Rules of Engagement Page 3

  As soon as I walked inside my cramped studio coffin, I collapsed on the ground and cried into my knees for a half hour. Nothing was going right for me anymore. I didn’t have the experience or the attitude necessary for the career field I’d chosen. And I wasn’t even good enough to land a job as a low paid secretary at a crappy business in a bad part of town. My rent was due and there was no way for me to pay it without selling the only asset I had - my car.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one other way, but I wasn’t sure I’d sunk that low. Not yet. Not so quickly.

  Climbing to my feet, I grabbed the scattered envelopes from where they’d been shoved through my tiny mail slot.

  Overdue notices and a leaflet advertising grocery sales. It was just a bunch of paper screaming at me in reminder of how poor I was. I wanted to scream back, wanted to shred the evidence of a life going quickly down the drain.

  My power bill was on top, marked in a heavy red stamp claiming ‘Second Notice.’ Below that was my phone bill, which wasn’t yet overdue. Below that was my student loan and cable bills, both due by the end of the following month.

  Tears dripped down to dot the white envelopes, a panic attack settling inside me so thoroughly that my heart felt like it would burst from the racing pulse. My lungs were unable to suck in a decent breath. The room spun around me, the walls closing in until I wanted to cover my head with my arms just to keep them from collapsing on top of me.

  I had to think, had to take a few minutes away from everything just to slow down the chaos in my mind. Dropping the bills that wouldn’t get paid on the counter, I kicked off my pumps and marched through the room to the bathroom.

  It didn’t help that the shower stall was only twice the width of me, but by the time I’d stripped down and climbed beneath the spray of water, I could breathe a little easier despite the cramped space. My head fell forward while my hands were planted against the tile, the liquid heat rolling down my hair to drip off the ends onto my feet. I counted to ten over fifteen times just to calm down.

  There was nothing left to do but face my situation. I was unemployed, had nothing in my bank account and no job prospects that would get me by. Of the dozens of resumes I’d sent out, only one firm bothered calling me, and I’d blown that interview all to hell. I had two options left, both of which I wasn’t sure I wanted.

  Sadly, the money the dark room website offered me was more appealing than having to call my parents. I already knew what they were going to say: Turn in your apartment key and come home. You don’t have what it takes to survive in the city.

  How sad was it that having sex for money was a better option than being kicked while I was down by my parents?

  My eyes opened and I stared down at my naked body. I wondered if it was possible to find a fantasy that wouldn’t reveal my identity to the world.

  Thirty minutes found me sitting at my computer, my body draped in a robe and my hair wrapped atop my head with a heavy towel. My finger clicked the mouse button and I entered the dark room.

  I stared in shock at the fantasies offered.

  Gang Rape.

  Stalker.

  Captive.

  Fake snuff.

  Sadism.

  Anal Play.

  Humiliation.

  Was the site kidding me?

  Although my friends were only joking when they teased that I was a prude in college, they weren’t too far from the truth. I’d had two sexual experiences in my life and both had left me feeling sick to my stomach. I’d never agreed to anything kinky, but the feeling of someone touching me - of someone being inside me - had been too much to bear. Sweaty skin and warm breath. An uncomfortable slickness between my legs when the guy had finished.

  There had been absolutely no enjoyment for me, not when it was a slightly overweight man pumping furiously between my legs, grunting as he got off. I wasn’t sure it lasted long enough for me to get anything out of it.

  Having given up after those experiences, I hadn’t dated anyone since.

  I wasn’t a prude in knowledge, just experience. I knew the basics of each category on the page, but couldn’t understand how any of it was appealing. Below each listing there was a guaranteed price to be paid to whoever signed up to be prey, with a note that it could be more if the audience built to a certain level.

  What was I doing?

  Gang rape was out of the question. I could barely stand one person touching me, much less several, and the idea of any form of rape was morally disgusting. I didn’t have time to be a captive and I wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. Anal play was a definite Hell No. I was humiliated daily in my regular life so that one seemed somewhat bearable.

  I clicked on it.

  The pictures that came up in example of the acts had my eyes rounding and my lips parting on a rush of breath. Both women and men were displayed in an array of positions that left nothing to the imagination. Their mouths were gagged, their hands bound, and for some, random objects were placed in or attached to their bodies. One poor woman was a centerpiece hanging in the center of a dinner party.

  “What the fuck?” The words slipped from my mouth.

  No. I couldn’t. There was no way I could let someone do those things to me in a room full of people. I clicked back to the category listing.

  Sadism didn’t sound too appealing because I was a wimp who cried when I stubbed my toe. Fake snuff? I wouldn’t even consider that possibility.

  How was it that voluntarily attracting a stalker seemed like the safest of the choices? Breathing out heavily, I clicked on the link and read the details.

  STALKER:

  Prey agrees to a two month time period for predator to hunt. Stalking includes physically following the prey, and communication via email, phone and social media. Prey agrees to predator having access to their work and home address, as well as other personal information useful in locating prey. All communication must be posted to the website for paying audience members to follow along. One sexual encounter is required by the end of the two month period. The predator may ONLY have sex with prey one time during the hunt. Inclusion in this game will pay one thousand dollars up front to predator and five thousand dollars up front to prey. Additional payments will be made pursuant to a written schedule as the audience grows. The Management guarantees safety of the prey by requiring a thorough background check and medical exam of the predator, as well as daily monitoring.

  I blinked at the amount. It was exactly what I needed to get by.

  This was insane. No. Just no. I clicked out of the site and picked up my phone.

  My parents phone number glared up at me, my thumb hovering between the green button and the red. My thumb pressed the green, a ringing sound filtering through the speaker.

  “Hello?”

  Damn. My dad answered. Between the two of them, I preferred talking to my mom. Both of my folks were stern disciplinarians, but my mom was less hands on.

  Cringing, I said, “Hey, Dad, it’s Mia.” My voice was high pitched and too cheery, but I hoped he wouldn’t catch on that I was calling for less than stellar reasons. “Is mom around?”

  “What do you need, Mia?” Judgment flowed through the phone. I didn’t need to see his face to know he wore a stern expression, didn’t need to see the room to know my mom stood close by with her arms crossed over her chest.

  My heart sank into my stomach, my shoulders withering beneath the weight of his disappointment. “Money,” I finally answered. There was no point beating around the bush, no reason to play it off as something that it wasn’t and waste everybody’s time.

  “No.”

  The call went silent and I pulled the phone from my ear to see if he’d hung up. Their phone number was still a bright light glaring up at me, judging me as harshly as him.

  “Dad?”

  “Come home, Mia. That’s the only answer I have for you.”

  He actually did hang up that time. The screen of my phone blinked to display an inky black, the same
morbid color as my failure. Tears welled in my eyes.

  Glancing back at my computer monitor, my hand hovered over the mouse, the inside of my cheek pulled between my teeth. I bit down so hard I tasted blood.

  A click brought the monitor to life, and I navigated back to the Dark Realities website - specifically the dark room page – and after hovering over it for what felt like hours of indecision, I clicked on the button accepting the terms listed for the stalker fantasy and filled out the required information.

  Was being stalked a fantasy of mine? No. It had never been even a fleeting curiosity. But desperation has a heavy price. It’s a toxic poison that makes you do things you would never normally do.

  Desperation was the driving force that sent me careening head first into a game I had no interest in playing.

  No matter what happened after accepting the terms of the game in order to make ends meet, desperation should be blamed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rule No. 4: Dark Room sexual fantasies are binding. Be brave.

  Him…

  The daylight hours were never my strong suit. A creature of the night minus the magical powers, fangs, and blood drinking, I was as dangerous as any other mythical beast feared by humanity, as well as revered by those who wished they could control the world around them as much as I did.

  I had aspirations to take charge, the intelligence to make it happen, and the lack of heart that was necessary for the games I played.

  It was late afternoon when my computer pinged with an incoming message, the sun outside my windows barely lighting the horizon. Beside me, a woman I hardly knew was drifting off into sleep, her face angelic, her alabaster skin unmarred by anything other than the marks I’d left on her. She had been a distraction, but nothing more, a moment of downtime between the sinful fantasies I helped bring to life.

  Rolling off the bed, I padded barefoot across rugs that cost more than they were worth. Stepping up to the bar that sat in a corner of my living room, I poured a scotch, slamming it down before working my way to my large, dark wood desk that dominated the space. My chair groaned to take my weight, the leather screeching in complaint as I kicked up my feet to rest them on the surface of the desk.

  One click and a picture of a pretty brunette glowed on my screen, her name and other details listed below the picture to let me know how I would find my next target.

  Dark Realities was a lucrative venture for a man like me. Not only was the money decent, but the opportunities it gave me to explore my abnormal tastes was worth the risk I took playing the games.

  Every target was different. Every woman a new experience that brought my dark soul to life. The best part was that none of them were permanent.

  It seemed the next several months would be filled by the chase of this particular woman.

  In the picture, her brown hair was pulled back, her eyes staring at the camera with no happiness behind them. Assuming this was a professional photo for a previous job, or perhaps a photo taken by the state for the purpose of a driver’s license or other such identification, I stared at a face that was unassuming – a face that showed more fear than it did a predator’s instinct.

  How a woman like this could agree to the kind of games Dark Realities offered was a question I would mull over in the coming months.

  But, like it or not, Mia Jennings had just signed on to be prey, and she would soon learn exactly what being prey to my predator soul entailed.

  She looked like the type who would follow the rules.

  It was a pity for her that I wasn’t.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rule No. 5: Predators have two months to complete their hunt. If the hunt is cut short, or goes too long, you forfeit compensation.

  MIA

  Loneliness has never bothered me. Growing up, I often preferred to be alone. I wasn’t beautiful like the other girls, wasn’t wealthy enough to have all the best things, wasn’t smart enough to catch my teachers’ attention. It left me hollow, a shell of a person blending in with a sea of other hollow faces.

  Outside my family home, I’d kept to myself, but inside that two story structure, I didn’t just blend in, I hid. The daily school bell dismissing us from class was a sound that sent tremors up my spine, my walk home made with slow steps and a dry mouth.

  Each day, I turned a corner to find out what the day had in store for me during the hot afternoons at home. The message was always plain to see: if a maroon sedan sat idle in the driveway, I had to sneak in without a sound, had to creep up the stairs to my bedroom that was as hollow and silent as me. But if my father’s car was absent, if the driveway sat empty save for the oil stains that darkened the cement, it would be a day of reprieve.

  After signing up for a fantasy that was more like a nightmare to a girl like me, I dreamed of that car all night. Sleep evaded me each time I woke sweating, and the morning light filled my window to tell me that my time to rest had passed.

  Unlike most people who would pull the shades and catch a few more hours of sleep, I couldn’t simply roll over and cover my head with a pillow to sleep my way through the morning hours. Because it was the daylight that brought the monsters out to play, not the darkness or its myriad of shadows.

  At least, for me it always had been, with a father that was a stern disciplinarian.

  My feet hit the floor as my mouth opened on a yawn, worries of the present returning to chase off the nightmares of my past.

  With a mug of hot coffee settled firmly in my hand, I sat at my computer desk and regretted having made a choice that I somehow knew would change my entire life.

  I was never a brave person. I was a coward. I was never strong. I was a sheep waiting to be picked off by wolves. I wasn’t talented. I was a waste of space wondering why the universe created me at all.

  Yet, there I sat thinking that, perhaps, I could survive a game where a complete stranger followed me around for a period of time, planning and plotting when he would have sex with me.

  The thought chased shivers down my spine, but the money was too good to pass up.

  Still, I was undecided…unsure that I could survive the touch of a complete stranger.

  Perhaps it wasn’t too late to accept the hand I’d been dealt and back out of the decision I’d made out of desperation. I turned my computer on to discover the answer to that question, and found two emails waiting to be read.

  Notification of Bank Transfer: Agreement Reviewed and Accepted.

  The subject line of the first email froze the breath in my lungs. Clicking, I opened it to discover that five thousand dollars had been transferred into my bank account within an hour of signing up for the game on Dark Realities. Gnawing my lower lip, I read over the fine print. This was not a good idea. I wasn’t the type of woman who could pull something like this off. I was the type who could barely get through a horror movie without screaming my head off and diving under my blankets. How stupid had I been last night to think I could let some strange man stalk me?

  Clicking out, I breathed deeply while sliding my gaze down to the second email. Job Offer. My eyes widened on the short subject line, my finger hitting the mouse to open it.

  Good Evening, Ms. Jennings, I hope this email finds you well. In light of your pathetic performance at the interview you held in my office this afternoon, it was my first instinct to set fire to your resume and continue my hunt for an administrative assistant. However, due to lack of response to my employment ad, I have reconsidered my initial decision and have decided to allow you an opportunity to redeem yourself…

  Blinking my eyes several times, I read the lines of his email, sipped my coffee and reconsidered my earlier decision to have sent this man my resume. However, money being the issue that it was, I continued reading.

  I’d like to offer you the position on a trial basis only.

  A trial period was good. And if I could expect a paycheck within two weeks, it would be exactly what I needed to return the money to Dark Realities and opt out of the game I’d signed
up to play. A spark of hope ignited inside me. My eyes couldn’t read over the lines of the email fast enough.

  If you accept the terms of my offer, I will expect you in my office at eight sharp Monday morning. Given your previous difficulty with the stairs, please arrive early enough to manage three flights in a timely manner.

  Heat colored my cheeks, my anger building steadily for each passive aggressive insult being volleyed at me by a man I already hated. Why did my only offer have to come from an obviously miserable human being?

  Compensation for this position will be $15 per hour. Perhaps, through adequate performance, the salary can be negotiated for a higher rate. Although, I’m not expecting much.

  I hated him. With every cell of my body, I hated this man, and for some stupid reason, it only made me want to prove how wrong he was. Seeing shock in his smug eyes would be a boon to my ego. I kept reading.

  Your first paycheck will not be issued until one month from your start date. After that waiting period, you will receive pay at a biweekly interval.

  My upper body collapsed down onto my desk. One month? I wouldn’t survive one month without pay. Sure, I’d have a job, but not an apartment, food, or a phone. I’d have no gas for my car, my student loans would go into default. My head banged on the desk repeatedly, the coffee sloshing out of my mug. After I shed enough tears to drain my burst of anxiety, I lifted my head and begrudgingly read the rest of the email.

  You can respond to this offer with a simple reply stating ‘accepted’ or ‘declined’. I look forward to your response. Donovan Stone.

  Donovan Stone. The name rolled across my thoughts before I tested it on my tongue. Donovan Stone, a fitting name for a man with a cold heart. I clicked to respond and typed the word declined, backspaced and typed accepted. Before I could backspace again, I clicked send.

  Breath poured out of me. In two days, less than two days really, I’d sealed my fate, all for the pursuit of money. Without the possibility of a paycheck in time, I was stuck in the game with Dark Realities. And without another job prospect looming on the horizon, I was obliged to accept the terms of Donovan’s offer. I shed a tear for both decisions.