There Are No Bad Dogs in This World (6)
Had every sound vanished from the world? It was so terribly quiet—though with no one willing to speak, how could it have been otherwise? That eerie silence was soon broken by the clap of Rihardt's hands.
"Congratulations."
With those words, Rihardt slowly extended his hand toward me.
I stared back at him with more than a little suspicion. What exactly was he congratulating me for? For toppling into the abyss of my own accord? Or for the days ahead I'd now spend living as his toy? Whichever it was, neither felt like cause for celebration.
"On becoming my one and only accomplice."
I tilted my head, my brows drawing into a skeptical slant. I heard him wrong about the whole toy thing, didn't I?
"Pardon?"
"From this moment on, Lucifer is my one and only accomplice."
Hearing that, I had no choice but to push back. "I believe there's been some misunderstanding, young master. I distinctly recall saying I would become your toy."
"I know. I heard you perfectly."
"Then this sudden talk of accomplices—what exactly are you after?"
"If I make you my toy, I'd have no choice but to let Karen go, wouldn't I?"
"Isn't that the condition?"
"How naive. Don't tell me you actually believed I'd honor such a flimsy promise, Lucy?"
"...Aren't you the one who keeps his word, once it's been declared?"
"I am. But I have no intention of making you my toy. Which means there's no reason to release Karen, either."
It was cheap wordplay. After all that insinuation about wanting me as his toy, he was turning his coat now, of all times?
Grit.
"Did you plan to deceive me from the very start?"
"Do I really strike you as that meticulous a person?"
"That is precisely how I saw you, young master."
"Sorry to shatter your expectations, Lucy, but I'm rather an impulsive sort."
"And you expect me to simply believe that?"
"It just occurred to me. I thought it might be fun to take the Lucy who wants to be my toy and make her my accomplice instead."
I hadn't particularly wanted to be his toy. I'd merely been tempted by the offer to set Karen free.
I narrowed my eyes and studied Rihardt. Meeting my gaze, he resorted to clowning.
"Speaking of which, my hand feels awfully empty. You're really going to leave it all lonely like this?"
Reluctant as I was, I had no choice but to take the hand he offered. Rihardt's palm was soaked through. No amount of sweating explained this. How could anyone be this damp? Come to think of it, this bastard's hand had spent the whole time buried between my legs—which meant all this stickiness was... my own doing.
"My, your face has gone red."
Playing ignorant when he knew full well.
Rihardt, savoring my grotesquely contorted expression, abruptly yanked my hand. The momentum sent me stumbling straight into his chest.
"Don't you have something to say to me?"
That subtly expectant look on his face was insufferable. You certainly want a lot, don't you. What a tiresome man.
"...It is an honor, young master, to become your accomplice."
"Your expression says otherwise?"
"How many people do you know who'd be all smiles after being deceived?"
"You'd do well to learn to flatter me from now on. You'll be facing all manner of situations, after all."
"I shall keep that in mind."
"For instance, a situation like this might arise."
Rihardt's face drew close, and then he bit my ear. I flinched at the suddenness of it. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was firm enough to leave teeth behind. He gnawed leisurely at my ear, trailed his tongue along my cheek, and at last pressed his lips to mine. Not once in all of it did I resist. No—I couldn't have resisted if I'd tried; there was no telling what he'd do if things soured. In truth, I wanted nothing more than to scrub my face raw with cold water that very instant. I had no strange fondness for going about with a man's saliva smeared across my skin.
"See? A Lucy who reacts like a doll is no fun to torment at all."
"In other words, you want me to defy you more, young master."
At my flat reply, Rihardt regarded me with eyes that found me unbearably endearing.
"Exactly. To confess sincerely, I want you to bare your fangs at me."
"How could one so lowly as I ever dare?"
He beamed. "Don't you worry. I'll make you."
"You insane bastard."
So much for holding back the curse that rose unbidden... not that I managed to hold it back, did I?
At my curse, Rihardt's eyes curved into a soft, pleased arc.
"I like the sound of that. Say some more for me?"
Genuine gooseflesh prickled up my spine. I tried to squirm free of his arms, but my strength was laughably insufficient. Exhausted by the futile struggle, I surrendered quickly and spoke as though murmuring to myself—though I knew perfectly well that Rihardt would catch every word regardless.
"If you don't mind, might I ask why?"
He answered without a flicker of hesitation.
"Because I want to subdue you the moment you show me that rebellious streak."
Wow. I'd known it already, but his tastes truly were depraved.
When I pulled a face of pure disgust, Rihardt burst out laughing.
"What do you think? The worst, right?"
"Yes. Truly, utterly the worst."
How very like Rihardt, that reason.
His hand slithered down my belly like a serpent and came to rest on the mound between my legs. Befitting a bastard who'd touched me there countless times before, he found my clit with practiced ease. Going to wring it again, was he? The memory of that pain stiffened my body of its own accord.
"You see..."
Perhaps because every nerve in me was drawn taut, his voice reached me with unusual clarity.
"The Lucy who once defied me."
Had tension and focus conspired to stretch my senses beyond their limits? I could feel with excruciating precision exactly how his fingers moved against my most secret place.
"I do so want to see you begging—swearing you'll be my toy."
Call it a mercy: nothing got wrung this time. He only stroked me, soft and slow.
"Hnnk."
Having braced myself for pain, I had no tolerance whatsoever for gentleness. Perhaps that was why sensation roared up through me like a sudden blaze. It resembled a man's climax, yet was subtly different—the feeling that one more touch would make something burst. The instant I hovered on the razor's edge of that threshold, Rihardt stopped with exquisite timing.
"Let's call it a day. I'd say this much suffices for the corporal punishment we originally set out to administer."
A little more, and I could have tipped over. I heaved a sigh of disappointment before catching myself. The torment I'd expected to drag on had fizzled out just like this, ending in half-burnt embers—and so a needless, gnawing restlessness was all that remained.
Having concluded the "punishment," Rihardt left the basement. I stayed behind to tidy up. Weary in body and mind alike, I still couldn't bring myself to simply walk away. This was a matter of conscience: the amount of piss I'd sprayed across Karen's room was considerable, and I doubted I'd have any peace of mind until I'd cleaned it up myself.
Nothing in this world could be more pathetic than mopping up your own mess. I'd shown Karen far too many sights she never needed to see, one way or another. Sighing, I set to work scrubbing the floor with a damp rag, and whether it was the zeal or the sincerity that paid off, the place did end up more or less presentable.
"Lucifer."
Just as the cleaning was nearly finished, Karen Florence—shackled in chains and manacles—called my name. It was an awkward call, weighted with a meaning unlike anything before. How to put it? Like the thorns that had bristled upright on her had been snapped off? That was the only way I could describe it. None of her usual sharpness, none of her edge, remained. And so I hesitated, unwilling to answer too hastily.
This was Rihardt, after all—the man who already knew I carried guilt toward Karen Florence. What if the two of us grew close here? He was more than capable of twisting that to his advantage. He'd torment Karen as a lever to shake me, then press me into unreasonable choices, just as he had moments ago.
Leaving me in the basement and walking out alone—that, too, was deliberate, surely. He'd left the two of us together in hopes that things might thaw between Karen and me. Because the closer we were, the more breaking her would wound me as well. Viewed through that lens, Karen Florence was the last person I could afford to grow attached to.
A terminal case of suspicion, that's what I am. I shook my head. That son of a bitch Rihardt had me feeling positively paranoid.
And how had he read my reaction, I wondered? Karen tried again.
"Lucy."
Ha. So we were on pet-name terms now? It felt different from the way Rihardt drawled it. Hers carried something plaintive—an open wish for me to answer. Which made it terribly hard to ignore. Even as I considered staying silent, I found I couldn't keep snubbing her. And no wonder: if not for her words, I'd have suffered far worse at Rihardt's hands. I might well have ended up with silver jewelry punched through my nipples or my clit. Framed that way, my gratitude toward Karen swelled and blossomed.
You'd turn your back on the woman who saved you? Really? I decided to shelve the complicated thoughts. Weighing and measuring every angle before acting didn't suit me at all, when I stopped to think about it—much as the seat of heir to House Line sat ill with Rihardt.
"...Yes, Miss Karen. I'm listening. Go on."
At my answer, Karen's face lit up. Was that really the expression to wear while in chains? The brighter she glowed, the heavier my heart grew.
"You know, I saw everything."
"Saw... everything?"
"How you helped Bianca and that man get away, Lucy."
At her words, a faint sigh escaped me. I had made quite a racket in the dead of night—enough that it would hardly be strange for Karen to have been awake. So that was it. That was why her attitude had changed. The small realization settled in, and I answered evenly.
"...Is that so."
"Did the two of them get out safely?"
And if they had, would I have been spared the punishment? The retort rose naturally, and I swallowed it back down. Karen had no way of knowing what had become of Bianca and Sean. In a flash, thoughts raced through my head. Should I lay out the bitter truth and leave her feelings in knots? Or spin a sweet lie to give her heart at least a sliver of comfort? The latter, surely. I wasn't hard-hearted enough to shove a cruel reality into the face of someone already suffering.
"They escaped without a hitch. That's precisely why I was scolded by Rihardt."
At my lie, Karen's face brightened further.
"Oh, thank goodness. No—wait, since that's why you took such a beating, Lucy, maybe 'thank goodness' isn't quite right?"
Her face betrayed not a flicker of doubt that my words might be false. Toward Karen Florence, deceived so easily and so often, I felt an emotion I could scarcely name.
"Miss Karen, I—"
"Don't. Don't you dare apologize."
She'd cut me off before I could even begin. I was dumbfounded.
"I hadn't even said anything yet. And on what basis did you decide whether I was apologizing or not?"
"Your whole face was oozing that sticky, guilty air, Lucy. Take it or leave it."
Insufferably accurate, that.
".........But if I hadn't dragged you into this—"
"Rihardt would have come for me one way or another, wouldn't he? I have no intention of blaming other people for my terrible eye in judging them. And besides that—right. You didn't torment me of your own free will, did you, Lucy?"
So this was what being left speechless meant. I mumbled something half-formed and fell silent. Standing before someone so unflinchingly candid, I felt myself shrink to nothing.
"And besides—I realized you've never once lied to me, Lucy."
"What?"
"The virgin thing. That was true, wasn't it?"
It was a joke I couldn't laugh at. So why was I laughing? Clearly, something in my head had well and truly broken.
"Are you an idiot, Karen?"
"How about you take a good look at yourself first, Lucy? Someone parading around in that outfit has no standing to call me an idiot, hmm? If anything, you're the fool here."
And what, exactly, was wrong with my attire... though truthfully, saying so out loud would have been mortifying. My ensemble consisted of a leather collar, a dog's tail, and three tufts of fur to cover my chest and crotch. Honestly, I doubted even the whores of this world would stoop to dressing like that. My face flamed red on the spot.
"Aww, hiding your face because you're embarrassed?"
I was already embarrassed and mortified, thank you very much—you needn't have pointed it out.
"My sincerest apologies for the outfit."
"Hee, sulking, are we? I've thought this for a while now, but you're secretly a petty little thing, Lucy."
The conversation with Karen amounted to nothing, and yet it loosened the knot of frustration in my chest. I learned something that day: two people mired in misery could be a comfort to each other. And—to damn myself for it—some part of me thought this moment wasn't so bad at all.