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in the holster on his flank. Was he the kind
of man who could empty the clip without a blink?
    “I want you to see something,” he said
as he turned on the television in the room.
    The television started to play footage
of a man getting into a private plane, exiting a limousine, and outside of what
appeared to be an incredible mansion.
    “Do you recognize that man?” Simeon
asked.
    “He looks vaguely familiar.”
    “Well,” he said, flipping off the
television, “let me tell you about him. I’ll just tell you a little bit about
him. His name is Terry Compton and he is a very rich man, wealthier than you
could ever imagine. He has billions of dollars. The man has more money than
some small countries. He got wealthy from hedge funds, investment banks,
insider trading, real estate, and a plethora of financial deals that would be
above your head.”
    “Could you tell me what time it is?” X
asked.
    Simeon looked at his watch. “It’s
9:30.”
    “Morning or
evening?”
    “Evening. Why do you want to know?” he
said.
    “I haven’t seen natural daylight since
you took me.”
    “Let’s not get off the subject.”
    “I don’t know that man.”
    “We know.”
    “Then why are we discussing him? Why
did you bring me here?”
    Simeon sat on the edge of the bureau
and told X to sit on the bed, which she did. X didn’t want to look him in the
face, but he seemed to know what she was doing.
      “Look at me,” he said, and X complied. “This
man, Terry Compton, has a certain taste for being dominated. He also happens to
like art and artists. The man has a large art gallery in his house and a
collection worth over $200 million. He never goes to dungeons and he has
background checks done on all the women he sees. We need a woman he would like,
someone authentic, a woman who isn’t doing it because of the money but because
it is in her nature. He’d be able to sniff out a fake.”
    “I don’t know what you don’t
understand,” X argued, “I’m not for sale. I’m not for hire. You’ll have to find
someone else.”
    Simeon took a few steps toward her
until he was within arms reach. Again, she looked at the floor, diverting her eyes
from him, but he grabbed her chin and tilted it up, forcing her into his gaze.
“It’s this simple,” he said, “you are going to dominate him.”
    X slapped his hand away from her face
and stood up from the bed. “Don’t touch me like that,” she ordered, not used to
men disobeying her. “Nobody touches me like that.”
    “Turn around,” he commanded.
    “No.”
    They were in a game of wills, but X
had played that game before, and almost always, she came out on top, but the
men X played with didn’t usually carry guns.
    Simeon put his hand on the gun in his
holster.
    “Oh, you’re a big man now, eh? Got
your hand on your big gun. What are you going to do? Shoot me? What did the
Beatles say? Happiness is a warm gun? Do you think they were really talking
about a gun?”
    Simeon slapped her across the face,
knocking her teeth together and making her head throb.
    “I’m not fucking around!” he yelled.
    X put her hand to her cheek. She
tasted blood in her mouth. Then, resolutely, X lifted up her hand and slapped
him back. He took her abuse unflinchingly. His only reaction was that he
furrowed his brow.
    “I need assistance,” he said to the
mirror.
    X lifted her knee towards his groin,
but he shifted his legs so that she was only able to hit his outer thigh.
Simeon tackled her onto the bed as the other man entered the fake hotel room.
With full force, Simeon grabbed her arm, twisted it around her back, and pushed
her face into the soft covers of the bed.
    “Give me a pair of cuffs!” Simeon
shouted, and the man handed him a set. “You’re making me do this! I hope you
see that!” he said as he cuffed X’s hands behind her back again.  
    He grabbed her arms and turned her
around so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed again.
    “You’re bruising me,” X