EMMA

As soon as filming stopped, every person besides me, Ethan and the dead guy left the room, the production crew having learned by the last two times that Ethan preferred a moment alone with me after I was done gutting some poor bastard. While they scattered off, I sat straddling the recently dead man that I'd killed.

Ethan's eyes stayed pinned on me despite the flurry of activity, pure, undiluted fury pouring off him in pounding waves. Swallowing, I wondered if I hadn't just pushed some button I shouldn't.

We were alone within a few seconds, the thick silence cut through by the chainsaw that was his voice.

"What the fuck was that?"

My body was trembling as I dropped the knife to the mattress, but I forced a sweet smile regardless. Ethan marched toward the stage, all long legs and a powerful stride.

He was definitely going to kill me. I had no doubt he'd climb those stairs, drag me from the bed and straight to Studio B for my final performance. Death was worth it just to see the rage written across his expression.

When he was within arm's reach, he looked down at the man's body with pure disgust before wrenching me from the bed and balancing me on my feet.

A question hissed over his lips that I wasn't sure he actually wanted answered. "Are you insane?"

The jury was still out on that issue, but I assumed they were leaning closer to yes than no. I had to be insane to survive this place. The real question, however, was: had I affected him as much as I'd hope to do with that little performance?

If the tension in his body and the beat of his labored breath were any indication, the answer was yes.

Without another word, he dragged me from the stage, out of the studio and down the long maze of halls to his suite. Rather than scrambling to keep up with his breakneck pace, I walked with my chin held high and my shoulders rolled back, without one ounce of regret inside me.

I didn't know if he was planning on beating my ass or fucking it, but I wouldn't allow that one concern to darken my thoughts as he delivered me to his shower.

"Get clean," he demanded, stalking away without bothering to turn on the showerheads. I grinned and went about washing the blood off my skin while warming my muscles beneath the water. Wrapping a towel around myself as I stepped out, I expected to find him in the bedroom, sitting all too casually on the bed, but he was nowhere in sight.

Maybe I'd angered him after all.

Dropping the towel in a linen basket, I grabbed a t-shirt from his dresser and stalked out into the living room to find him standing by the bar with a drink in hand. "What the fuck were you doing up there?" he asked, warning edging his words.

I hadn't just angered him, I'd infuriated him, the snarl to his lips and narrowing of his grey eyes a loss of control I'd never witnessed before.

Hating how meek my voice sounded, I answered, "I was putting on a show."

"A show," not a question, a statement, one he growled out as he repeated it. "A show. You decided to put on a show?" Ice filled his voice, so damn cold that it chapped my skin.

Backpedaling from the arrogance I'd felt while letting him lead me to his suite, I was suddenly afraid to be alone with him. "Y-you said the films were getting boring," I stammered, the lie not quite cutting it as anything more than what it was...weak and unbelievable.

"You could have been killed!" he roared, his fingers clenching over the glass he held so tightly that the blood rushed from his knuckles. Another ounce of pressure and that glass would shatter in his hand.

The vehemence in his voice surprised me, but rather than letting it force me to my knees, I yelled, "What do you care if I die?"

"I don't," he yelled back, tossing the alcohol down his throat and slamming the tumbler on the bar. "I don't," he insisted on a softer voice after a few beats of silence.

Staggered by his reaction, I tucked my arms around my abdomen and stood perfectly still in the center of his living room. I was equally fearful as I was concerned, confused as I was elated. The mix of emotions was toxic as it rolled and stewed inside me.

Fighting to keep my voice calm and steady, I asked, "Then why are you so angry with me?"

He poured another drink before looking at me. "Because you could have been killed."

His words were far too controlled to be comforting. There was another message weaved within that sentence, but I was so blind to this man that I couldn't understand what it was telling me.

Ethan was the epitome of opposites: hot then cold, jovial then angry, so breathtakingly close then terrifying in his distance. He was an oxymoron walking around on two strong legs, a dichotomy that's voice could lull you into false safety. He was maddening in his ability to show all of himself in one brief second and then be veiled beneath that bullshit professional mask that revealed nothing.

I'd never hated him more than I did in that second, and I'd never wanted him more just the same.

Closing my eyes and counting as high as I could, I calmed myself down because I knew better than to raise my voice or be demanding. That man was precariously balanced on the top of a frozen lake and there were thousands of cracks running through the ice. One wrong step and we both would end up drowning.

"If you don't care," I said as calmly as possible, "then why are you upset that I fucked that man on stage? Isn't that what you want? A good film?"

His response was not as calm, the words clipped and dangerously low. "He could have killed you. You let him get too close. You gave him the advantage."

The advantage...so we're back to that again.

"I wasn't worried about him," I admitted. "He was nothing like the second guy I killed. He wasn't that dangerous."

His eyes locked to mine, pure malice rolling out of them. "That's what you thought about James as well, and we both know what happened with that."

Heat flared across my cheeks. "You let it happen!"

"I had no choice," he bellowed, the booming sound shaking the glasses beside him as easily as it had startled me. Slamming his fist against the wall, he shot the tumbler across the room, the glass shattering into a thousand tiny pieces when it hit the floor. Storming away from the bar, he moved to stand in front of the fake window, bracing his hand against the wall beside it as he stared at a view of New Zealand. The bright lighting was an outline around him, the tension in his body causing that outline to tremble.

Back to controlled, he asked a question that slapped me. "I can't let myself care about you, Emma. I can't let whatever this is between us become an actual thing. I have no control over whether you live or die and I won't make it worse by allowing this to become a factor in the equation. The day will come when they push me too far, and I'll do something that gets both of us killed."

A barrage of questions screamed in my mind all at once, the force of them making it hard to take a second and just think. Unable to choose which one of them to ask first, I finally just broke the heavy silence and said, "I'm going to die anyway. And I highly doubt they'll kill their director."

He didn't answer, didn't bother to turn and look at me.

"And what do you mean you have no choice?" I couldn't help it, the question just slipped out.

Ethan let out a harsh sigh. "Beyond what happens in the two studios, I don't have absolute control in this place. The decisions about the films are mine, but the studio heads make all other decisions. If they wanted to come in here right now and remove your head, there is nothing I could do about it."

My eyes widened by a fraction at the admission. Ethan, not in absolute control? It didn't seem possible. Didn't make sense. He ordered around every person in this place, snapped his fingers and they were running. He wasn't the type of man to be in a situation where he didn't have absolute authority. "You’ve never been the type to take orders."

"I'm still not the type," he confessed, "but that doesn't make it any easier for me to leave." Turning, he finally met my eyes as he leaned a shoulder against the wall. His body appeared heavy, exhausted. "I don't take orders. But when it comes to everything else, I'm their puppet."

The expression on my face must have betrayed how shocked I was by the statement. Rather than shutting up and leaving it at that, Ethan explained, "I came to the studio from Hollywood, lured here by the belief that, without rules, I could create actual art. At first, that's what happened. I shed my civility and used the tools they gave me to record the most vile and depraved sides of life. But the films were getting boring. I wanted to move on."

"Why didn't you?" I asked, my voice soft where his had been hard. "Move on?"

He was resigned when he admitted, "Because although they told me I was free to leave, they kindly reminded me that I had a lot of information in my head that could get a man killed. This is not exactly a legitimate business, Emma, and these men are willing to do anything to keep their secrets." Pausing, he added, "I didn't care all that much, not until you came along. And that can't happen. We can't happen."

His expression settled into a bored mask, the wall of indifference slipping back in place. "That is why I don't care whether you live or die. But it won't happen on my stage until I say it happens. Are we clear?"

My arms fell to my sides, the fight leaking out of me to hear the defeat in his voice. I wanted to walk away, to drop the topic and return to my miserable existence, but one other question was pounding at my skull so hard that ignoring it was impossible. "Can I ask you something, Ethan?"

He stared at me, not indicating whether he would answer or not. I let the next question tumble off my tongue without giving a damn about the consequences.

"Did you get upset tonight because I could have gotten killed? Or were you more upset I willingly fucked another man?"

His expression pulled taut, but I pressed on.

"Is it fear that's upsetting you right now? Or is this you being possessive?"

Pushing off from the wall, he stalked toward me on slow steps, the tension building with each foot of distance he closed between us. Without breaking our stare, without saying another word, he approached until he was within a few inches of my body. He smiled, not a tight, controlled or practiced expression, his smile was beaming, his teeth bared, his cheeks indented in, the lines at the corners of his eyes growing deeper. My breath caught in response to that smile.

And then it was gone, replaced with steel, with stone, with some impenetrable material that protected the man behind it. I wouldn't let him hide away, couldn't bear to be given a glimpse of the fire inside him only to be shoved off into the cold, bitter truth of the world he'd helped create.

Glaring at him with steel behind my eyes, I stepped forward until only temptation existed between our lips, our mingled breath hot and searing, our bodies so dangerously close that just one deep breath would have my chest rubbing against his. I refused to give ground to a man who was maddeningly enigmatic, who could push me to the heights of ecstasy only to strip me bare and shove me into the bleak darkness that surrounded the studio.

I wouldn't back down - not for him, not for anyone. I'd grown tired of being a slave to everyone.

"Which is it, Ethan? You won't scare me into backing down. Just answer the damn question."

His jaw ticked with barely hidden fury, his eyes narrowing until the silver-grey color was molten steel. Towering over me, he attempted to intimidate me with sheer size alone, but I craned my neck just to stare him in his perfect face and show him I wasn't scared.

I'd been abducted, raped, beaten, starved, frozen solid, humiliated and nearly killed. There wasn't much left he could use to threaten me. I'd faced down death and walked away laughing, and I refused to cry now. Either he wanted me, or he didn't give a damn. There was no middle road between us anymore, no safe path that would protect the man behind the mask from the woman finally shedding her veil. It was now or never. He either cared or he didn't, and I wouldn't leave his suite without hearing the answer to a question that would bring us together or tear us apart.

The stillness in his body wouldn't break me, and the beats of anxious silence wouldn't force me to my knees. It was one question, one truth, that I wouldn't let him deny me now that we'd come this far.

With the force of our combined rage, I knew a storm was brewing that would lock me in place beneath furious winds and pounding rain. The hair on my arms lifted from electric lightning, my body shook beneath the force of rumbling thunder, but still I held my trembling body upright on shaking legs to stare down a force of nature that carried inside him every cruel, heartless thought that made him painfully cold to the touch.

At the exact moment I believed that he would finally break and destroy me, Ethan pivoted again to show me that beneath his callous exterior lived a man who was as much a victim to this place as me.

Between clenched teeth, his deep voice hissed from across sculpted lips, reaching inside me to caress the predator he'd so easily seen. "If I let myself touch you again, I will never give you up. Do you have any idea what that means?"

In fact, I didn't know what it would mean. I didn't know anything beyond the fact that there was a part of him just like me, an aspect of ourselves that had recognized each other the instant we met. He'd known from the beginning, while it took me until this moment to understand how deeply our souls had intertwined.

Both predators. Both prisoners. Except where one had been freed to prowl the halls on arrogant feet, the other had been beaten down and caged.

Despite all the horrors the studio could commit against me, I wouldn't let it destroy the fire inside my heart.

I wouldn't let it destroy Ethan's either.

"If they find out about us, it'll only make them want you more," he warned.

My response was instantaneous. "I don't care."

"They'll torture you."

"I don't care," I repeated, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"They'll rape you. They'll beat you. They'll dissect you until they can find the softest spot inside you and then they'll shred you from the inside out."

He wouldn't break me. Not with his threats or his promises. I was resolute in my decision to make him finally see that a man like him could be loved, especially by a woman like me. If that led to torture and death, so be it. It was better than dying slowly because I was too afraid to live.

"I don't care," I repeated, the slow strength to my words making it clear there wasn't a damn thing he could say to change my mind.

Something flickered behind his gaze; doubt, heat, anger, annoyance or pure want. It could have been any of those things. It didn't matter what it was, just as long as I knew his answer to the question that hung heavy between us.

The corners of his lips curled, the rate of his breath increasing as color chased across his skin. His voice was so deep that it gripped its fingers around my heart to squeeze as hard as possible, until the organ was left choking and sputtering to be drained of its blood. "This is my last warning, Emma. Your last chance to step away. You can make this easy on yourself, or you can be the impossibly aggravating woman that you are and force an issue that will only end up destroying us both in the end."

Canting my head, I grinned. "Oh, look. I haven't taken a step to move away. Guess that means I'm forcing the issue. Doesn't it?"

A deep growl vibrated from his chest. My hands clenched into fists in response.

Soft and sweet, I asked him again, "Is it cold anger you're feeling, Ethan, or are you hot to the touch because you can't deny how much you want me?"

His grin stretched wider, scorching desire lighting his molten eyes. "I warned you."

"I believe we've already covered that."

His eyes narrowed. "You let that man fuck you."

"Would you like to know a secret?" I asked.

He didn't make a sound or a move in response. He simply stood...watching.

Leaning forward, I pressed my mouth to his ear and whispered, "He didn't get me off. Nobody can do that, but you."

The leash snapped. The warnings were ignored. His fingers gripped into my hair with such savagery that a cry shot from my mouth just before he swallowed the shrill sound with his own. His tongue was as demanding as his authority, his kiss was as hard as every punishment that had been committed against me, but his heat was so addictive and burning that I found myself willfully imprisoned, a captive not to the studio, but to its director. I was no longer just a slave of body, but of heart.

Gripping my hair, he pulled my mouth away from his, his eyes locking to mine without any sense of sanity remaining. Ethan's voice was so dangerous and violent, that it rubbed against me like sharp thorns wrapped in the softest of silk, shredding me and seducing me at once. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

Blinking up at him, I lost the ability to think clearly and I was left racking my brain for any sensible answer to give.

I hadn't just fallen for a man who tormented me. It was nothing as weak or stupid as that. Because when you took the entire picture of my journey with Ethan and broke it down frame by terrifying frame, only one answer was left to be given:

I'd taken a script written to show the most depraved of all nightmares and had somehow discovered notations of love scribbled hastily within its pages.

Locking my eyes to Ethan's, there was no fear left inside me. "I've just given myself to you. That's what I've done. It's up to you now to decide what to do with it."

With his lips pulled into a sly grin, his grey eyes glimmering with carnal knowledge, Ethan tightened his fingers into the strands of my hair and spoke far too gently. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Emma, but you just sold your soul to the devil."