Shall We Play A Game?

“Please!” she pleaded as he held her hands behind her back, pushing down on the handcuffs. She arched her back in response; he drew a deep breath and filled his nostrils with the scent of her perfume. She bent her knee up and then drove her four-inch heel backwards; missing his knee. She crashed, face-first, into to the floor of the luxury apartment. 
 
Her arms wrenched back as he stood above her, his hands still gripping on the cuffs that now cut into her wrists. She shrieked in pain as he chuckled at her attempt. “I’m sorry but you did that to yourself,” the man said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his hand then wiping it across his grey button down shirt, leaving a wet smear in its wake. As she flailed her legs, her short black dress crept up toward her waist.

“Please! Just let me go,” she begged, her face still buried in the carpet; her wavy red tresses splayed out around her head. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear!”

“Oh, of course you won’t. I will,” he purred with a voice as smooth as soft Italian silk.

He released his hand from the cuffs, her arms dropped onto her back, and he circled around to her face. A professional shine gleamed from his leather-soled shoes; nary a single scuff visible on the stitched leather upper. He used the tip of one shoe to push the hair from her face. She flinched and tried to turn away.

He laughed again, louder this time. “I am not going to step on your face. Who wants to see that? That wasn’t one of the requests. Well, not from tonight’s audience at least.”

“What!? What audience? What are you talking about?” she said, her chest heaving and her head pounding; keeping pace with her racing heart as she wriggled on the floor. 

He placed an electronic tablet a few feet in front of her head, then clamped his leather-gloved hand on the nape of her neck and climbed onto her back. Keeping one hand on her neck and twisting the other’s fingers in the curls of her flame-colored hair, he yanked back. She screamed as the tension drew her head up to look at the black screen. 

He leaned in, his mouth millimeters from her ear. “Them of course,” he whispered, his voice both sinister and sultry. “Say hello to the fans,” he urged before lifting his head and speaking to the screen. “Everyone, say hi to this evening’s entertainment.” He wrenched her hair back. She winced and yelped. Dozens of small green squares lit up on the device, more than sixty in all, blinking in response.

“Help me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, her tears mixing with mascara and eyeliner, blackening her eyes. The squares turned a unanimous red. 

He released her; her chin hitting the plush carpet with a thud. “I’m afraid they aren’t going to offer any help tonight,” he said as he sat on her back. She flung her legs backward again, this time her stiletto heel scraping down his back. A trickle of blood underneath his grey dress shirt. A dark crimson flower spread underneath the material. He arched his back, grunted in pained surprise, and chuckled. 

A handful of the squares went from red to green.

“Oooh, she’s a fighter.” The squares flashed a unanimous green. “What say we tie our little tough girl up and play, hmm?” he teased.

He untied the silk tie from his neck and planting a knee in the small of her back, wrangled her flailing feet; subduing them with the pink makeshift restraint. He unbuckled her black heels and removed them from her feet, throwing the heels to the side. 

“There,” he breathed, “that’s much better.” He stood and turned, announcing, “On tonight’s marquee is a triple feature! These fine folks have each paid a handsome sum of money to watch this . . . to see you,” he said, winding his leg back, “suffer.” He slammed the tip of his wingtip shoe forward and into the side of her stomach. She screamed in agony and rolled onto her side. The squares remained green.

“Stop." Her voice shaking and filled with fear. "Please!”  

He continued; his voice now a low husky tone. “To see you bleed.” He removed a small credit card-sized knife from his rear pants pocket and flipped open the blade. She squirmed and tried to roll away but he was to quick. Kneeling down beside her, he drug the razor sharp tip under her chin, a small cut opening and spilling red down her neck and chest. 

She sobbed. He looked back at the small cameras hidden around the room and at the screen, still green but now speckled with red squares.

“And in the end . . . to see you die. That will be the grand finale!” he triumphantly shouted just as the doorbell rang. 

“Well, shit," he whispered; his shoulders slumping in disappointment.

Her eyes widened and she shrieked, "Help me!" He pushed her head into the carpet with one hand and threw the card knife onto the coffee table with the other and grabbed a dirty sock from the floor, forcing it into her mouth. He put his finger to his lips in a silent shushing gesture and went to answer the door. 

After only a few moments, he returned to the living room to find only a small pool of blood on the floor, but she was gone. He turned to the hidden cameras and seethed. “Where is she?!” he roared. The squares glowed red. He felt his pockets for his knife, but found nothing. 

He glared at the pool of blood, finding a trail that went into the bedroom. It lead him into his large master suite, the trail arcing around to the opposite side of the bed. He opened the nightstand table closest to him and pulled out a 9mm pistol. Grinning, he pulled back the slide, releasing it with a click and following the red line until it disappeared underneath the bed. 

As he knelt down and pulled up the bed cover, he aimed the barrel underneath and put his head to the ground to get a better look.

She screamed; bursting from the nearby closet. Running at full speed, she landed on his back, her knee digging in; knocking the wind out of his lungs. She threw her cuffed hands over his head and then under his chin. She pulled back towards her, his arms flailed; dropping the handgun under the bed. His hands groped at his neck, scratching at the metal cutting off his air. 

She brought her face down and growled in his ear. “I asked you to let me go . . . you laughed at me. Now get up!”

She yanked him backwards onto his knees, his face red and drenched with sweat. She stood up, pulling him to his feet from behind and they walked to the living room. The tablet on the floor showed only red at first. Then slowly the lights turned to green until it was hard to tell which color was dominant. 

He choked on the chain as it dug into his windpipe. She jerked downward, bringing him to his knees. Looking at the tablet, she breathed out a question. “What do you say, freaks? Should he live?” 

The squares turned red.

“I’m sorry, but you did this to yourself."