Page 20 of The Vixen

And still, this feels necessary.

“You told me if I ever called you a rapist again, it would be the last time I had the pleasure of getting fucked by your cock instead of your fist.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to besorry. I want you to behonest. With me and with yourself.”

His face scrunches. “What?”

“Did you rape me, Sawyer?”

“No.”

No hesitation. No uncertainty. Not a moment of thought needed.

My head rears back at the certainty in that one word, as if it’s me who should question it. I blink at Sawyer; watch as his shaking gradually eases, and the wrinkles smooth from his face. It takes mere seconds for his vulnerability to be totally and thoroughly squashed.

No more weeping. No more pleas.

“Did you rape the women on your island?” I shift my fingers. He tenses, but his hips don’t try to buck away.

“No.”

“Don’tlie. This doesn’t end until you admit the truth.”

“Fuck you.” He barks out a laugh so bitter, I flinch. “You think I don’t know you just because you gave yourself a fake identity for a couple of weeks? I fucking see you, Luna. You’re goddamn pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?”Ha!“You’re a grown man bound naked?—”

“By an ugly, genetically defective, cold-heartedbitch.”

My mouth closes, lungs screeching to a halt.

“Mmm, hurts, doesn’t it?” Sawyer gives no pause. “I can see your low self-esteem from a mile away. You could notbelievehow easily I could rip you to?—”

“You knownothingabout me,” I growl, my heart thumping fast. “You know acharacter. But because you’re a narcissist and a fool, you can’t even fathom the idea that you might be wrong about?—”

“Your mother’s dead.”

I pause, shoulders tensing.

“And you feel badly that you don’t care. Because you grew up in a cult who told you your skin color made you an unfeeling cunt, and you live your life terrified that it’s true. But it isn’t your skin color, Luna. It’s just you.

“You force men to fight over scraps of rotten meat and have them degraded and humiliated until they’re shunned by their own kind. You know exactly how to keep slaves in line, and I bet you’re just as efficient with your brain dead people, andthatis why you’re in charge. Your people don’t follow you because they believe in you. They follow you because they’re afraid not to.

“You’re amonster, and you’re going to do to me what you’re going to do, so fuck you, and good luck, you sadistic, evil cunt.”

My gaze draws to my hand as Sawyer’s muscles clench around my fingers—the glove shifting with a tremble that matches the hand at my side. Slowly, I pull out of him. Carefully lay the glove over the bench. Bring my hands to my stomach.

And stand.

A minute passes while I wait for pins to stop pricking my arms, for blood to flow back into my face. Sawyer doesn’t say another word, which is somehow both the greatest relief and an uncomfortable disappointment.

Maybe he wants to bask in my defeat.

Or maybe—like me—he doesn’t know what comes next. The appropriate next step in this game. If it’s a game at all.

My eyes close as I inhale a deep breath. Then I go to the bathroom to wash my hands. My palms splay as I watch water sneak between my fingers.