If it was her life or the life Max had decided she would live, she would choose a quick death over the endless torture the following days and weeks could deliver.
Her body went limp beneath him, her mind focused on breaking his aggravating self-control.
Locking her eyes with his, she steadied her voice, delivering each word with the strength of her conviction. "Fuck you."
Another flash of anger. Another fleeting moment in which she’d broken through his calm demeanor to reveal the monster inside.
She was expecting rage. She was expecting fire. She was expecting his fist to rain down on her in beating, bone breaking blows.
What she got instead was the taunting, cold touch of his sardonic grin. His lips tilted at the corners. Shadow touched his face, adding an edge to the sharp line of his cheekbones. A strong jaw ticked on one side drawing Alice's attention to the mottled scars.
Gripping one hand into her hair, he pulled her head down tight against the ground. His other hand wrapped over her face, his fingers tightening against her cheeks, irritating the previous injury he'd caused.
"You will learn, Alice."
Max' weight was barely off her before he wrenched her body off the floor. Pain shot through her skull, her neck having snapped back from the force of his pull.
Dragged through the room by her hair, she grabbed his wrist. Her nails dug into his skin, her mouth opened on a scream.
Unfazed, Max tossed her onto a couch, a leg iron locking around her ankle as she reached up to press her hands against the searing pain in her scalp.
Once Alice's feet were secured, Max cuffed her wrists, overpowering her easily.
"If you can't behave on your own, I'll have to correct your behavior. I'd like to show you how."
He shot up onto his feet, pacing for several seconds before turning back towards her.
His low baritone voice was matter of fact. His words more perplexing than his behavior.
"Between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries, English monarchs had a slight problem. The young prince specifically. You see, no king should be spanked or punished by anyone except for another king. However, the reigning king was often away. So what then do you do with the troublesome boy who would one day inherit the crown?"
Confusion muddied Alice's thoughts, the topic too bizarre.
"Why are you telling me this?" She winced, the movement of her jaw pulling at the raw skin on her scalp.
"Because it has everything to do with why you're going to obey me." Pacing again, he was careful to place the back of his heel against the tip of the other shoe. One after the other: his steps tempered, measured, controlled.
"When the young prince misbehaved, and the king was away, the court attendants had to be creative. How do you punish someone when they were untouchable?"
He looked up, locking his ice cold gaze to hers.
When she didn’t answer, he said, "You use a proxy, Alice, a whipping boy. You find and punish someone so close to the prince that he still feels the pain even when it isn't his own body being abused."
Alice's mouth went dry, her jaw tight, her thoughts flooded by the confusion elicited by his cryptic statement.
Without another word, Max left the room, taking Alice by surprise. A keypad beeped in the distance, the pneumatic hiss of a heavy door whispering to Alice from across the space of the room.
Able to sit, she pulled her body up, her wrists still cuffed in her lap, her ankles bound to the leg irons attached to the foot of the couch.
From her position, she was unable to see through the doorway out of which Max had left, but she was able to hear the first notes of a strangled cry.
Forcing her focus outward, she listened. Each heavy, booted step was accompanied by the sound of something being dragged over the floor. A whimper, a moan - whispered pleas that mimicked the fear she felt inside.
The sounds of the steps grew louder, more pronounced as Max approached the room, a woman's cries piercing the quiet stillness of the house.
Alice's eyes widened, her head shaking a silent plea that what she saw wasn’t real.
Entering the room, Max dragged a body behind him, moving to the center of the space before pulling the struggling woman up to her knees.
Time slowed.
The room spun.
Alice felt dizzy staring down at the woman at her feet.
"Do you recognize her, Alice? Do you understand now?"
His words were laced with venom, evil creeping out with each syllable spoken. In his assured tone was the knowledge that he'd won whatever game he was playing.
Alice knew the game didn't end here. It couldn't be that simple, that merciful.
No. This game was just beginning.
"Do you recognize her?" His voice was demanding, cynical, disturbed. It was the voice of a predator, of a man on edge, bloated with a sense of determination and power.