ethan answered quietly. Jutting his chin to the bedside table, he said, "The glass of water on the table is actually acid. It's not strong enough to melt the skin, but if it hits the eyes, your attacker will only see a hazy outline of you for a few minutes. It'll give you an advantage. He's twice the size of you. You can't afford to let him pin you like you did the last guy."

Nodding my head in agreement, I remembered the bulging muscles in the man's shoulders, chest and arms. If caught, I'd never break away from his grasp.

"Your second weapon is the iron poker by the fake fireplace. You'll have to jump over the bed to the opposite side of the stage to get to it. You'll have one chance while he's still rubbing the acid from his eyes."

Gaze meeting mine, there was no levity in his grey stare. It caused my stomach to clench, for the fear I kept hidden beneath a mask of indifference to bubble to the surface.

"He will kill you, Emma. I know his type. Some men would hesitate. But that man isn't one of them. Be sure you don't hesitate either."

Silence fell between us, the tension so thick you could slice it. Counting down the seconds, I stared at the stage mentally mapping exactly how I'd stay out of reach of the man while accessing the weapons Ethan gave me. The stage wasn't so big that the man wouldn't be able to grab me if I were on the same side as him. Why couldn't Ethan have set the weapons near each other on one side of the bed? It would have been just one more advantage.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but Ethan's booming voice burst through the room before I had the chance.

"We'll begin filming now. Everybody to their place." My stomach clenched again.

Intuiting my panic, Ethan slipped an arm around my waist, his fingers resting tenderly on my hip. Leaning close, he whispered, "Do I need to walk you up there again?"

Shaking my head, I wondered what the point would be of that. Regardless of what I wanted, I would end up on that stage, sitting on that bed. There was no reason to make a show of it. "I can manage on my own."

He inclined his head in answer.

Believing our conversation was done, I attempted to shuffle past him, but he snatched my wrist at the last second to pull my shoulder against his chest. Whispering so that only I could hear the urgency in his voice, he said, "If having watched what your attacker did to the woman before you wasn't enough incentive for you to stay alive, then I'll offer one more. I'll accept your condition. Melanie won't be used for any films while you continue to cooperate. But you have to remain breathing in order to protect her, so I suggest you channel the predator inside you once you're up there."

He was scared. That much was obvious. Otherwise, he would have never acquiesced to my demand.

The realization only made me more frightened.

Sucking in a steadying breath, I waited for him to release me. He did so slowly, his fingers sliding, one by one, from my wrist. Once free, I approached the stage and gulped down another large breath before ascending the stairs.

On shaky legs, I moved to the bed, sat down on the mattress and rubbed my sweaty palms down my thighs. Fear was a cold blanket wrapping me, my anger smothered and struggling beneath the weight of it.

Fetid breath trapped in my lungs, I turned my head in time to see the woman with her trusty clapboard. The top lifted. The title of my film at the tip of her tongue.

Ethan nodded his head in her direction.

"Death, take one." The clapboard slapped, and I didn't fail to notice Ethan's use of the title I'd previously suggested. The past came rushing back, dragging with it the resentment I'd felt when he'd ordered me to the cages after the first time I'd killed for him. A flicker of fury sparked to life inside me just as a door opened at my back.

The flicker turned into a rolling flame.

Heavy footsteps shook the stage beneath me, the mattress bouncing ever so slightly beneath my still body. A sound emanated to mix with the soft whir of the cameras and buzz of the lights. Feral, carnal, primal, that sound was the subtle rumble of the man's lungs, the purr of a hunter. One second bled into the next, time kept by the slow pound of heavy feet at my back.

From my peripheral vision, I could see Ethan taking his usual stance. Feet set at shoulder width, arms crossed. A man in his element, his face was a mask of unwavering focus. For the brief second I closed my eyes and begged my heart to stop racing, I wondered if Ethan was feeling the same toxic mix of emotions that I was.

My breath dragged into my lungs, a hiss of wind across my parted lips. Opening my eyes, I understood that time would snap like a rubber band at any moment, that if I gave the man behind me even a single chance, he would remove all opportunity I had to gain the advantage.

I had to be quick about this. Hesitating would only get me killed.

Releasing the last breath I'd managed to drag into my chest, I thought about what this asshole had done to Joanna. I remembered the promise Ethan had made me about Melanie. Revenge for one, protection for the other. It was enough to blind me from emotion, to numb me until all I felt was cold fury.

Leaning to my left, I snatched the glass from the table. Standing before the man could grab me from behind, I turned and tossed the liquid.

I missed.

As the acid sank down into the thick, white bedspread, I lifted my gaze to where my attacker stood scowling, the corner of his lip kicking up to think I'd just thrown away my only weapon against him. Forcing myself not to look at the iron fire poker where it sat just behind his leg, I smiled up at the bastard, stepped back and spread out my arms to welcome him to take me.

He was stronger, so I had to be faster.

Silence was thick in the air as cameramen and sound technicians moved around the stage, another one holding a smaller camera in case he needed to run up here at the last second. I wouldn't give him the opportunity.

The beast approaching me pinned me beneath his dead, green stare. His chest was heaving, his hands clenching into fists. I knew all too well what those fists could do, so I went as still as possible, giving him just enough time to come around the other side of the bed, but not enough to get within grabbing distance. With the size of the stage, I had to be precise. Life or death could occur with even the slightest miscalculation of seconds.

Tick...tick...tick...

He stepped around the bed, and I attempted to jump forward over the mattress. I'd been half a second too late. Blinding pain burst over my ankle, a scream tearing from my throat that shredded the flesh in its path. The bastard had grabbed my ankle and twisted.

Kicking out with my other leg, I gripped my fingers into the blanket to keep from being dragged backwards. But for every defensive move I made, he only squeezed and twisted my ankle more. Whimpers were falling from my lips, dripping down to mingle with my tears now soaking the blanket beneath me.

Flipping me on my back, he smiled down at me, the expression all toothy and snarling. The smaller camera was suddenly in place beside me ready for a repeat of the moment my shirt was ripped away to expose my body.

Dragging me down the bed served to shove my shirt up so that everything below my ribs was exposed. The bastard’s large hand slid up my thigh, his eyes becoming wild as they locked to mine. I could hear the sound of the camera zooming in and didn't want to consider what part of my body was being filmed.

As his hand slid higher up my leg, his thumb hooked down to squeeze the muscle. Another scream tore from me, my hands clenching tighter in response. It wasn't until that thumb scraped against the most intimate part of me that more panic pulsed through my veins, conscious thought escaping me as instinct took over.

Fortunately, for me, the bastard wanted to gloat by leaning down to say something to me on a foreign tongue. I took the opportunity to raise a hand and use my fingers to gouge at his eye. He roared in response, but also released me.

One second ticked by. And another. Time moving so slow that I could count each beat of it while flipping to my stomach and rolling off the mattress to the other side of the stage. My ankle burned in protest, but I ignored the injury to wrap my hand around the handle of the fire poker. Its weight was heavy and cold against my palm.

I thought he would have to come around the bed or move over it, either path would give me the perfect moment to strike. Imagine my surprise when he simply wrapped a hand around one of the four wooden posts and shoved the bed to the side.

Eyes round as saucers, my brain shut off, forgetting to tell my lungs to breathe and my heart to pump blood. A chill coursed through me as he moved forward, the bitter burn of fear and anger finally snapping me out of the moment of shock and driving me forward.

The first hit was to the right side of his head, the aim of the swing perfect, but the strength used not enough to stop him. I swung again, this time knocking him back a step as he screamed at me in words I didn't understand. My next swing met with his face, blood splashing out to dot my skin.

He fell backwards, his body impacting the stage with his full weight. The boards rattled beneath me, but I stepped across him anyway and wouldn't stop roaring out my own rage while slamming the poker down until you could no longer identify his face.

My gorge rose as I stared at what I'd done, Ethan's deep voice behind me yelling, "Cut!"