Page 72 of Brutal
“I’ll make sure Drake tips well,” I promise him before I get up and head toward the cabin.
I find Drake in the smaller of the two bedrooms, sipping from a bottle of vodka. I observe him from the doorway, although I make no effort to hide myself.
“Fuck off,” he says, not bothering to look at me as he takes another swig from the bottle. “And close the fucking door on your way out, bitch.”
“That’s a great way to win me over,” I say, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “You’ve fully convinced me. Drake Brutal is the kind of man I can trust.”
“I’m not trying to win you over,” he says, lifting his gaze to mine. He looks like he’s already well on his way toward getting drunk, and I note that the bottle is already a third of the way empty. Even for a man of his size, it’s still a fair bit of liquor, especially considering what he’d already had at dinner. “Jesus, haven’t you already toyed with me enough for one night?”
I get closer, noting that he unbuttoned his shirt and took off his shoes. I lean over him, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know. Does this make up for the fact that you bought a woman, forced her to have sex against her will, tortured her, made her play your twisted games?” After a few seconds I add, “The woman is me, by the way. In case you’d forgotten.”
He glares at me, a look that probably should have me backing away, but I stand my ground. “I didn’t say it did. But I could always do even worse than all that.”
I’m not sure he can anymore.
“Apologize,” I say steadily. “To me. Tell me you’re sorry for everything you did, and that you regret it.”
“But I don’t regret it,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I don’t regret buying you or fucking you.”
I stand up straight and walk toward the door. “Enjoy your vodka alone, then. When we get back to shore, you can find one of the women who would be happy to date Drake Brutal.”
He gets up, a little slow from the booze, and comes after me, grabbing my wrist. “I don’t want them. I want you.”
My heart races, and I’m all too aware of how easily he could overpower me.
I can’t give him an inch. I have to be strong.
“You technically already have me,” I say. “Go ahead. Enjoy my body. But, Drake, I’m never going to like the kind of person who thinks buying women is okay.”
“Do you want me to lie?” he demands, leaning in close enough for me to smell the vodka on his breath. “Do you want me to say I regret it when I think it was the best fucking thing I’ve ever done in my life?” He laughs. “Fuck. Fuck!”
The anger bubbles up inside me. “I want you, for once in your fucking life, to actually care about somebody else. Not superficially. Not because you think you own me. But because you feel bad about how much you fucking hurt me. If you don’t have that basic level of empathy inside you, if you can’t even regret making my life hell, then you can forget ever getting anything from me.”
His fingers flex around my wrist, painfully tight, as he stares at me.
“Go on,” I say calmly. “Take it out on me, then. Make me cry. Will that get you what you want?”
Letting out a frustrated sound, Drake releases my wrist. “No. I don’t…” He grits his teeth, then drinks again from the bottle. “Those gold digging bitches don’t want me. Not really. Not who I am. They think they know me, with the charming smiles and the parties. But you…” He stabs his finger in my direction. “You know me. You could care about me anyway.” He starts laughing. “But you won’t. Even if I was sorry about some of the shit I’ve done to you, even if I really meant it, you won’t.”
I slowly release a breath, rubbing my wrist. “You haven’t given me a reason to, Drake. We’ve done one nice date.”
“And it made me want to do more!” he bursts out. “It made me want to do better, to make you smile.” He clenches his teeth again, setting his jaw. “So yeah. I don’t know what you expect me to say. I’m too fucking selfish to regret what got you here with me. I wouldn’t have had a chance with you otherwise.”
“And of course, you ending up with me is more important than my personal happiness,” I say with bitterness. “It’s a good thing Giulio Pavone kidnapped me and forced me into sex work, because that means you got to meet me.”
“I’m not saying it was a good thing. Goddamn it! Stop twisting my words. I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I watched those men fuck you, I’m sorry I fucked you when you couldn’t say no, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry,” he repeats, looking as despondent as I’ve ever seen him.
It’s typical, isn’t it, for a privileged man to feel he’s wronged when simply being held accountable for his actions. I should leave him like this. I should let him suffer and reap the consequences.
I must be more twisted up than I thought, though, because I actually feel bad for him.
“Prove it,” I say with more dominance than I feel.
Drake glances up at me. “What? How?”
I look at the bed. “Let me tie you up. You can handle that much, right?”
He looks dumbfounded. “Why would you want to tie me up?”